16 – 26 Harvestmere 9:33
The air in Kirkwall felt heavier than she remembered, as though the city itself bore the weight of its history. Ariana moved through Hightown alongside Varric, her cloak pulled tightly around her to shield against the brisk autumn breeze and the curious glances of passersby. They fell into an easy rhythm, walking without much urgency, their conversation punctuated by Varric’s good-natured teasing and her occasional dry quips.
It reminded her of old times—of late nights in The Hanged Man, of his stories that always seemed to outshine reality. But this wasn’t nostalgia; it was a strange sort of comfort, a reminder of how much had changed and yet stayed the same.
Varric seemed to sense her restlessness, even without her saying a word. “Don’t look so glum, Pup,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re back in the great city of chains. What more could you ask for?”
Ariana gave him a sidelong glance, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I don’t know, Varric. Maybe fewer chains? A little less gloom?”
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Varric replied with a grin. “Well, alright, it is. But you’re here now, and the city’s at least fifteen percent more tolerable for it.”
The first couple of days were filled with what Varric generously called “errands.” Ariana quickly realized they were little more than excuses for him to drag her through every corner of the city, reacquainting her with the streets and subtly keeping her occupied. It wasn’t babysitting, exactly—he knew better than to imply she needed his protection—but she wasn’t oblivious to his efforts, either.
She let him play his game, grateful in her own way. Without a clear plan to approach Cullen, the waiting gnawed at her nerves. Besides, Varric being Varric, he made even the mundane seem entertaining.
“Alright, Pup,” he said one morning as they left a shop in Hightown, his arms laden with what he assured her were “necessary supplies.” “Next stop, Lowtown. Try not to get lost.”
“I think I can still manage Lowtown, thanks,” she shot back. “Unless you’ve added more alleys since I’ve been gone.”
“You’d be surprised,” Varric replied with a smirk. “Kirkwall’s nothing if not inventive with its grime.”
Finally, on the third day, Varric’s network delivered. They were seated in his suite at The Hanged Man, a spread of papers and notes on the table between them as he laid out Cullen’s routine.
“Your Templar isn’t exactly the unpredictable type,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “The Gallows during the day, the Chantry three nights a week, and Café d’Or when he’s feeling fancy.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow. “Fancy?”
Varric grinned. “Leek and potato soup. Every time.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That’s his mother’s doing, the soup, I mean. It was good soup…”
Varric’s grin widened. “Wait a minute. You’ve had the soup? You’ve met his mother?”
Ariana rolled her eyes. “It’s not what you think, Varric.”
“Pup, when you say that, it’s exactly what I think,” he teased, leaning forward with mock seriousness. “Did you bring her flowers? Compliment her curtains?”
She groaned, swatting him lightly. “I was getting back to Lake Calenhad after escaping from Michael, and Cullen was heading home on leave. He offered to bring me along. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go back then—I’d barely been in Ferelden a month.”
“And you just happened to charm the whole family while you were at it, I’m guessing?” Varric’s grin was unrelenting.
Ariana smirked, leaning back in her chair. “What can I say? I charmed you my first night in Kirkwall too.”
Varric let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fair enough, Pup. Fair enough.” He studied her for a moment before leaning back, his expression softening. “So… you’re just going to sit on this, or do you have something in mind?”
“What day is it today?” she asked, half to herself, her thoughts already spinning.
“Wednesday,” Varric replied, watching her closely. “And judging by that look in your eye, you’re not just asking for the date.”
She nodded slowly, a glint of determination creeping into her expression. “He goes to the Chantry tomorrow, doesn’t he?”
Varric sighed dramatically, gesturing toward the papers on the table. “Well, Pup, if my sources are accurate—and they always are—then yes, he’ll be at the Chantry.”
She leaned forward, her fingers brushing one of the notes as she studied it. “Tell me about Meredith. She was already Knight-Commander when I was here before the Blight, but we didn’t have much to do with the Templars then. What’s she like?”
Varric let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “Oh, Meredith is… something. Let’s just say she’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy type. If Cullen’s been here three years, I’m guessing she’s gotten her claws into him. She has a way of finding the ones who already walk the line and pushing them over it, molding them into her ‘ideal Templars.”
Ariana frowned, the pieces clicking into place. “By her definition, what’s the ‘ideal Templar’? Cullen has always believed in what the Order stood for—protecting people, guiding mages, not ruling through fear. What’s different in Kirkwall?”
Varric raised an eyebrow, his expression darkening slightly. “Kirkwall doesn’t do ‘guiding.’ The Gallows? That place is a powder keg, and Meredith’s all about keeping the lid on tight—no matter how much the pressure builds. To her, an ‘ideal Templar’ is someone who enforces her will without question. Compassion? Doubt? Those aren’t virtues in her book.”
Ariana’s stomach sank at his words, but she pressed on. “And Cullen? Does he…?” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Varric hesitated, his gaze softening. “Look, Pup, I don’t know what kind of man he was before Kirkwall, but I do know this place changes people. Maybe he still believes in those ideals you’re talking about. But here? Belief doesn’t count for much if you can’t survive.”
The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she pushed it aside. “I’ll just have to find out for myself.”
She leaned forward, her fingers brushing one of the notes as she studied it. “Alright. I think I have a plan.”
Varric raised an eyebrow, his grin returning. “Oh, really? Do I get to hear it, or do I just get to sit back and watch?”
“It’s… most of a plan,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll have to feel it out as I go.”
“You’re terrible at reassuring me, you know that?” Varric said with mock exasperation. “Fine, go with your ‘most of a plan.’ But don’t forget to leave some time for soup.”
She laughed, the sound easing some of the tension that had built over the past few days. For the first time in years, hope flickered in her chest—small, fragile, but enough. Cullen might be different now, hardened by years in Kirkwall and the weight of his duty. But the thought of seeing him again, of finally closing the gap that had stood between them, made her heart beat faster.
Whatever happened next, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer.
~~~
Thursday morning passed in a blur. Ariana spent the hours with Varric, accompanying him on errands that felt more like distractions than necessities. She tried to stay present, forcing herself to listen to his stories and quips, but her restless anticipation kept her mind elsewhere. Her heart seemed to beat louder with every passing moment, her thoughts repeatedly circling back to her plan for the afternoon. I’m finally going to see him.
