Lost Figment

Tag: Emma

  • Chapter 79 – Through the Night

    29 -30 Justinian 9:41

    The following morning, Ariana woke up alone. Of course he’s gone already, she thought, the cold side of the bed a sharp contrast to the warmth of the covers she hadn’t wanted to leave. She sat up slowly, brushing her fingers through her hair as she glanced toward the window. The light was dim—dawn had barely broken—but she knew Cullen would already be moving, carrying the weight of his title before most had even stirred.

    The thought left a knot in her chest. He hadn’t been sleeping much lately, not even with her there to ground him. She could feel the fatigue radiating off him every time she touched his hand or caught his gaze. That bone-deep weariness was written in the lines of his face, and as much as he tried to hide it behind a composed mask, Ariana saw through it. She always did.

    Sliding out of bed, she dressed quickly, her boots barely making a sound on the stone floor as she descended toward his office. It was empty. Of course it is. The war room was her next stop, but from the bridge, she caught sight of Cullen below in the training yard, speaking with Riley. Relief mixed with mild irritation at how early he’d risen yet again.

    As she approached them, Cullen turned toward her, a faint smile softening his features. Even Riley glanced up with a smirk, though her usual sharp wit was tempered by an undercurrent of respect.

    “Well, you two are scheming early this morning,” Ariana quipped as she approached, tucking her hands into the folds of her coat.

    Cullen glanced up, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

    “Or maybe you’re just sleeping too much… Inquisitor,” Riley teased, her smirk sharp as a dagger.

    “Riley,” Ariana warned, her tone laced with mock severity, “I’ll make Valentina first lieutenant if you keep that up.”

    Riley laughed, unperturbed. “As if she’d take the job. She’s not ready to deal with your particular brand of difficult.”

    Ariana arched a brow but couldn’t suppress the faint tug of a smile. “Keep it up, Riley.”

    “I mean, you’re already picking up Alistair’s habits,” Riley continued, gesturing toward the reports in her hands. “Next thing you’ll tell me is to ‘fix all the things.’”

    “Well, I wasn’t going to say that… but it’s not a bad idea.” Ariana smirked, before adding, “Actually, who’s at the manor right now?”

    Riley tilted her head, considering. “I think Eshara and Ghis are there with their squads. Elliott too.”

    Ariana’s grin turned sly. “Eshara and Ghis again? Something there?”

    “Maybe,” Riley replied, her own expression knowing. “Haven’t figured it out yet, but it sure seems that way.”

    Shaking her head, Ariana waved the thought away. “Alright, send them to meet with Arl Teagan. The Hinterlands are still a mess. See if they can bring in the remaining rebel mages and Templars. And if they can’t, have them deal with it.” She glanced at Cullen. “Unless the Commander has objections?”

    “None,” he said, nodding. “Easier than deploying additional soldiers.”

    “You got it, Wolf,” Riley said, turning to leave. “Anything else?”

    “Stick around Skyhold for now. I’m going to need you.”

    Riley arched a brow at that but merely shrugged. “By your order, Wolf.”

    As Riley strode away, Ariana turned to Cullen. Her teasing smile faded, replaced by something softer, more concerned. “Did you sleep?” His exhaustion wasn’t new, but it was worse. She knew he worked harder when she was away—he’d all but confessed as much once—but this… this was different. Even with her here, he wasn’t resting.

    Cullen hesitated. “Ari, I came to bed with you last night.”

    “And yet…” Ariana’s gaze searched his, unyielding. “That wasn’t my question, Cullen.”

    He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ari—”

    “You can’t keep this up forever,” she interrupted, frustration threading through her voice. She didn’t want to push him here, not in the middle of the courtyard, but the words slipped out before she could stop them. Shaking her head, she forced a small, tired smile and turned to leave.

    Before she could take another step, his hand caught her wrist, the familiar warmth grounding her. “Come,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I have something to show you.”

    His faint smile and the light in his tired eyes stopped her short. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something he’d clearly planned. Against her better judgment, she nodded, letting him interlace his fingers with hers as he led her back toward the main hall. Instead of heading to the familiar corridors, he took a turn toward the guest quarters.

    “Where are we going?” she asked, her curiosity growing as he guided her toward the left wing.

    Cullen didn’t answer right away, though his smile widened as he pulled a blindfold from his pocket. “Put this on,” he said, the mischievous glint in his eyes deepening.

    Ariana stared at him, her eyebrows raising. “I’m sorry, what? You expect me to walk through Skyhold blindfolded?”

    “Trust me,” he replied simply, the confidence in his tone making her heart flutter.

    Ariana huffed but tied the blindfold over her eyes, curiosity outweighing her skepticism. “And now what?” she asked, arms crossed.

    Without warning, Cullen swept her off her feet. A soft gasp escaped her, quickly replaced by laughter. “Cullen, what are you doing?”

    “You’ll see,” he replied, his tone betraying a hint of mischief.

    The journey felt longer than it should have, her sense of direction muddled by the blindfold and the steady rhythm of his steps. Stairs—she counted more than she expected—then the faint creak of a door. Finally, he set her down gently, guiding her forward a few steps into the cold mountain air.

    “Close your eyes,” he murmured, his hands brushing against hers as he untied the blindfold. “You can open them now.”

    When she did, the sight before her stole her breath. They stood on a balcony high above Skyhold, the Frostback Mountains stretching endlessly in the distance. The sunlight danced across the snow-covered peaks, painting the world in hues of gold and white. Ariana turned, catching sight of the room behind them—a space unlike anything she’d seen before.

    The vaulted ceilings soared above, adorned with intricate banners and stained glass that caught the light. Rich carpets lined the stone floor, while tapestries and paintings gave the walls life. A grand bed sat against one wall, flanked by carved wooden tables. Shelves brimming with books lined the opposite side, and a couch and desk completed the space. The air carried the faint scent of pine and aged parchment, grounding her in the moment.

    “Cullen… what is this place?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “Your quarters,” he said simply, his smile widening.

    Her eyes darted between the furnishings, the balconies, the view. “What? How—when—” She couldn’t even form a coherent thought. All she could do was smile, her chest swelling with an unfamiliar warmth. She turned back to him, his knowing expression saying everything she needed to know. He had done this for her. Spent weeks planning and preparing this.

    It wasn’t just a room. It was a gift. A promise.

    And in that moment, she realized something she hadn’t before. Cullen, for all his insecurities about their past—her nobility, his common upbringing—had always doubted he could give her what he thought she deserved. No matter how many times she told him she didn’t care, that she didn’t need grand gestures or lavish displays, he had carried that weight. But now, as Commander of the Inquisition, he seemed to believe he finally could.

    This wasn’t just about the room. It was about him. About them. About the life they were building together.

    Without warning, she ran to him, jumping into his arms and wrapping herself around him. He caught her, laughing as she pressed kisses to his face, his neck, anywhere she could reach.

    “So,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “I take it you like it?”

    “It’s incredible,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. For once, she didn’t try to downplay the gesture or insist it wasn’t necessary. It was necessary—for him, for them. Her lips brushed against his. This time, the kiss was soft, lingering, filled with everything she couldn’t put into words.

    “And,” she added, her voice turning sultry as she leaned closer, “you know… it’s still early.” Her fingers trailed lightly along his jaw, her smile softening. “And we don’t get mornings like this often.”

    Her words carried a double meaning, one Cullen didn’t miss. It wasn’t just about the room, or the view, or the way his arms felt like home. It was the fleeting nature of these moments—stolen amidst the chaos of their lives—that made them precious. He was the Commander, she was the Inquisitor, and both of them knew that duty rarely left room for mornings like these. But here, now, they had carved one out.