By early afternoon, she left Varric behind and made her way to Hightown, clutching the excuse of shopping like a lifeline. Her usual travelers’ attire, practical and durable, would stand out far too much in this part of the city. She needed to blend in, to become just another face among the affluent residents. If she was going to watch him, she needed to look the part.
The shops of Hightown offered an overwhelming array of options, and she moved through them with a mixture of purpose and unease. It had been years since she’d worn anything remotely fashionable. Dresses, as beautiful as some of them were, felt entirely wrong. She wasn’t here to twirl through ballrooms. She was here for him.
Eventually, she settled on a set of armor that struck the perfect balance between practicality and elegance. The leather ensemble was beautifully crafted, reinforced in all the right places but soft enough to allow for full mobility. The coat, made of great bear hide, was rich and dark, with exquisite stitching along the edges that hinted at its quality. She layered it with a fitted vest and gloves of matching craftsmanship, adding a royal sea-silk scarf and sash for a subtle, expensive touch. The Everknit wool pants hugged her legs, providing both comfort and durability, and her thigh-high leather boots were equally functional and refined. It was an outfit that could belong to a wealthy mercenary or a well-traveled noble—not entirely out of place, but not conspicuously glamorous either.
Satisfied with her purchases, she made her way to a quiet terrace overlooking the stairs leading to the Chantry. The late afternoon sun bathed the area in golden light, casting long shadows across the stone. A steady stream of people came and went, their chatter and footsteps blending into the ambient noise of the city. She chose a spot where she could remain inconspicuous, her vantage point partially obscured by one of the large statues that flanked the terrace. From here, she could watch without being easily noticed, her heart pounding as she scanned the steps below.
Her thoughts raced as she waited, memories and emotions clashing in her mind. I found you, she thought, a surge of emotion threatening to break through her carefully maintained calm. She clung to the image of him as he had been—strong and kind, his smile warm and reassuring, his embrace a haven in the chaos of Ferelden. She remembered how he’d whispered they would face the Blight together, the quiet conviction in his voice when he promised to protect her.
But those memories were years old now, their edges blurred by time and distance. The Cullen she was about to see might not be the same man who had held her on that cold night in the tavern. What if he didn’t even recognize her? The thought sent a pang of fear through her chest, but she pushed it aside. She had to know.
And then she saw him.
Her breath caught, and her pulse quickened as her gaze locked onto the figure ascending the stairs toward the Chantry. It was Cullen—there was no mistaking him. His golden hair caught the sunlight, and his posture, as always, exuded discipline. But something was different. The lightness she remembered had been replaced by a kind of burdened resolve. His shoulders were tense, his steps purposeful but heavy. Even from this distance, she could see the hard set of his jaw and the way his eyes scanned his surroundings with an edge of suspicion.
Her heart cracked, a sharp, painful ache that took her breath away. What happened to you? she thought, guilt washing over her in waves. If only I’d been faster, better… if I’d convinced you to leave the Circle with me…
She longed to run to him, to cross the distance between them and throw herself into his arms, to feel the safety of his embrace again. But she couldn’t. Not yet. He wasn’t the same Cullen she had left behind, and she wasn’t the same Ariana. The years had changed them both, and she had no idea how he would react to seeing her again.
Keep it together, she told herself firmly, forcing her emotions back under control. She couldn’t let herself be ruled by her feelings, not now. She had to understand who he had become before she revealed herself.
Cullen disappeared into the Chantry, and Ariana hesitated for only a moment before following. She slipped inside, keeping to the shadows as she made her way to the upper balcony. From there, she could observe him without being seen, her heart still hammering in her chest.
She spotted him near the front of the sanctuary, his head bowed in quiet prayer. For a moment, she simply watched, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her again. This was the man she had spent years searching for, the man she had thought she might never see again. And now, he was here, just a few steps away.
For now, all she could do was wait. The time would come to face him, but not yet. She wasn’t ready—and maybe, neither was he.
~~~
Exactly as Varric’s reports had said, Cullen spent about an hour in the Chantry, his head bowed in quiet prayer. Ariana remained on the balcony, her back pressed against the cool stone pillar as she watched him below. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across his armor, lending him a distant, almost ethereal presence. She tried to piece together his thoughts from the way his shoulders moved with each breath, the tilt of his head, the reverence in his posture. The Cullen she remembered had always prayed with conviction, his faith steady and unyielding.
Is it still the same? she wondered. Or was this faith now burdened, a desperate attempt to cling to something in the face of all he had lost?
After some time, he rose and approached Grand Cleric Elthina near the altar. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely audible from where Ariana sat. She strained to listen, catching only fragments of his words—soft, hesitant, threaded with uncertainty. It was that hesitancy that struck her most. The Cullen she had known spoke with quiet confidence, always sure of his place, his duty. But now? Now, it was as though the weight of his position pressed too heavily on his shoulders.
That flicker of softness she remembered sent a pang of hope through her heart. He’s still in there, she thought, clutching the edge of the balcony railing as if it might steady her. But the hope was fragile, tempered by the hardness she had seen earlier, the lines etched into his face. Whatever burdens he carried now had reshaped him, just as her own had reshaped her.
When Cullen and Elthina parted ways, Ariana slipped out of the Chantry and trailed him through Hightown, keeping to the shadows. He walked with purpose, his steps brisk but measured, as if maintaining the rhythm of a man trying to avoid being late. She followed him to Café d’Or, stopping just outside to watch through the window.
Cullen entered and took a seat near the window, facing the street but away from the door. Ariana lingered, studying his posture. He slumped ever so slightly, his shoulders no longer as rigid as they had been in the Chantry. His expression was distant, his gaze unfocused as though the world beyond the glass held no meaning for him. The subtle strain in his face—the tightened line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows—spoke volumes. He looked defeated, as though some essential part of him had shattered and never fully mended.
Her heart ached at the sight. What happened to you, Cullen? she thought, the question echoing in her mind like a plea she couldn’t voice.