    “That we don’t,” Cullen murmured, his lips quirking into a smile as he carried her toward the bed. “And I’d hate to waste it.”

    ~~~

    Despite the pleasant and surprising turn her morning had taken, Ariana’s thoughts kept drifting back to Cullen. The new quarters, his quiet pride in showing her something he had clearly spent weeks arranging—it had left her feeling closer to him than ever. But the worry remained. She knew he was pushing himself too far, and she would need to have that conversation with him soon. Not now, though. If she’d learned anything from their time in Kirkwall, it was that Cullen had a stubborn streak as wide as the Waking Sea, and pushing him at the wrong moment only led to frustration for them both.

    Instead, she turned her focus elsewhere. Passing through the main hall, she caught sight of Varric hunched over a table near the hearth, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork that could rival Cullen’s desk. The sight brought a wry smile to her lips. “Battling the demons of paperwork? That’s a fight nobody walks away from clean.”

    Varric looked up, his lips quirking into a grin. “You have no idea the number of times I’ve almost been killed by bills of lading. Paper cuts are a silent killer, Pup.”

    Ariana chuckled, stepping closer and glancing at the precarious stack of reports. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve sent Riley to save you. She loves a good battle.”

    “Riley would probably just add more paperwork to the pile,” Varric said, setting down his quill. But the usual ease in his voice faltered, replaced by something heavier. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her humor fading at the shift in his tone. “Should I be worried?”

    Varric hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I never officially joined the Inquisition, you know. I don’t really know how to do this… disciple-hood thing. I’m a businessman, not exactly the ‘follow the chosen one’ type.”

    Ariana crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Disciple-hood? Really, Varric? Maker’s breath, I don’t even know how to deal with all this. Just make something up. It’ll be fine.”

    Varric huffed a small laugh, some of the tension easing from his posture. “Oh, so we’re saving the world through bullshit now?”

    “Haven’t we always?” she replied with a shrug, her lips twitching into a faint smirk.

    “Well, alright, I can manage that.” Varric chuckled, shaking his head. But the humor was short-lived. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the papers in front of him. “Speaking of bullshit, though… I guess you want to know more about my history with Corypheus.”

    Ariana’s smirk faded as she took a seat across from him. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me.”

    He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Like Hawke said, it was after the Qunari uprising. The Hawke family was a target—assassins were being sent after them left and right. We tracked them to a ruin in the Vimmarks.”

    “Wait, assassins? You didn’t think to tell me that back then?” Ariana’s voice was sharp with disbelief, though not anger. “You both knew Valentina used to be a Crow, right? She could’ve helped.”

    “You were busy, Pup,” Varric said softly. “And still recovering. At first, it just seemed like any other job. Nothing we hadn’t handled before.”

    “But?” Ariana prompted, sensing the shift in his tone.

    “But,” Varric continued, “it turned out to be a trap. Once you got far enough into the ruin, there was this magical barrier—kept you from going back. The whole thing was a prison the Grey Wardens were using to hold what they thought was a powerful darkspawn.”

    Ariana frowned, leaning forward. “I’ve never heard of Wardens imprisoning darkspawn. Why not just kill him?”

    “That’s what we thought too.” Varric’s voice dropped, his gaze fixed on the table. “But I’m starting to think it wasn’t that simple. I think they locked him up because he couldn’t be killed.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed. “But you and Hawke both said you thought you killed him.”

    Varric’s head snapped up, his voice suddenly sharp. “We didn’t just think he was dead, Pup. He was dead. No pulse. No breath. Full of stab wounds. There wasn’t a lot of room for doubt.”

    She placed a hand over his, her voice gentle. “I believe you, Varric. It doesn’t make me feel any better to know that, but I believe you.”

    Varric let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “Maker’s breath, what have I let loose?”

    “You might be confused,” Ariana said, arching an eyebrow. “‘Brutally murdered’ isn’t really the same as ‘unleashed upon the world,’ Varric.”

    “In this case, it might be,” he muttered.

    Ariana studied him for a moment, her hand still resting on his. The weight of guilt he carried was evident in the tension around his eyes, the way his fingers fidgeted with the edge of a report. He and Hawke seemed to believe this was their fault—that their actions had somehow set Corypheus free. Maybe they had, in a way. But Ariana wasn’t so sure. Men like Corypheus didn’t seem the type to be stopped by a single misstep. If it hadn’t been them, it would have been someone else.

    She sat back, folding her arms. “You know this isn’t all on you, right?”

    Varric looked up at her, skepticism flickering in his gaze. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

    “Well, it shouldn’t,” she said firmly. “You didn’t put him in that prison, Varric. The Grey Wardens did. And if they thought locking him away was a good idea, maybe that’s where the blame belongs.”

    His lips quirked into a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Pup. You’re terrible at this whole absolution thing, but… thanks.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, leaning her elbows on the table. “I’m just saying, you’re not carrying this alone. You’ve got me. You’ve got Hawke. Hell, you’ve got half of Skyhold.”

    Their conversation eventually drifted to lighter topics, Varric’s humor slowly returning. But as Ariana left him to his mountain of paperwork, she couldn’t shake the image of his troubled expression. Corypheus wasn’t just a name to him—it was a wound, a ghost he couldn’t outrun. And as much as she wanted to believe they could stop this, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was right to be so afraid.

    ~~~

    If Ariana was going to figure out what was going on with Cullen, she was going to need help. And she knew just the right person—or people, rather. Isabel always had a way of noticing things, and Emma… Well, if anyone could spot when Cullen was distracted or distant, it was Emma. The girl adored him, and the feeling was mutual.

    It was nearing midday as Ariana made her way toward the kitchens, hoping she’d find them both there. With any luck, they’d still be in their usual rhythm of preparing lunch together. As she passed through the courtyard, her gaze caught on the battlements above. Cullen stood there, speaking with some soldiers. He gestured animatedly, his voice low but commanding, and she couldn’t help but smile. For a brief moment, he seemed… lighter, less weighed down by the exhaustion she had seen earlier.

    But she knew it wouldn’t last. Whatever was keeping him up at night wasn’t something a single moment of relief could fix. Shaking the thought away, she continued on her path.

    The warmth of the kitchen hit her immediately as she stepped inside, the scent of rosemary and fresh dough mingling in the air. Isabel stood at the counter, her hands deftly slicing herbs, while Emma was at her usual spot, kneading dough with an intense focus. It was a familiar, comforting sight, and for a moment, Ariana let herself relax.

    “Ariana, looking for lunch?” Isabel’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, her tone light but knowing.

    Ariana smiled, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Between the morning with Cullen and her conversation with Varric, she’d completely forgotten about food—and coffee, for that matter. “I… actually hadn’t thought about it, but now that you mention it, I haven’t eaten today.”

    “What am I to do with you, child?” Isabel chided, though her smile softened the words. There was no real frustration in her tone, just the gentle affection Ariana had come to rely on over the years.

    Ariana chuckled, moving closer to the counter. “Did you know? About the room Cullen prepared?”

    Isabel’s smile widened as she set down her knife. “I did. Who do you think arranged for all the furniture deliveries? That man loves you more than I think even he realizes.”

    Ariana’s heart warmed at the words, and she couldn’t help but smile. “And I love him, Isabel.”

    “Would you look at that? You two are finally not keeping secrets from each other… mostly,” Isabel said, though the teasing edge in her voice shifted at the end, leaving Ariana with a faint sense of unease.

    “Mostly?” Ariana raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into her tone. “Isabel, what do you mean by that? You sound like you know something.”

    Isabel’s gaze didn’t waver as she turned back to her herbs. “It’s not my place to tell you, child. And no, I don’t know everything he’s keeping. You’ll have to talk to him. But,” she paused, glancing at Emma, “we both know he’s not the only one with secrets.”

    Ariana stiffened, her sharp gaze meeting Isabel’s, though she waved a hand dismissively. She knew exactly what Isabel was referring to, and that wasn’t a conversation she planned on having—not now, and certainly not in front of Emma. “I do need to ask you something,” she said, steering the conversation back. “Has he been sleeping?”

    Isabel’s expression sobered, her shoulders sinking slightly. “Not much, from what I can tell. I’ll make his bed sometimes, and it stays that way for days at a time.”

    The answer didn’t surprise her, but it still left a pit in her stomach. Ariana glanced down at Emma, who was focused intently on her dough, her small hands working with care. “Hey, cub,” Ariana said softly, her voice lightening as she crouched to Emma’s level. “How’s it going there?”

    Emma beamed, her face lighting up as she looked at Ariana. “Good! Mom said we’re making rosemary bread!”

    “Rosemary bread? That sounds delightful,” Ariana replied, smiling as she reached out to gently ruffle Emma’s hair.

    “Have you been keeping up with your training, recruit?” she teased, a familiar playfulness in her tone.

    Emma shrugged, her enthusiasm dimming slightly. “Not as much. Cullen’s always busy…” She hesitated, her hands slowing on the dough. “He hasn’t come by much to read to me either…”

    The heartbreak in her voice was subtle, but it hit Ariana like a blow. Emma adored Cullen—he was like a father to her in every way that mattered. For him to neglect that time with her was unheard of. Ariana turned toward Isabel, whose expression mirrored her own concern.

    “I’m sorry, cub,” Ariana said gently, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of Emma’s hair behind her ear. “Cullen’s been really busy since we got to Skyhold. He just wants to make sure you’re safe, especially after Haven. But how about I talk to him?”

    Emma’s eyes lit up, though there was a hint of hesitation in her voice. “But don’t tell him I told you. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to get him in trouble.”

    Ariana pressed a kiss to Emma’s forehead, her smile warm and reassuring. “You’ve got it, cub. He won’t hear it from me.”

    Standing, she turned back to Isabel, who motioned for her to sit. “Now about that lunch…” Ariana said, her tone lighter as she slid onto a stool.

    But as Isabel set a plate in front of her, the knot in Ariana’s chest only tightened. Whatever was going on with Cullen ran deeper than she’d thought. If he was neglecting his sleep, his own well-being, and even Emma, it wasn’t just work weighing on him. And as much as she wanted to confront him immediately, she knew she had to tread carefully. This wasn’t something she could rush.

    As she ate the bread Isabel had set in front of her, a thought began to form. She chewed slowly, her mind racing. She couldn’t force Cullen to rest, but maybe… maybe she could pull him away from his desk. Just for one evening. He wouldn’t stop working for his own sake, but he would for her.

    “Isabel,” she said suddenly, setting her bread down. “I need another favor.”

    Isabel raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “What is it this time?”

    “Dinner,” Ariana said firmly. “I want to have dinner with him tonight. In the new quarters he prepared.”

    The smirk widened into a knowing smile. “You want me to make dinner for you both?”

    “Please,” Ariana said, her voice softening. “Make all of his favorites. You know them better than I do by now. And…” She hesitated, glancing at Emma before turning back to Isabel. “Make it special. I need him to step away from his work, just for one night.”

    Isabel’s expression softened, the teasing edge giving way to something warmer. “Of course, child. What time should I bring it up?”

    “Just after sundown,” Ariana said, her tone resolute. “Around seven.”

    “Consider it done,” Isabel replied with a small nod. “And Ariana… don’t push him too hard. If he’s anything like you, he’ll resist if you push.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, though the weight in her chest remained. “I know, Isabel. I’ll try.”

    As she finished her meal, she felt a flicker of hope. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a start. Tonight, she’d get him to stop, even if only for a little while.

    ~~~

    A knock at the door pulled Cullen from his thoughts. He set down his quill, sighing as he rubbed his temples. “Come in,” he called.

    The door creaked open, and a soldier stepped in, handing him a folded note before bowing and leaving without a word. Cullen’s brow furrowed as he unfolded the parchment, instantly recognizing Ariana’s handwriting:

    Dinner tonight? Our quarters?

    See you at seven.

    Love, Ari.

    Cullen couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. She was pulling him away, giving him an excuse to stop working. He knew it. And as much as he wanted to protest, he couldn’t. Their time together wasn’t guaranteed. Soon enough, she’d be off again, chasing down leads, walking into danger, and risking everything. The thought of wasting these rare, quiet moments felt like a betrayal of the promise he’d made when he asked her to marry him.

    He glanced at the clock, making a note of the time, before returning to his work. But the words on the page in front of him blurred, his focus fractured. The letter lingered in his mind, its simplicity carrying an unspoken plea: Be with me.

    The scent of rosemary and freshly baked bread greeted Cullen as he climbed the stairs to their quarters. It mingled with the rich aroma of roasted meat and potato leek soup, a favorite from his childhood. He chuckled under his breath. Of course she did.

    When he reached the top, his steps faltered. Ariana stood near the balcony, bathed in the warm glow of twilight. She wore a house robe—soft, elegant, and somehow making her seem more regal than anything she could ever wear as the Inquisitor. She turned toward him, her smile radiant and unguarded, and it struck him as it always did: how impossibly lucky he was.

    Her smile deepened as their eyes met, and she crossed the room to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Hello, stranger,” she teased, her voice warm and lilting.

    Cullen slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He said nothing, letting the moment stretch as he memorized the way she felt in his arms, the way she looked at him like he was her whole world. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, but Maker help him, he wouldn’t squander it.

    “Are you hungry?” she asked softly, her lips brushing against his ear.

    He nodded, afraid to speak and shatter the spell of her presence. She took his hand, leading him to the table she’d set near the balcony. The arrangement was simple but thoughtful, candles flickering in the cool evening breeze as the view of the Frostbacks framed the scene.

    Dinner began with easy conversation—new reports, her meeting with Varric, musings about Corypheus. But as the meal went on and the sun dipped below the horizon, Ariana’s gaze shifted. She rested her chin on her hand, studying him in that quiet, disarming way she had, as though peeling back every layer of his defenses.

    “Cullen,” she began, her tone deceptively casual, “before I left… you mentioned there was something you wanted to tell me. Something you’d been meaning to talk about.”

    His heart sank. He’d hoped she’d forgotten. Or perhaps he’d hoped he could keep avoiding it. But Ariana never forgot. And she never let anything go. His smile faded as he stiffened in his seat, his hand tightening around his fork. “It’s nothing urgent,” he said quickly, waving it off. “We don’t need to—”

    “Cullen,” she interrupted, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. Her gaze was steady, unyielding. “Don’t do that.”

    He sighed, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. He crossed to the balcony, the evening breeze cooling the heat rising in his chest. He gripped the railing tightly, his mind racing. How could he explain this without sending her into a spiral of worry? How could he reassure her when he wasn’t sure he could reassure himself?

    Ariana followed, stepping onto the balcony with the quiet grace he loved. She stood beside him, her presence grounding him even as her proximity stirred his unease. “Cullen,” she said softly, her voice laced with worry. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

    He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “As leader of the Inquisition, you… you need to know the risks I’ve taken.”

    Her brow furrowed, and he could feel her eyes on him. “What risks?”