After a moment, she pushed open the café door, keeping her hood drawn low. She slipped into a shadowed corner, choosing a seat far enough to avoid his notice but close enough to watch him. She ordered a bottle of wine and a single glass, hoping the sharpness of the drink might steady her. But as the moments passed, her emotions swirled in a turbulent mix of sorrow and guilt. I should have been there, she thought bitterly. I should have done more.
Cullen remained quiet as the waitress brought him his usual. She watched him take slow, deliberate sips from his glass, his eyes fixed on the world beyond the window. The waitress returned occasionally to refill his glass, but otherwise, he was alone, his silence as heavy as the look in his eyes. Ariana wanted to cross the room, to sit beside him and take his hand, to tell him she was here, that he wasn’t alone. But she couldn’t—not yet.
You don’t even know who he is anymore, she reminded herself, clenching the stem of her glass to keep her hands steady. She fought the urge to move, to speak, to shatter the invisible barrier between them.
When Cullen finally rose to leave, Ariana paid her tab and slipped out after him, keeping a safe distance as he walked through Hightown. The shadows of the setting sun stretched long across the streets, painting the stone in muted gold and gray. Cullen acknowledged a few Templars in passing with a curt nod and occasionally returned the respectful gestures of a noble, but otherwise, he walked alone, his head slightly bowed.
The memories came unbidden as she followed him—quiet nights at Lake Calenhad, the way he used to look at her when they talked, his rare but genuine laugh that always made her feel safe. Now, as she watched him move through the streets of a city that seemed to mirror his own darkness, she barely recognized the man she had once known.
They reached the edge of the docks, where the sound of crashing waves drowned out the noise of the city. She stopped, unwilling to risk following him to the Gallows. Instead, she stood at the edge of the pier, watching as his figure disappeared down the long stone path. Her chest tightened painfully, the ache that had been growing within her swelling to an almost unbearable degree.
Where did we both go? she wondered, but the answer was already clear. They had been worn down, reshaped by forces neither of them could control. The years had not been kind to either of them.
When she finally turned away, the walk back to The Hanged Man felt like it took hours. Her steps were heavy, her mind spinning with a thousand questions and no answers. She wanted to see Varric, to bury herself in his lighthearted banter and forget, even if just for a moment.
But when she entered his suite, she found him already deep in conversation with someone else. She hesitated in the doorway, ready to leave, but Varric’s voice called her back.
“Pup! Perfect timing,” he said, gesturing her over with a grin. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Ariana barely hid her sigh, glancing down at her hands to collect herself before plastering on her practiced smile. She approached the table slowly, the weight of the day pulling at every step. Her mind was still with Cullen, her heart still caught in the moment she had seen him.
Whatever Varric had planned, she didn’t have the energy to resist.
~~~
“Well, well,” Varric began with a knowing smile, eyeing Ariana’s new attire. “Looks like someone went shopping.” He cast a curious glance over the fine stitching and quality materials, the subtle hints of wealth woven into her clothes. It didn’t escape him that these were the kind of purchases made by someone with means—a clever reminder that her Silver Rangers were doing quite well. As his mind began piecing together everything she’d said, and everything she’d carefully left out, his grin only widened.
“Pup, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of mine,” Varric said, gesturing toward the woman seated across the table. Her dark hair framed sharp, bright eyes that practically sparkled with mischief. “This is Hawke. I think you two would get along.”
Hawke inclined her head, her posture relaxed but confident, a small smile playing at her lips. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Ariana returned the gesture, her own smile widening. “Ariana. Pleasure’s mine.”
“And how do you two know each other?” Hawke asked, her tone laced with curiosity.
Ariana shot a quick glance at Varric, who gave her a slight nod, leaving the explanation to her. “It’s a long story,” she said finally, her voice light but evasive.
Hawke’s grin spread as she waved to the tavernkeep for another bottle of wine. “Perfect. I have all night.”
Ariana chuckled, sharing a quick, knowing look with Varric. He was right—they are going to get along.
As the evening wore on, Ariana spun her tale, recounting her past as a noble runaway with practiced ease. She spoke of the weight of expectations, of the gilded cage that came with her name, and her desperate need for something more than the life laid out for her. She described her escape to Ferelden, arriving shortly before the Fifth Blight swept through the land, and the harrowing struggle to survive.
She left out any mention of the White Wolf, the Silver Rangers, or the Crimson Blades specifically, keeping her account vague and focused on the emotions rather than the details. “I ran into a group of mercenaries,” she said casually, swirling her glass of wine. “They helped me survive long enough to figure things out.”
Varric quirked an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. Just keep it simple enough to satisfy, or complicated enough to be interesting, he had told her once, years ago. It seemed she’d taken the advice to heart. He wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t want Hawke to know about the Silver Rangers, but he knew better than to press the issue.
Hawke and Ariana bonded over what it was like to run from the darkspawn horde, having both experienced it. Their conversation drifted to the terrible state of the roads, the ease of ambushes, and the constant anxiety of the journey. At one point, they realized they must have passed through Lothering around the same time, prompting them to wonder if they might have crossed paths without knowing.
As the conversation died down, Varric broke the brief silence with an exaggerated groan, setting down his glass with a loud thud. “Alright, ladies, enough of the heavy stuff. You’re both making me feel sentimental, and that’s bad for my image.”
Hawke smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Sentimental? You, Varric? Never.”
“Exactly,” Varric replied, gesturing broadly at her. “So let’s get back to something more entertaining. Like, oh, I don’t know…” His grin turned devious as he turned to Ariana. “What you were doing all day?”
Ariana sighed, trying to keep her tone light. “Just some scouting.” She hoped Varric would let it go, but she should have known better.
“Oh, what are we scouting?” Hawke asked curiously, leaning forward.
Varric cut in before Ariana could respond, his tone begrudging. “A certain Knight-Captain…”
Hawke’s eyes widened, her expression shifting from curiosity to surprise. “Wait… Knight-Captain Cullen? Why?” she asked, clearly confused.
Ariana shook her head with a small laugh. “That’s another long story…”
“Another bottle of wine it is, then!” Hawke declared, rising from her seat and making her way back to the bar.
Ariana couldn’t help but laugh despite herself. If nothing else, Varric and Hawke were making it easier not to dwell on everything. For tonight, at least, the weight she carried felt just a little bit lighter.