    Cullen took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Lyrium grants templars their abilities, but it also controls us. Those who are cut off from it… they suffer. Some go mad. Others… die.”

    Her eyes widened slightly, and confusion flickered across her face. “I know this.”

    He nodded. “Then you know what I’m risking.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “I haven’t taken lyrium since I joined the Inquisition.”

    The silence that followed was deafening. Ariana’s hand came to her mouth as she stared at him, the implications sinking in. “Since Haven? Cullen, that was months ago. Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

    “I didn’t want to burden you,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “After Kirkwall… after everything… I couldn’t let it control me any longer. This is my choice.”

    Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she stepped closer, gripping his arm. “And if it kills you? What then?”

    “It hasn’t yet,” he replied quietly, his gaze dropping. “And I’ve taken precautions. Cassandra knows. If I become unfit to lead—”

    “Cassandra?” Ariana’s voice broke, her frustration and hurt spilling over. “You told Cassandra, but not me?”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as he saw the pain in her eyes. “You have enough to worry about, Ari. The Inquisition—”

    “I don’t care about the Inquisition,” she interrupted, her voice fierce. She grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her. “I care about you. You are my priority, Cullen, not this war.”

    Her words hit him like a hammer, shattering his resolve to shield her from this. He reached up, his hand covering hers as he closed his eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel this weight. I thought… I thought I was protecting you.”

    She shook her head, her voice softening but no less resolute. “We’re in this together. If you want me to take care of myself, to be honest with you, then you have to do the same. Don’t shut me out.”

    Cullen swallowed hard, guilt and love warring in his chest. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Ariana cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “Not good enough. Promise me.”

    “I promise,” he murmured, his voice steady this time.

    Ariana leaned her forehead against his, her tears finally spilling over. “We’ll get through this, Cullen. Together.”

    He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as her strength seeped into him. “Together,” he echoed, his voice laced with a quiet determination. For the first time in weeks, he felt the weight on his shoulders lighten, knowing she was with him, every step of the way.

    ~~~

    The restlessness had become unbearable. Ariana lay on her side, her head sinking into the pillow as her thoughts refused to quiet. She had tried everything—counting her breaths, focusing on the steady rhythm of Cullen’s beside her—but nothing worked. His words from earlier echoed in her mind, their weight settling into her chest like an anchor. After Kirkwall… after everything… I couldn’t let it control me any longer.

    She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling as the memory of his voice replayed again. The calm conviction in his tone was what unnerved her most. He had accepted this path—the risks, the suffering, the unknowns—but she couldn’t. Not yet. How could she? How could he carry all of this alone? The more she thought about it, the more she hated that he’d felt he had to.

    How do I help him? The question gnawed at her, fraying the edges of her composure. She’d heard whispers of lyrium withdrawal before—rumors exchanged by soldiers, fragments of stories shared by mages in hushed voices—but never anything concrete. What did it feel like? Was it a physical torment, a battle of the mind, or both? How bad was it?

    Her lack of understanding made her feel helpless, and Ariana hated feeling helpless.

    She shifted again, rolling onto her side to watch Cullen. He was asleep—something she had been desperate for him to do for weeks—but it was far from peaceful. The faint furrow of his brow, the occasional twitch of his fingers against the sheets, the tension that lingered even now… none of it escaped her notice. Even in sleep, he carried the weight of his struggle, and it broke her heart.

    Her hand hovered over his shoulder, caught in hesitation. Should she wake him? Would that be worse? She didn’t know, and that uncertainty only made the knot in her stomach tighten. At least he was resting, but she knew too well that sleep plagued by nightmares wasn’t restful. She had lived that reality herself, countless times.

    She sighed quietly, lowering her hand as she sat up in bed. Running her fingers through her disheveled hair, she tried to think of a solution. Think, Ariana. There had to be something she could do, someone she could turn to for guidance. Someone who understood what he was going through better than she did.

    Michael’s name crossed her mind first. He had spent his life in the Order, immersed in templar culture, and would undoubtedly know the answers she sought. But no—Michael had known Cullen too long. The second she began asking questions, he would go straight to him, and she didn’t want that. This wasn’t about doubting Cullen’s choice or his ability to lead. It was about supporting him without adding to his burden.

    Her thoughts spiraled for a while, frustration mounting until another name surfaced. Malcolm.

    Her breath caught, and hope flickered to life in her chest. Malcolm had been a templar once, just like Cullen. He had walked this path, survived the same torment Cullen was now enduring, and found a life beyond it. She had heard snippets of his story over the years—enough to know he understood what Cullen was going through in a way no one else could. And he was here, in Skyhold. She had seen him just the other day near the stables, helping with the supply inventory.

    He’ll understand. Malcolm wasn’t like Michael. He was discreet, practical. His loyalty was to her and her alone, he wouldn’t betray her confidence. He would give her the insight she needed without judgment or complication.

    Her resolve hardened. She would find Malcolm first thing in the morning. She would speak with him, learn everything she could, and figure out how best to help Cullen through this.

    For now, she forced herself to lie back down, though her heart still raced with worry. She glanced at Cullen again, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. His presence beside her offered some comfort, but not enough to quiet the storm in her mind. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand, as if grounding herself in the simple reminder that he was still here, still fighting.

    As the first hints of dawn began to creep through the window, Ariana stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts too loud to let her sleep. It wasn’t the comfort she had hoped for, but it was a plan. And that was something.

    ~~~

    At first light, Ariana was already dressed, her movements methodical despite the exhaustion from her sleepless night. She glanced over at Cullen, still asleep, his features softened by the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Her heart clenched as she watched him, knowing all too well that his rest wasn’t as peaceful as it appeared. The faint tension in his brow, the occasional twitch in his hand—it was clear his mind wasn’t at ease.

    She tore her gaze away, scribbling a quick note and leaving it on her pillow before slipping out of the room as quietly as possible. She had a mission this morning, one she hoped would give her the answers she so desperately needed.

    As she exited the main hall, the crisp air and muted hum of activity greeted her. Spotting Riley near the armory, Ariana quickened her pace.

    “Riley,” she called out, closing the gap between them. “Have you seen Malcolm this morning?”

    Riley turned, her expression curious. “Something wrong, Wolf?”

    Ariana shook her head quickly. “No, nothing like that. I just need to talk to him.”

    Riley’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t press further. “Last I saw, he was by the stables with Isabel.”

    “Thanks,” Ariana said, already moving.

    By the stables, she found Malcolm checking the saddles of a few horses, his steady hands inspecting every strap and buckle with practiced precision. His presence was grounding, a reminder of resilience and calm amidst chaos. Ariana hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts, before calling out.

    “Malcolm.”

    He turned at the sound of her voice, his sharp eyes softening when he saw her. “What’s on your mind, Wolf?”

    “Do you have a moment?” she asked, glancing around. “Somewhere private?”

    Malcolm’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity flickering across his features, but he nodded without hesitation. “Lead the way.”

    Ariana guided him to a quiet corner near the outer ramparts, the cold stone walls providing some semblance of solitude. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of frost and woodsmoke. She stopped, turning to face him, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her bracer.

    “Malcolm… I need to ask you something,” she began, her voice quieter now. “It might be… uncomfortable. If it is, you don’t have to answer.”

    His expression softened as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’ve got my attention, Wolf.”

    Ariana took a steadying breath, her gaze briefly flicking to the Frostbacks in the distance before meeting his eyes again. “What’s it like… for a templar to stop taking lyrium?”

    Malcolm tilted his head, his usual stoicism giving way to a faint hint of understanding. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, scratching his chin. “But I don’t mind telling you.”

    Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though the knot of tension in her chest remained.

    “It’s not an easy thing,” he began, his voice steady. “The withdrawal… it takes its toll. The first signs are small—fatigue, forgetfulness, cold that settles into your bones. But that’s just the beginning.”

    Ariana nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.

    “Then come the headaches,” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “Splitting, unrelenting headaches that make it feel like your skull’s being crushed. And the dreams…” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment. “Strange dreams, vivid ones. Nightmares, if you’ve got demons in your past. They creep in, haunt you when you’re most vulnerable. Sometimes it feels easier to avoid sleep altogether, though that comes with its own price.”

    Her heart sank as his words painted a clearer picture. That’s why he’s not sleeping. The realization hit her like a blow. “That sounds… unbearable,” she said softly.

    “It can be,” Malcolm admitted. “The first month is uncomfortable, but manageable. It’s the next few months that test you. After that, things start to ease—if you can endure the worst of it.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “But you’re not asking this out of idle curiosity, are you?”

    Ariana hesitated, her eyes drifting back to the horizon. “No… I’m not.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing. “Cullen… he told me he stopped taking lyrium when he joined the Inquisition. It’s been months.”

    Malcolm’s brow furrowed. “Months, you say?”

    She nodded, her voice quieter now. “He’s not sleeping. I know he sleeps less when I’m not here, but now… even when I’m with him, he barely rests. He says he can endure it, but…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “I need to know how to help him if it becomes too much.”

    Malcolm studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “If it’s been months, he’s through the worst of it. But if he’s not sleeping… the nightmares might be holding him back. That happens to those who’ve been through more than their share of darkness.”

    Ariana closed her eyes briefly, her mind flashing to the rumors she’d heard over the years. “Have you heard about what happened at Kinloch Hold during the Blight?”

    Malcolm’s eyes widened slightly. “Rumor was the tower fell to abominations. The stories said the entire place was overrun.”

    “It was,” Ariana said quietly. “And Cullen was there.”

    The weight of her words hung in the air, and Malcolm exhaled slowly, his expression grim. “Maker’s breath… that explains a lot.”

    “I don’t know the details,” she admitted, her voice tight. “He’s never spoken of it. But it haunts him. I see it in his eyes sometimes, and now, I think… I think it’s why he can’t sleep.”

    Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. “Cullen’s strong. Stubborn as a mountain, from what I’ve seen. But he’s carrying a heavy load. It helps to have something—or someone—to fight for. A focus. That can make all the difference.”

    “How do I help him?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “How do I make this easier for him?”

    Malcolm placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Just be there, Wolf. When it gets too much, remind him he doesn’t have to bear it alone. And make sure he takes care of himself—eats, rests, doesn’t push too hard. Exhaustion makes everything worse.”

    Her throat tightened, but she nodded. “Thank you, Malcolm.”

    “Anytime, Wolf,” he said with a small smile. “And if you ever need to talk—or need advice—you know where to find me.”

    Ariana offered a faint smile in return, though the weight of her concern lingered as she turned back toward the main hall. She felt a glimmer of relief, but the path ahead was still unclear. For now, she had a little more clarity, and that was enough to keep her moving forward.

    ~~~

    Cullen stirred at the sound of the door opening, his body still heavy with the remnants of sleep. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering into the room. The scent of Ariana’s cinnamon-laced hair lingered on the pillow beside him, grounding him in the moment. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, and caught sight of her as she entered the room.

    His confusion was immediate. She’d left before dawn—he’d barely registered her departure, assuming she had been called away to deal with some matter for the Rangers. Now, she stood at the door, her expression unreadable but softened by a faint smile.

    “Where were you?” he asked, his voice gravelly from sleep.

    “Catching up with the Rangers,” she replied lightly, her tone almost too casual. “Nothing urgent.”

    Cullen frowned faintly, sitting up fully. Something about her demeanor unsettled him. She seemed… different. The weight from last night’s conversation wasn’t there, or at least it didn’t seem to be. Instead, she moved with an ease that made him wonder if he had imagined her distress entirely.

    Before he could ask more, she started to remove her bracers, setting them on the nearby table with a soft clink. His frown deepened as she unfastened her cloak, letting it fall to the chair, followed by her boots.

    “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing further. His mind was already beginning to shift toward the day ahead, the reports waiting for him, the preparations for their next campaign.

    She didn’t answer him. Instead, she slipped out of her tunic, revealing the thin shift beneath. His breath caught in his throat as she crossed the room and climbed onto the bed with deliberate grace, straddling him and settling herself on his lap. Her sudden closeness threw him off balance, her weight grounding him in place.

    “Ariana?” His hands instinctively moved to her hips, his confusion evident in his voice. “What’s going on?”

    “I’m going back to bed,” she said simply, her voice low and teasing, her hazel-green eyes glinting with mischief.

    Cullen blinked, caught entirely off guard. Her attitude was unlike anything he had expected. The worry, the intensity from last night—it was still there in her eyes, but now it was mingled with something else. Determination. Resolve. And something far more intoxicating.

    “Ari…” he started, his tone cautious. “What’s—”

    She silenced him with a kiss, her lips pressing against his with a firmness that stole his breath. His protest faltered, his mind scrambling to catch up with her actions. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing against his.

    When she pulled back, his heart was pounding in his chest. “What are you doing?” he asked again, his voice lower now, edged with something he couldn’t quite name.

    She leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw, then trailing down his neck. “I told you,” she murmured against his skin, her breath warm and sending a shiver down his spine. “I’m going back to bed.”

    His grip on her hips tightened slightly as he tried to regain control of the situation, of himself. “Ariana, if something’s wrong—”

    She cut him off again, this time with a softer kiss, her fingers trailing along his bare chest beneath the blanket. “The only thing wrong,” she said between kisses, her voice husky, “is how much you’ve been neglecting yourself.”

    Cullen’s breath hitched as her words sank in, her touch making it harder to think clearly. “Ari, I—”

    “You’ve done enough worrying,” she interrupted, her lips brushing against his again. “Now it’s time to focus on something else. On me. On us.”

    Her words settled deep in his chest, disarming him entirely. He wanted to argue, to tell her he didn’t have time for this, that there was too much to do. But the way she looked at him—the fierce determination in her gaze, the heat in her touch—it stripped away every defense he tried to muster.

    Her lips found his again, and this time, he didn’t resist. The tension in his shoulders melted as his hands slid up her back, pulling her closer. Whatever concerns had plagued his mind moments ago were drowned out by the sensation of her body against his, the soft weight of her pressing him into the mattress.

    “I need you,” she whispered, her voice a mix of vulnerability and desire. “Let me take care of you.”

    His breath left him in a shaky exhale, her words cutting through every barrier he had built around himself. “Ari…” he began, his tone faltering.

    “Cullen,” she said, her hands cupping his face as she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Please. Just let me. Don’t fight me on this.”

    He stared at her, his heart pounding, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words. The weight of her emotions, the sheer intensity of her presence, left him speechless. Slowly, he nodded, his hands moving to her waist as he leaned up to capture her lips in a kiss that carried all the things he couldn’t say.

    Her response was immediate, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she deepened the kiss. But something in him shifted—an edge of determination cutting through the haze of her touch. Without warning, his grip on her waist tightened, and in one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, positioning himself above her.

    Ariana let out a soft gasp of surprise, her hair spilling across the pillow like a dark halo. But the look in her eyes—bright, intent, and brimming with desire—only encouraged him. His golden gaze held hers as he leaned down, his hands braced on either side of her, caging her in.

    “Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice low, roughened by emotion and barely restrained need.