~~~
Friday was a quiet day for Cullen’s movements, so Ariana spent it with Varric, making herself useful in Lowtown. She had pulled on her usual traveler’s garb, blending seamlessly into the crowd of workers and traders. The heavy smell of salt from the harbor mingled with the earthy scents of Lowtown’s bustling market stalls. It was a sharp contrast to the polished elegance of Hightown, but Ariana felt more at ease here.
As they weaved through the narrow streets, Varric, ever observant, took the opportunity to continue last night’s conversation about her “shopping spree.”
“So, let me get this straight,” he began, eyebrows raised. “You’re saying that whole Hightown ensemble was just for scouting purposes?” He shot her a skeptical look, the kind that only Varric could deliver with such precision. “Is that really all it was?”
Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I had to look like I belonged. Hightown’s guard can spot a stranger a mile off, and besides, I wasn’t about to ruin all subtlety by getting myself reported to the city watch.” Her lips quirked in a smirk as she added, “I even considered a dress. But what if I had to jump a fence or scale a wall? I still need to be able to move.”
Varric cast her a sidelong glance, his grin widening. “Sure. Not a single piece of that was to make an impression on a certain Templar?”
Ariana chuckled, but the faint flush of color rising in her cheeks betrayed her. “Alright, maybe there’s a small part of me that wouldn’t mind him seeing that I’m alive and well.” Her voice softened slightly, the teasing note giving way to something more contemplative. “I just…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I never knew him as a noble. When we met, I was on the run, blending into the shadows, just surviving. Maybe…maybe I’d like him to see I’m still me, but that I survived. To reassure him, maybe. I don’t want him carrying guilt for the path I ended up on.”
Varric’s teasing grin faded, replaced by a knowing smile. The warmth in his gaze cut through the lighthearted tone, his voice softening into something almost fatherly. “You’re allowed to want that, you know,” he said gently.
Ariana offered a half-smile, but her eyes flicked away, her laughter tinged with uncertainty. “But at the same time, getting here, all that” she said as her hand motioned towards the Hanged Man and her new armor “also means there was a time that I had to stop looking for him. That my focus became building the Silver Rangers, rebuilding Ferelden… and myself instead of finding him. I just don’t know what’s worse, the guilt that he might have failed me, or the pain that I might have broken my promise.”
Varric stopped, grabbing her hand pulling her to a stop. The bustling crowd flowed around them, but his steady presence seemed to ground her. “Pup, I think he’ll understand.” he said, his tone low but insistent. “You’ve been through hell and come out stronger—stronger than most people I know. So, if you want him to see that you’re alive, that you’re doing well, that you didn’t just survive the Blight but rose above it? That’s not selfish. That’s human.”
Her breath hitched at his words, the weight of them settling deep in her chest. She met his eyes, her usual guard slipping for a moment. “I…I suppose I just don’t want him to feel like he failed me, or like he’s somehow responsible.”
Varric chuckled softly, his hand squeezing her shoulder before dropping back to his side. “Pup, let me tell you something. This isn’t just for him. You’re not doing this just for Cullen—you need this too. And it’s alright to admit that. Deep down, I think you already know it.”
His voice took on a lighter note, though his sincerity didn’t waver. “Besides, I’ve heard how much you’ve taken on these past few years. Always thinking about everyone else. You deserve to be seen—not just by Cullen, but by anyone who matters to you.”
Ariana nodded slowly, his words settling into the parts of her she usually kept tightly guarded. The old memories, the weight of promises made and broken, the questions that haunted her—they all lingered, but somehow, Varric’s steady reassurance brought a calm she hadn’t expected.
“Thank you, Varric,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper but filled with sincerity.
Varric gave her one of his rare, genuine smiles, the kind that felt like a warm hearth on a cold day. “Anytime, Pup. Now, let’s keep moving. If we stand here much longer, people are going to think we’re plotting something.”
She laughed, shaking her head as they continued through the winding streets of Lowtown. She found herself grateful—not just for Varric’s words, but for the way he always seemed to know exactly when to say them.
~~~
Saturday evening, Ariana made her way to Café d’Or earlier than usual. The streets of Hightown were alive with their usual bustle—merchants hawking their wares, noblewomen strolling in fine silks, and guards keeping a watchful eye. Yet Ariana felt a strange detachment, as if the world moved at a different pace from her own racing thoughts.
Her boots echoed softly on the cobblestones as she approached the café. The grand facades of the surrounding buildings loomed high, their polished stone gleaming faintly in the fading sunlight. The closer she got, the heavier her chest felt, each step a reminder of the weight she carried. A hundred times, she had thought of this moment. Of finding him. Of seeing him again. But in none of her imaginings had she ever prepared for the silence that stretched between them now.
How long had she stopped looking? After Orlais, when she had turned her focus entirely to the Rangers, had she given up hope? She clenched her fists at the thought, guilt rising unbidden. I told myself I was helping people. That it was for the greater good. She slowed her pace, her head bowed. But what if it was just an excuse? What if I failed him because it was easier to look away than to keep searching?
The smell of fresh bread and roasted herbs wafted toward her as she reached the café. Shaking off her thoughts, she slipped inside, selecting a table near the back but with a clear line of sight to Cullen’s usual spot. The waitress approached, a woman with auburn hair and a friendly smile.
“What can I get for you tonight?” the waitress asked.
“Just a bottle of wine,” Ariana replied, her tone light, though her heart was anything but. She hesitated, then gestured toward a nearby table. “And if it’s not too much trouble, could you seat someone here when he arrives? Blond, tall, in Templar armor. He’s a regular.”
The waitress raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Not a problem. He does tend to like that spot.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Friend of yours?”
Ariana managed a faint smile. “Something like that. Thank you.”
As the waitress moved off, Ariana exhaled, trying to steady herself. She ordered a small meal to maintain the appearance of a casual patron, though her appetite was nonexistent. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass as she waited.
When Cullen arrived, she spotted him immediately. He moved with purpose, yet there was an underlying heaviness to his steps. He settled into the seat she had arranged, his back to her, and began his usual routine: the same meal, the same silence, his gaze turned outward, looking at everything and nothing.