    She smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that made his pulse quicken. Her fingers trailed up his arms, settling on his shoulders as she arched slightly beneath him. “Exactly what I want,” she murmured, her tone soft yet certain. “I want you.”

    Her words undid him. The hesitation, the doubt he had clung to—gone. All that remained was the feel of her beneath him, the way her body molded to his, and the trust in her eyes that made him want to give her everything.

    His lips found hers again, this time with more urgency, more intent. His hand slid along her side, memorizing the curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. She responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as her legs shifted to wrap around him.

    Cullen broke the kiss only to press his lips to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Each touch drew a soft sigh or a breathless whisper from her, and he reveled in the way she came alive beneath him, her focus entirely on him, just as his was entirely on her.

    “You’re relentless,” he murmured against her skin, a smile tugging at his lips even as his voice carried the weight of his admiration.

    “You love it,” she teased back, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back, her touch equal parts soothing and electrifying.

    He pulled back slightly to look at her, his golden eyes darkened with an emotion so intense it made her breath catch. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but heavy with meaning.

    Ariana smiled again, softer this time, her hands sliding up to cradle his face. “Then show me,” she whispered, her gaze locking with his. “Show me you’re here. Show me you’re mine.”

    That was all it took. Whatever weight lingered in his heart, whatever fears or doubts clawed at the edges of his mind—they fell away. In this moment, with her, nothing else mattered.

    And as he kissed her again, slow and deliberate, he let himself believe that this—this connection, this love—was enough to keep him grounded, no matter what battles lay ahead.

  • Chapter 73 – A Renewed Purpose

    24 Bloomingtide 9:41

    Cullen carried Ariana through the snow, the weight of her limp body far less heavy than the storm of emotions surging within him. Relief, fear, and disbelief warred for dominance as he looked down at her pale face, her dark hair streaked with frost and matted with snow. Her breathing was shallow, each faint exhale a fragile thread tethering her to life.

    Riley caught up to him, her boots crunching through the snow as she matched his pace. Her gaze fixed on Ariana, and her lips trembled as she pressed a trembling hand to Ariana’s forehead. “She’s so cold… but she’s alive,” Riley murmured, her voice cracking under the weight of her relief. She cupped Ariana’s face, her thumb brushing over her cheek, before leaning her forehead gently against hers. “Maker forgive me, but I swear I’m going to kill you when you wake up,” she whispered, her tone a fragile mix of affection and frustration.

    Pulling back, Riley looked up at Cullen with tears glistening in her eyes, a faint, shaky smile breaking through her disbelief. “I told you she’d make it.”

    Cullen let out a small, breathless laugh, though the sound was laced with tension and frayed nerves. “That you did, Lieutenant. Thank you.” His voice softened as his gaze returned to Ariana, his expression raw. “Let’s get her to the healers. She’s hurt… I think her ribs are broken. She flinched when I picked her up.”

    Riley nodded, falling into step beside him. “She’ll pull through. She has to.” Her words carried a fierce determination, but the fear beneath them was unmistakable.

    The camp was a hive of frantic activity, its flickering fires casting warm halos against the swirling remnants of the storm. Soldiers and villagers moved with purpose, their breaths visible in the cold air. Cullen barely registered the chaos, his focus singular. A Ranger pointed them toward a larger tent where Grand Enchanter Fiona and Mother Giselle waited, their calm, steady presence grounding amidst the whirlwind.

    “Lay her down, Commander,” Fiona instructed, motioning to a cot. Her voice was gentle but carried an authority that brooked no argument.

    Cullen knelt carefully, lowering Ariana onto the cot as though she were made of glass. His hands lingered on her briefly before he forced himself to pull away, his heart pounding. “She was holding her side,” he said, his voice tight with worry. “Her ribs—she’s been in pain for hours. Maybe longer.”

    Fiona nodded, her hands already moving to assess Ariana’s injuries. “It’s possible her ribs are broken, but I won’t know the extent until I’ve examined her thoroughly. Whatever she’s endured, Commander, she’s strong. To make it this far… it’s remarkable.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened as he reached for Ariana’s hand, his thumb brushing lightly against her icy skin. His voice was barely audible. “She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

    Fiona paused briefly to glance up at him, her expression softening. “Commander, I know it’s hard, but you must let me work. Trust me—she’s in good hands. My best healers are on their way. We’ll take care of her.”

    Her words struck him like a blow, the truth of them clear. He swallowed hard and nodded, his fingers releasing Ariana’s hand reluctantly. “Please… keep me informed,” he managed, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

    “I will,” Fiona said gently. “You have my word. Now go. She needs warmth, rest, and healing—and so do you. She’ll need you when she wakes.”

    Cullen stepped out of the tent, the cold air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. His eyes lifted to the mountains looming beyond the camp, the remnants of the storm swirling around their peaks. For the first time since Ariana had made the decision to recruit the mages, he felt truly grateful. Without their presence, their healers, her chances…

    No, he thought. I can’t think like that. She will survive this.

    He reached into his pocket, his gloved hand closing around the ring she had entrusted to him. Its weight was small, but the promise it carried felt infinite. He held it tightly, his resolve hardening with each beat of his heart.

    If you can survive this, Ariana… I swear to you, I’ll never let you go again. Whatever else we need to face, whatever we need to say… You’re mine. And I’ll make sure the world knows it. That you know it.

    The faint warmth of the fires flickered in the distance, but Cullen’s focus remained on the ring and the thought of her eyes opening again. Please, Maker. Just bring her back.

    ~~~

    The camp had settled into a tense rhythm as the night dragged on. Cullen sat outside Ariana’s tent, his shoulders hunched against the cold as he stared into the darkness beyond the campfires. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him, but it was nothing compared to the storm of emotions churning inside. For now, all he could do was wait.

    The ring in his gloved hand felt heavier than it should, its edges biting into his palm as he turned it over and over. He had carried her through the snow, watched Fiona work to stabilize her, and now, with Ariana’s life hanging by a thread, all that remained was hope. The thought of losing her again, after all they had endured, was almost unbearable.

    Riley approached quietly, her steps muffled by the snow. Her arms were full of blankets, and her expression was a mix of exhaustion and cautious hope. She set the blankets down beside him before speaking.

    “You should rest, Cullen,” she said softly. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

    “I can’t,” he replied, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains. “Not while she’s still like this.”

    “She’s tough,” Riley said, her tone firm with conviction. “She’ll pull through.”

    Cullen shook his head, the guilt in his chest twisting tighter. “It wasn’t just her choice, Riley. I gave the orders. I told the soldiers to load the trebuchet, knowing what it meant.” His voice tightened. “I helped her stay behind.”

    Riley stepped closer, her tone steady but resolute. “She would’ve stayed either way. You know as well as I do—when she decides something, there’s no stopping her.”

    His fingers closed around the ring, the familiar weight grounding him. “And somehow, she survived. Again.” His gaze remained distant, his voice raw. “She believes in me—believes I’m someone worth following. But what if I’m not? What if I let her down?”

    Riley hesitated, the usual confidence in her demeanor softening for a moment. She glanced at the healer’s tent, her expression flickering with something unspoken before she looked back at him. “Cullen, do you know why I follow her? Why all of the Vanguard do?”

    He shook his head, his brow furrowing. “Because she’s strong,” he guessed, though his tone lacked conviction.

    “It’s more than that,” Riley said quietly, her voice almost reverent. “She never lets fear win. Even when she has every reason to. That’s what makes her strong, yes, but it’s also why she inspires us. She’s not just our leader, Cullen—she’s our hope. And right now, she’s placed that hope in you.”

    Cullen frowned, the weight of her words sinking in. Before he could respond, Riley pressed on, her tone firm.

    “If Wolf believes in you, then the Rangers will stand with you. No matter what you decide, no matter where this fight takes us. You’re one of the few people she trusts to protect her—and we trust her without question. That means we’ll trust you too.”

    The breath Cullen hadn’t realized he was holding left him in a slow exhale. Riley’s words were both a reassurance and a challenge, their weight settling heavily on his shoulders. He nodded slowly, though his voice was tight with emotion when he spoke. “Thank you, Riley.”

    She offered a faint, encouraging smile, her usual sharp edge returning as she added, “So don’t screw it up, Commander. She’s counting on you—and so are we.”

    Before Cullen could respond, Cassandra’s voice broke through the moment. “Cullen, we need you at the strategy meeting.”

    He hesitated, his gaze lingering on the tent where Ariana lay. Riley touched his arm briefly, her voice low.

    “She’s still here, Cullen. That’s what matters. And she’s going to be fine. I know it.”

    Her words were firm, but Cullen could see the flicker of doubt she was hiding. He nodded slowly, rising to his feet. “Thank you,” he said quietly, though the words felt insufficient.

    The strategy tent was dimly lit, the makeshift table cluttered with maps and reports, their edges curling from exposure to the cold. Leliana and Josephine were already deep in discussion, their voices low but urgent. Cassandra stood nearby, her posture rigid as she waited for Cullen to join them.

    “Any updates?” Leliana asked as Cullen entered.

    “Fiona says she’s stable,” he replied, taking a seat. “But she needs time. That’s all we can give her for now.”

    “And Haven?” Josephine asked, her voice laced with quiet despair.

    “Buried,” Cullen said bluntly. “There’s nothing left.”

    Leliana leaned over the map, tracing a narrow route to the west with her gloved finger. “The avalanche bought us time, but not much. Corypheus’s forces won’t stop just because they’ve been delayed.”

    “Then we move,” Cassandra said sharply. “We can’t afford to stay exposed here.”

    “Move where?” Josephine countered, her arms crossed. “We’ve lost too many supplies. The villagers are exhausted. Another march could break them.”

    “Then we stay and fortify,” Cassandra argued. “This pass is defensible—narrow enough to hold.”

    “With what soldiers?” Leliana interjected. “Half of them can barely stand, and the rest are frostbitten. We’d never withstand a prolonged assault.”

    “The Rangers will hold the pass,” Riley cut in, her voice steady as she entered the tent. “So long as Wolf is here, we’ll hold it to the last man.”

    Cassandra turned to her, skepticism in her tone. “Even the Rangers must be near their limit.”

    Riley smirked faintly, her confidence unwavering. “You don’t know us, Seeker. We’re tired, but we don’t give up. Not when she’s still fighting.”

    The argument continued, voices rising and falling as they debated every detail. Cullen leaned against the table, his fingers pressing into the wood. The tension was suffocating, the indecision maddening. His thoughts drifted back to Ariana, lying motionless in the healer’s tent.

    You’re the leader Thedas needs right now. Her words echoed in his mind, a quiet but insistent reminder. He clenched his fists, willing himself to believe it.

    “We need a plan,” Cullen said abruptly, his voice cutting through the noise. “Not another argument. The soldiers need orders. The villagers need direction. Staying here is not an option.”

    “And going east is?” Cassandra asked, her tone challenging.

    “It’s the only viable choice,” Cullen replied firmly. “The valley is low enough to shield us from the worst of the weather, and it gives us room to regroup and scout for resources.”

    The group fell silent, the weight of the decision settling over them. Leliana studied Cullen for a long moment before nodding. “We’ll send scouts ahead. If the valley is clear, we move.”

    Cullen nodded, though his thoughts remained heavy. As the others returned to planning, his gaze drifted once more to the healer’s tent. If I can’t believe in myself, then I’ll believe in her belief. I won’t let her down.

    Maker, give me strength—to be the man she believes I am.

    ~~~

    The voices outside were a constant, muffled by the thick canvas of the tent but unmistakable in their tension. Ariana blinked against the dim light, her vision hazy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Her body felt heavy, every ache and bruise screaming in protest as she shifted on the cot. The smell of herbs and faint traces of burning wood filled her nose, grounding her in the present.

    “Ah, you’re awake,” Mother Giselle’s gentle voice broke through the fog. She approached, her hands clasped tightly before her. Relief softened her features, though worry lingered in her eyes. “You shouldn’t try to move just yet. Your body needs time.”

    Ariana ignored the admonition, gritting her teeth as she pushed herself upright. Every breath was sharp and shallow, her ribs protesting the movement. “The arguing,” she croaked, her voice raspy and low. “It’s been going on for hours.”

    Giselle knelt beside her, dipping a cloth into a bowl of cool water. “The leaders have yet to reach an accord. Tensions run high, as does the uncertainty. It is… a difficult time.”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, wincing at the sharp pull in her chest. “It’s always a difficult time,” she muttered, pressing her palm against her forehead. “Don’t they realize there’s no time for this? Not now.”

    “They realize, but even the wisest minds falter when direction seems impossible to find,” Giselle said gently, handing Ariana the damp cloth. “They feel the weight of their choices as heavily as you do.”

    Ariana pressed the cloth to her face, the coolness soothing against her skin but doing little for the fire simmering inside her. She thought of Haven—the people they’d lost, the camp buried beneath snow and ash. The endless arguing felt like a betrayal to those who had sacrificed so much.

    She let the cloth fall into her lap, her gaze distant. “I thought Cullen would be the one to lead us,” she murmured. “I’ve seen him on the battlefield. He doesn’t hesitate. He knows exactly what to do.” Her tone softened, tinged with frustration. “But here…”

    Giselle tilted her head, her expression contemplative. “The Commander is certainly capable of commanding troops and making quick decisions. His soldiers trust him. But leading the Inquisition? It is not a burden he has accepted.”

    Ariana watched her for a moment, thinking through her words. She was right, of course. She admired Cullen. She had watched the way he didn’t hesitate to make a decision when Haven was under attack. There was never any second-guessing; taking control seemed as natural as breathing for him. But then, she had also watched the debates in the war room, and she had lived with him in Kirkwall. He hated politics, he hated managing personalities and diplomacy. Though he was an expert at finding diplomatic compromises, she still believed he could lead the Inquisition. But if she had to guess, he didn’t want to. Maybe she would need to push him, to make him realize he could do this. 

    If only Cullen saw himself the way I do—unflinching in battle, unyielding in his convictions. But he doesn’t want this, not the way they need someone to want it.

    Ariana frowned, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket. “He doesn’t want it,” she admitted quietly. “But I believe he could do it. He could lead this.”

    Giselle gave her a measured look. “Perhaps he could. But would he?”

    The question lingered in the air, unanswered.

    “Do we even know where Corypheus is?” Ariana asked, her frustration mounting.

    “We are not entirely sure where we are,” Giselle admitted, her voice heavy. “That may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead. Or without Haven, we are thought helpless. Or…” She paused, frowning. “Or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us.”

    Ariana sighed, her shoulders sagging. “So, we’re blind and scattered. That’s reassuring.”

    Giselle hesitated but nodded. Her gaze softened as she studied Ariana. “Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand… and fall. And now, we have seen her return.”

    Ariana frowned, standing up before responding. “I didn’t die, Mother Giselle. Barely escaped, maybe. But I didn’t die.”