Ariana’s eyes remained fixed on him, her heart a steady thrum in her chest. Tonight, she was closer than before, close enough to catch the faintest whisper of words as his head bowed slightly. She leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat as she strained to hear.
“Maker, forgive me,” he murmured, his voice low and raw.
The words hung in the air, soft yet heavy with anguish. A pang of worry twisted in her chest. Forgive him for what? she wondered. But before she could make sense of it, something else caught her eye—a glint of white in his hand. Her breath hitched as recognition struck. The Halla pendant.
Her pulse quickened, emotion swelling like a tidal wave. He kept it. All these years, and he still had it. The sight of the amulet brought a mixture of joy and sorrow so potent it nearly overwhelmed her. She wanted to cry out, to run to him, to demand to know why he prayed for forgiveness when all she felt was her own guilt.
When Cullen rose to leave, Ariana quietly slipped from the café behind him, maintaining a careful distance. The streets of Hightown were quieter now, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Her footsteps were silent, her training guiding her instinctively as she followed him through the narrow alleys and open streets, her pulse quickening with each turn.
Her focus was absolute, her eyes never leaving his figure ahead of her. He moved with the same determined stride, yet there was a heaviness to it, as though the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. How did it come to this? she wondered, guilt twisting in her chest. I left you to face it all alone.
As they neared the docks, the cool breeze carried the briny scent of the sea. The sound of waves lapping against the harbor filled the quiet, punctuated by the occasional creak of ships swaying in their moorings. Cullen’s pace slowed slightly, and Ariana adjusted hers, keeping to the shadows of the towering warehouses and crates stacked along the edges of the docks.
Then, suddenly, the sharp sound of footsteps echoed from a nearby street. Cullen’s head turned sharply, his movements quick and alert. Ariana’s heart stopped as his gaze swept across the area, his eyes scanning for the source of the noise. Her position, precariously close, left her little room for error.
She pressed herself into the shadows of a nearby alley, her back against the cold, damp wall. Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing as she fought to remain perfectly still. The sound of Cullen’s boots shifted, his steps purposeful as he moved closer to investigate. For a moment, she thought she was caught, her carefully laid plans crumbling before they’d even begun.
Peeking out cautiously from her hiding place, she caught a clear view of his face, illuminated faintly by a flickering lantern. His features, once familiar, now seemed sharper, etched with strain and exhaustion. But it was his eyes that struck her most. They were dark, unforgiving, and filled with turmoil—a storm of emotion that had long since drowned any trace of the Cullen she had known.
Her chest tightened painfully, the weight of his gaze—even from a distance—pressing down on her like a physical force. What have they done to you? she thought, her fingers brushing against the rough stone for support. The Cullen she remembered had been kind, steadfast, a calming presence in the chaos of her world. Now, she saw only a man carrying a heavy burden, his every movement weighed down by unseen chains.
As he turned back toward the docks, satisfied that nothing was amiss, Ariana let out a silent breath of relief. She remained in the alley for a few moments longer, watching as he disappeared into the distance. Her mind raced, torn between the overwhelming urge to go to him and the knowledge that she needed to wait. Not like this, she told herself, the words a fragile mantra against the storm of emotions swirling within her.
Pushing off the wall, she turned back toward Lowtown, her steps heavy with the conflict in her heart. Tomorrow, she resolved, her jaw tightening with determination, her heart steadying with newfound resolve. Tomorrow night, when the café would be quieter. She would ensure they were alone. Now all she could do was hope that she would ease his burdens. That if any of the darkness in his eyes was due to her, that maybe she could bring him back.
~~~
Sunday evening, Ariana dressed in her newly acquired armor, the soft leather fitting perfectly against her frame. The ensemble was a deliberate choice, crafted to blend seamlessly into Hightown’s elite. Yet tonight, it served another purpose: to face him, not as a shadow hidden away, but as someone who could stand before him, equal and unyielding.
The events of the previous night weighed heavily on her. The memory of his eyes—dark, unforgiving, and filled with turmoil—haunted her thoughts. The Cullen she remembered had been compassionate, a steady presence who had given her strength when she had none. Seeing him so burdened now, so far removed from the man she knew, made her heart ache. If there was any chance she could ease his suffering, even a little, she had to try.
Returning to her spot by the Chantry stairs, she waited. Her gaze was steady, but inside, her nerves frayed with every passing moment. She played out countless scenarios in her mind, imagining how he might react. Would he be angry? Relieved? She forced herself to focus, to stay calm. Timing was everything.
Soon, she saw him approaching, his steps deliberate but heavy, his shoulders set yet somehow tired. She held her breath as he ascended the stairs and disappeared inside the Chantry. Only then did she move, descending the steps with purpose.
At Café d’Or, she stepped inside and approached the owner, her voice quiet but firm. A handsome tip accompanied her request. “I need the restaurant empty for the evening,” she explained. “Except for one guest. The Knight-Captain.” The proprietor and waitress exchanged glances, curiosity flashing in their expressions, but the coin she offered silenced any questions. They assured her it would be done.
Settling into the same shadowed table she had chosen the night before, Ariana ordered a bottle of wine and a small meal, blending in as best she could. She asked the waitress to linger near her when Cullen arrived, masking her presence among the empty tables. It was all carefully orchestrated, every detail meticulously planned, yet her heart hammered as if none of it would be enough. She would wait until he ordered his usual, until the moment his wine needed refilling. When the waitress would approach with the bottle, Ariana would follow behind, hide her steps behind the waitress.
She stared at the empty chair across from her, imagining him sitting there, the weight of his anguish laid bare between them. What if I can’t reach him? she thought, the doubt creeping in despite her resolve. The memory of his eyes, so distant and unyielding, surfaced again. What if I’m too late?
But then she remembered the Halla amulet he had held the night before, the glint of it in his hand as he whispered his prayer. He kept it, she reminded herself, holding onto that sliver of hope. He hasn’t forgotten.
The door opened, and her breath caught. Cullen walked in, his expression as weary as the night before, his movements measured. The proprietor greeted him warmly, guiding him to his usual seat. If he noticed the emptiness of the café, he didn’t show it. His gaze was distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Ariana’s heart pounded as she watched him settle in, order his usual meal and a glass of wine. She could feel the tension in her chest, the weight of years pressing down on her as she waited. Her breathing was shallow, each moment stretching unbearably as she rehearsed the words she would say, the words she had carried with her for so long.
Finally, the waitress approached his table, the wine bottle in hand. This was the moment. Ariana rose quietly, her steps purposeful but silent as she followed the server to his table. She could see him more clearly now, the faint lines etched into his face, the strain in his shoulders, the quiet pain he carried like armor.
The server poured his wine, and Ariana took a final step forward. Her voice broke the silence, soft yet firm, a gentle echo of their first meeting. “Mind if I join you?”
Cullen froze, his hand pausing mid-reach for his glass. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he turned to face her. His eyes widened, disbelief etched into his features. For a moment, he simply stared, as though struggling to reconcile the sight before him with the memories he thought he had buried.
“Ariana…” he whispered, her name escaping his lips like a prayer, heavy with the weight of the years between them.
The sound of her name in his voice, that same reverent softness she had always cherished, made her heart ache. There was something in his tone, a quiet yearning, a fragility she hadn’t expected. She managed a small, tentative smile, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.
“I promised I would find you,” she said, her words carrying the weight of every mile, every year. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
~~~
Cullen’s heart ached, the kind of ache that seemed to come from the very marrow of his being. He stared at her, frozen, torn between disbelief and longing. He thought the visions had ended. Mostly. Lately, she only appeared in dreams—or nightmares. Yet here she was, standing before him, her voice still echoing in his ears, pulling at every frayed thread of his resolve.
“No,” he murmured under his breath, the word carrying the weight of all his denial. His eyes shadowed with disbelief. No…this cannot be real. His mind recoiled against the sight, the sound, everything. She died in Crestwood. He cursed himself silently, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. How could I let this happen? How could I let the visions creep back in?
“Begone, demon,” he said aloud, his voice low but firm, iron lacing the edges of his tone. He met her gaze, as if daring the specter to challenge him. “Have you not tortured me enough? You are not real.”
Ariana froze, the words lancing through her. She’d prepared herself for countless possibilities—anger, disbelief, even joy. But this? She chastised herself for rushing this moment, for underestimating the depth of his pain. Her voice wavered only for a second before she steadied herself, willing it to remain calm. Her words, soft yet firm, carried a quiet finality.
“As you wish,” she replied simply, her eyes dropping slightly as she turned away. “Goodbye, Cullen.”
The sound of her voice, the tone of her farewell—it struck something deep within him, something raw and unsettling. None of his visions had ever acted like this before. They mocked him, taunted him, clung to him like shadows refusing to fade. But this? No vision had ever honored his wish. No hallucination had ever walked away.
“Wait,” he said, his voice rough and desperate as he stood, reaching out. His hand caught her wrist, the contact firm but gentle, as though anchoring himself to the moment. She stumbled slightly at the suddenness of his grip, but she stopped, turning back to meet his gaze.
Now face to face, Cullen’s breath hitched. He studied her, every detail burned into his memory: the curve of her cheek, the slight tilt of her head, the familiar depth in her eyes. It was her. Not some cruel fabrication of his mind. Her. His grip loosened as his hand trembled slightly.
“Is it really you?” he whispered, barely audible, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “You’re…alive?”
Ariana’s brow furrowed in confusion for just a moment before she saw the truth in his expression. The anguish in his eyes, the weight he carried—it told her everything. He had truly believed her dead, had buried her memory under layers of guilt and sorrow. Something had convinced him beyond all doubt that she was gone.
“Cullen,” she said softly, stepping closer as her free hand rested gently on his arm. Her touch was grounding, steady, just as he had once been for her. “Of course I’m alive. I promised I would make it through.” Her voice was soothing, filled with quiet conviction. “We vowed to survive the Blight. I kept that vow.”
The last of Cullen’s resistance crumbled in an instant. He pulled her into his arms, holding her with a desperation that bordered on fear, as if letting her go even slightly would mean losing her all over again. His face buried itself in her hair, and for a moment, the faint scent of cinnamon surrounded him—a scent that had lingered in his memories for years.
It was real. She was real.
The memories rushed over him: the nights spent talking under the stars, her laughter brightening even the darkest moments, the quiet strength she carried despite the weight on her shoulders. All the moments he thought were gone forever, now vivid again with her warmth in his arms.
“Ariana,” he murmured against her hair, his voice trembling. “I thought…I thought I had lost you. Maker, I thought I would never see you again.”
She held him just as tightly, her hand moving to the back of his neck in a gentle, grounding touch. “Cullen,” she murmured, her voice soft but unwavering. “I’m here. I never stopped trying to find you.”
Her words wrapped around him like a balm, soothing the raw edges of his pain. The ache in his chest, the guilt he had carried since the day he convinced himself she was gone—it all seemed to ease, if only for this moment. He closed his eyes, letting the reality of her presence tether him to this moment.
After a long silence, he loosened his hold, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes again. He searched her face with an intensity that carried all the questions and fears he hadn’t yet spoken. “How?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “How did you survive it all?”
Ariana smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “The same way you did,” she said softly, her voice steady and sure. “One day, one step, one promise at a time.”
Her words settled over him, a quiet reassurance that chased away the darkest shadows in his heart. For the first time in years, Cullen allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still light left in his world.
~~~
After what felt like an eternity, Cullen finally released her—well, almost. He kept her hand clasped tightly in his, as though letting go might make her vanish. Gently, he led her back to the table, where she subtly signaled to the waitress to bring her food and wine over to join him. With a quiet nod, she indicated for the staff to leave both open bottles and even an unopened one, then dismissed both the waitress and the proprietor with a silent plea to leave them undisturbed.
It wasn’t until the weight of the silence settled around them that Cullen, still lost in disbelief and wonder, finally looked around, noticing the empty Café. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What… where did everyone go?”
Ariana let out a soft laugh, a sound that seemed to bring light to the dim room. “There never were any other patrons, Cullen,” she admitted, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I may have… arranged for us to have the place to ourselves.”
His eyes widened in mild surprise, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I should have known,” he murmured, shaking his head, though his gaze softened with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years.
Ariana shrugged lightly, the playful spark in her eyes growing. “I wasn’t going to leave this to chance.”
They sat, still holding hands across the table reunited after what seemed like a lifetime apart. The candlelight flickered between them, casting soft shadows across his face, illuminating the lines that had settled there over the years—the lines of hardship, of worry, of loss.
Cullen’s fingers tightened around hers, as if afraid to let go. “I thought of you every day,” he admitted quietly, his voice a whisper just for her. “You kept me going through everything that came after… through everything here.”
Ariana’s expression softened, her thumb brushing over his hand in a gentle caress. “I know, Cullen,” she replied, her voice steady yet tender. “I felt it too… and it’s how I survived”
Ariana met his gaze, her eyes a swirl of emotions that had built over years of searching, hoping, and barely holding on. She took a deep breath, her voice unsteady but determined to share as much of the truth as she could bear.
“I searched everywhere for you, Cullen… Ferelden, Orlais—I combed every town, followed every rumor. I thought maybe, just maybe, the Templar Order would know something. Maker, I even tried asking at other Circles…” She paused, her eyes clouding with frustration as she struggled to explain. “But I was just… chasing shadows. And then the blight swept over villages, consuming everything in its path. Surviving was hard enough, I tried to get back to you after Crestwood flooded but it wasn’t easy, Ferelden fell into chaos around me.”
Cullen watched her, his expression torn between sorrow and something else—something fierce. The weight she carried was clear in her voice, in the way she spoke of the past years as if recounting a battle she barely survived. He could see it all, the strength she’d had to summon just to keep going and the pain buried beneath it.
“Ari…” His voice was a gentle plea, his hand closing around hers, warm and grounding. “Talk to me,” he urged softly, feeling the old, unbreakable urge to protect her as though no time had passed. Whatever darkness he had endured, seeing her here, alive, replaced it all with that unshakable devotion.
She took a shuddering breath, unable to meet his eyes fully. She’d never tell him everything—Krieger, the Crimson Blades, what he had done to her in those days she was at his mercy. How it was thoughts of him, of finding him that had given her the strength to survive that. To not bend to Krieger’s will. She wouldn’t burden Cullen with that pain. But she couldn’t quite hide the ache beneath her carefully chosen words.
“I survived, Cullen… barely. There were times when the darkspawn got too close, when I didn’t know if I’d see another dawn. But I kept going. I told myself I needed to survive. I needed to find you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a deep sadness. “Even after the blight, I thought maybe you’d be in Ferelden. I thought you’d… maybe left word, anything I could follow. But the Order they were so careful not to say a thing. And I just… I ran out of options.”
Her voice wavered, exhaustion creeping in, now that he was here in front of her and all those years were pressing down on her at once. She didn’t want him to know just how close she had come to giving up, or how she had nearly lost herself completely in the darkness. But looking at him now, she felt that veil slipping.
Cullen’s eyes softened, his fingers tracing slow, gentle circles over her hand, a silent reminder that he was here, that he’d listen to every word she had to say if she needed him to. She saw the strain in his face too, though, as though he too was carrying a darkness that weighed heavily on him.
“After all you’ve been through,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration but edged with sorrow, “you still kept looking. For me.”
Ariana managed a faint smile, though it was tinged with the frustration and heartache of all the years between them. “I told you, Cullen… I vowed to survive the blight, to find you, and I wasn’t about to break that promise. Not to you.”
He swallowed, emotions thick in his throat. “You’re here now,” he said softly, an almost reverent wonder in his voice, as though he couldn’t believe it even as he held her hand.
“Only by sheer luck,” she admitted, trying to let a bit of lightness into her tone but faltering. “If it weren’t for Varric, I don’t think I’d have ever found you… and even then, I nearly lost hope. All those years, Cullen, and not one word from you.”
Cullen’s grip tightened, regret flashing in his eyes. “I thought… I thought you were gone, Ari. I was certain of it,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “They told me Crestwood… they told me it was lost.”
She started to piece together now the events that led to him thinking she was dead. The last note she ever left him said she would wait in Crestwood as long as she could. Afterwards, it took her almost two months to make it back and by then…he was gone. I failed him, he never got word from me I was alive…
She looked at him then, her eyes holding his with a softness she’d held onto all these years. “I’m here,” she said, gently reminding him. “I’m here, and we’re both alive.”
As they sat together in the quiet Café, surrounded by the lingering glow of candlelight, Ariana felt a warmth returning, a sense of calm settling over the storm of years. They were finally here—together, after everything. And for now, that was enough.
~~~
It was a good thing she’d ordered that extra bottle of wine. Once the barriers between them fell, it was as if the years apart hadn’t happened at all. Hours slipped by as they talked and laughed, finding comfort in one another. They skirted around the darker parts of their journeys, each instinctively choosing to spare the other the worst of it. Instead, they fell back into who they used to be—two friends who could find light, even in the bleakest hours.
Eventually, the time came for them to leave the café, but neither was willing to part ways just yet. So, hand in hand, they walked through Hightown and toward the docks, their footsteps slow and unhurried. The city was quiet in the late evening, and the empty streets lent a sense of calm that felt like a gift.
As they strolled, Cullen squeezed her hand, glancing over with a hint of a smirk. “So, Varric Tethras was your ‘friend’ all along?” he asked, nudging her slightly.
For a brief moment, her face flickered with panic, and she replayed their conversation in her mind. She’d let Varric’s name slip earlier. Maker, he’s going to kill me. She sighed heavily, raising her eyes to the night sky. “Please, don’t ever repeat that, Cullen. Varric would… be severely disappointed in me.” Her tone was half-serious, but she knew Varric would never let her live it down.
To her surprise, Cullen laughed—really laughed, a sound she hadn’t heard in so long that it warmed her to her core. “He’ll never hear it from me,” he promised, his eyes twinkling with the familiar warmth that melted away the years between them. “You have my word.”
He squeezed her hand, his expression turning thoughtful. “But you know… I can’t help but wonder how exactly you came to befriend the infamous Varric Tethras in the first place.”
She glanced at him, a knowing look in her eyes. “You realize I really shouldn’t be telling you that.”
Cullen’s brow quirked in response, though his smile lingered. “Oh? So it’s quite the tale, then?”
“Let’s just say…” she paused, weighing her words with a sly smile, “that Varric was exactly the person I needed when I came to Kirkwall, back before the blight. I was… alone, in a new world, afraid, hiding…” She chuckled softly. “And it seems Varric has a thing for lost causes.”
She felt him watching her, his gaze a mixture of curiosity and warmth. With a sigh, she continued, the words coming easier than she’d expected. “I came to him with a little money, no plan, no friends. The trader who gave me passage here gave me his name, told me Varric could help me, especially in a place like Kirkwall. So I thought he could help me stay hidden. And… he did, in his own way. He gave me something to do, someone to trust. And that was more than I’d hoped for.”
Cullen’s hand tightened around hers, grounding her, as if he wanted to hold onto her past just as much as her present. “He sounds like a good friend.”
“He is,” she said softly, looking up at him, feeling the strength of his presence next to her. “But he’s not you, Cullen. No one was ever… you.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, the weight of the years lifting a little with each step. In that quiet space, she felt a sense of belonging she’d been missing since the day they’d parted.
~~~
Neither Ariana nor Cullen realized they were being watched. From a discreet distance, Varric and Hawke trailed behind them, keeping a close eye as they walked from the Café toward the docks. Varric had sworn he was just keeping tabs on his “Pup,” making sure she was safe. Hawke, however, seemed to find the whole thing hilariously amusing.
“Oh, look at them, Varric! Aren’t they adorable?” she teased, nudging him with a grin. “Here I thought you were the master of all love stories in this town, and yet you can’t handle a little romance.”
Varric’s scowl deepened, muttering under his breath. “It’s not that, Hawke. It’s… he’s probably not good enough for her, alright?”
Hawke let out a laugh, clearly reveling in his discomfort. “Face it, Varric. She’s grown up—and as much as you hate to admit it, Cullen makes her happy. You don’t get a say….dad”
Varric grumbled something incoherent, shaking his head. He’d spent months reading Ariana’s letters pining for this Templar, and now that she’d found him, he was annoyed to find he couldn’t bring himself to trust the guy. But even he had to admit that Cullen, walking beside her with the gentlest of smiles, looked like a completely different man than the Knight-Captain he knew. Ariana’s presence seemed to melt away the hard lines of duty on Cullen’s face.
Varric looked away, clearly wrestling with himself. “The girl’s got no sense. Did you hear her tell him about me? Maker’s breath, what was she thinking?” he muttered. “I trained her to keep her stories short, to not trust too quickly, and all it takes is one knight in shining armor to make her forget every rule.”
“Oh, come on, Varric,” Hawke grinned, thoroughly enjoying his fatherly rant. “I think it’s sweet. And face it, Tethras, Cullen’s got you beat.”
The dwarf shot her a withering glare. He looked back at Ariana and Cullen, unable to keep the faintest trace of a smile from tugging at his mouth as Cullen squeezed her hand, and she responded with a shy, bright smile of her own. “She’s happy, and Maker help me… maybe he is too.”
Hawke leaned in, her grin wicked. “See? That wasn’t so hard to admit. You know, for a second there, you almost looked proud of her.”
Varric rolled his eyes. “Proud? Maybe,” he sighed, begrudgingly. “But mostly annoyed.” And as they continued watching from a distance, he muttered under his breath, “If he breaks her heart, he’ll have Bianca to answer to, I swear.”
~~~
As she watched Cullen drift away into the night, Ariana’s heart swelled with a quiet joy. They were still… them. Somehow, despite the years and the weight of everything they’d endured separately, they could still find each other. Together, they could overcome anything—that much she was certain of. Smiling softly to herself, she began the familiar walk back to the Hanged Man, the night’s memories keeping her warm against the cool Kirkwall air.
But as she made her way through the docks toward Lowtown, two familiar figures appeared from the shadows—Varric and Hawke, stepping out as if they’d been waiting for her. Ariana stopped, a bit startled, then raised an eyebrow in amused suspicion. “And what exactly is going on here?”
Right on cue, Varric launched into a tirade. “You told him about me? After everything I’ve taught you?!” His eyes were wide, almost scandalized, though Ariana could see the affection beneath the bluster.
Ariana’s suspicion grew as she glanced between them, realizing they’d been following her. She turned her gaze to Hawke, arms crossed. “Really? You’re supposed to be the adult here, and yet you chose to be an accomplice?”
Hawke shrugged, an impish smile spreading across her face. “Believe me, I tried. But you know Varric—when he’s determined, there’s no stopping him.”
The two women shared a quick laugh, the kind of warm camaraderie that eased some of Ariana’s lingering nerves. But Varric wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily.
“Hey, don’t change the subject, Pup,” he said, looking thoroughly aggrieved. “After all my careful coaching, you go and give a Templar my name. Templars, Ariana. They’re trouble.”
Ariana bit back a smirk, lifting her chin in mild defiance. “Oh, come on, Varric. It’s not like you’re a mage, and besides, everyone knows Varric Tethras, Merchant Prince of Kirkwall.” She raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in her eye. “He already knew your name—just not that you knew me.”
Hawke grinned, leaning in with an encouraging nod. “She’s got a point, Varric.”
Varric glared at them both, muttering something about “smart-mouthed nobility and meddling rogues,” but Ariana caught the warmth in his eyes. She’d struck a nerve—he was worried, yes, but deep down, he was glad to have her back, even if it meant tolerating a Templar in her life.
“Getting involved with a Templar is trouble, it’s all I’m saying” Varric added almost sounding defeated.
Ariana held back a smirk, meeting Varric’s fatherly glare with a familiar deflection, the same words she and Cullen had used to keep everyone at bay back in Ferelden. “I’m not involved with him,” she said innocently, keeping her expression perfectly neutral. “He’s just a friend.”
Hawke let out a delighted laugh, nudging Varric with an elbow. “Just a friend, huh? Sure doesn’t look that way from here.”
Varric huffed, shaking his head, but his expression softened. “Just… be careful, alright?” he muttered, his tone all protective affection, his eyes lingering on her with a worry he didn’t try to hide.
Ariana placed a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Always, Varric.” She paused, her expression softening. “Thank you—for everything.”
Varric sighed but offered her a half-smile. “That’s what family’s for, right?”