    “Of course, and the dead cannot return from across the Veil,” Giselle replied, her tone calm, almost soothing. “But the people know what they saw. Or perhaps, what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

    Ariana shook her head slowly, her fingers brushing against the mark on her hand as it flickered faintly. “I don’t believe in miracles, Mother Giselle. I believe in fate, maybe. That it wasn’t my time. But a miracle?” Her voice softened, though a bitter edge lingered. “No. I survived because I had no other choice.” Because I had orders the thought made her smile faintly.

    “And yet you are here,” Giselle said softly. “Whether by fate or by sheer will, you endured. That alone gives people hope.”

    Hope. The word lingered in Ariana’s mind, tangled with the weight of Haven’s destruction and the lives now at stake. “Hope isn’t enough to fight Corypheus,” she said after a long pause, her voice low but steady. “We can’t beat him with prayers and stories. We need plans. Action.”

    Giselle studied her, her gaze unwavering. “Plans need strength to anchor them. And you, Herald, are stronger than you realize.”

    Ariana gave a short laugh, bitter and sharp. “I’m just trying to keep everyone alive.”

    “And they see that,” Giselle said softly. “They follow you, even if you do not see yourself as their leader.”

    “I’m not their leader,” Ariana replied, her voice hard. “I’m the White Wolf. My Rangers know who I am. Out here, we protect those who can’t protect themselves. That’s it. This isn’t what I do. I don’t have to worry about political alliances or borders. I don’t have to spend my time courting nobles. We help people, we take on simple jobs that are defined. Even helping to rebuild Ferelden was a series of known tasks. The Inquisition? I don’t know what to do with that.”

    “And yet, you are more,” Giselle insisted. “You give them hope.”

    Ariana fell silent, the words weighing heavily on her. She never set out to inspire hope. But that was what the White Wolf had done for Ferelden. If she needed to do it again, she would.

    Giselle placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch warm and steady. “Leadership is rarely sought, but it is often found in those who bear the weight without realizing they carry it.” she smiled as if trying to reassure her “You should get some rest.”

    The sound of raised voices outside snapped her focus. She forced herself to her feet, ignoring Giselle’s protests. Pain rippled through her ribs, but she steadied herself against the post.

    “I’ll rest when they stop arguing,” Ariana replied. Her voice was quiet but resolute. “This has to stop.”

    She stepped outside, the cold air biting at her skin, waking her fully. The camp was alive with activity, fires flickering against the backdrop of the night. The murmur of voices and the distant crackle of tension hung heavy in the air.

    Ariana scanned the camp, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the tent where the arguing persisted. She straightened, each step sharp and deliberate as she approached.

    The Inquisition needed leadership, and if its leaders couldn’t rise to the occasion, then someone would have to remind them what they were fighting for.

    She might not be the leader they were looking for, but the White Wolf had never needed permission to do what was right.

    ~~~

    The argument continued to spiral, voices overlapping as frustration spilled into the open air.

    “What would you have me tell them?” Cullen demanded, his tone sharper than usual. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

    Cassandra squared her shoulders, her voice firm. “We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!”

    Cullen turned to her, his brow furrowing deeper, frustration tightening his features. Guilt flickered beneath his words as he added, “We need a consensus, or we’ll tear ourselves apart before we can even move forward!”

    “Please, we must use reason!” Josephine interjected, her tone placating but strained. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

    “That can’t come from nowhere!” Cullen retorted, throwing up his hands.

    Leliana’s voice cut through, sharp and unyielding. “She didn’t say it could!”

    “Enough!” Cassandra snapped, her patience wearing thin. “This is getting us nowhere!”

    “Well, we’re agreed on that much!” Cullen shot back.

    “Could you all stop bickering and make a decision?” Ariana’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

    The group froze, turning to face her. They hadn’t noticed her approach, and the sight of her standing there—worn but resolute—rendered them momentarily speechless. Her gaze swept over them, sharp and unyielding, as if daring anyone to argue.

    “You’re awake,” Cullen said, relief and something deeper flashing across his face, though his tone remained steady. For a brief moment, his guarded composure seemed to crack, his eyes tracing her as if to reassure himself that she was really there.

    Ariana felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him. Relief, guilt, and frustration swirled inside her, but she pushed it all down, focusing on the task at hand. “Didn’t have a choice,” she replied, her voice sharper than she intended. Crossing her arms despite the sharp protest from her ribs, she added, “I could hear you halfway across the camp. Do you honestly think this is helping anyone?”

    Cassandra’s expression softened slightly, though her posture remained tense. “You should be resting.”

    “And you should be leading, but here we are.” Ariana countered, her tone sharp as she turned her attention to Riley, standing off to the side of the table. “Riley, please tell me you haven’t just been sitting here watching this.”

    Riley scoffed, her arms crossed as she stepped forward. “Of course not. Who do you take me for, Wolf? Who do you think has been keeping this camp together while this lot argued and you slept?”

    The leaders all turned to Riley, their expressions a mix of surprise and embarrassment. It was as though they hadn’t noticed her presence until now.

    Ariana chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I imagine they weren’t ready for that, were they?”

    Riley grinned, her tone light but pointed. “Not even close. I’ve been running this camp since the avalanche, Wolf. Someone had to.”

    “You sure you’re up for this?” Riley added with a smirk. “You look like you just fought an avalanche. Oh, wait…”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, though a faint smirk crossed her lips. “What have you got for me?”

    Riley approached the makeshift table, gesturing at the maps. “We’ve scavenged enough food and firewood for a couple of days. Found a fresh water source and have been collecting snow. Isabel’s sorted the remaining supplies from Haven, and I’ve got scouting parties charting all potential paths. So far, nothing concrete.”

    “You have scouting parties and didn’t report to us?” Leliana interjected, her tone sharp.

    Riley shot Leliana a glare, but Ariana cut in before the exchange could escalate. “She doesn’t have anything concrete yet, and honestly, I don’t blame her for not prioritizing more of this petty back-and-forth.”

    The group exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions flickering between offense and regret.

    “Any other options? Does anyone have another plan?” Ariana asked, her tone pointed.

    Josephine stepped forward, her voice calmer now. “We’re trying to determine that, Herald. But with so much lost…”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her patience thinning. “Then decide,” she interrupted. “This isn’t the time for endless debates. Pick a path and commit to it, or we’ll lose whatever unity we have left.”

    Her words landed heavily in the tense silence, a stark reminder of the stakes they faced. Cassandra was the first to respond, her nod sharp and deliberate. “You’re right. We need to move forward.”

    Ariana gave a curt nod, her gaze sweeping over the group. “Good. Now, what’s the plan?”

    Before anyone could answer, a calm, familiar voice interrupted. “Herald, if I may have a moment of your time?”

    Ariana turned to see Solas approaching, his expression serene yet unreadable. She sighed, motioning toward the leadership. “Think about a plan, preferably without arguing. I’ll be back.”

    She hesitated at the edge of the tent, casting a look back over her shoulder. “Riley, if they start arguing again, separate them. I don’t care how. Just make sure I don’t hear another word unless I’m standing on this crate.”

    Riley smirked, saluting playfully. “By your order, Wolf.”

    Ariana turned and followed Solas, leaving the leadership to grapple with the decisions they had long delayed. As she walked away, she allowed herself a small, fleeting smile at Riley’s unwavering confidence—proof that even in the chaos, some things remained certain.

    ~~~

    Ariana followed Solas to the edge of the camp, away from the fires and the noise of arguing voices. The blizzard had finally eased, leaving a sharp chill in the air that bit at her exposed skin. Her breaths came shallow, each one a reminder of her battered ribs, but she pushed through the discomfort. Solas walked ahead, his steps deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped near a cluster of frost-covered rocks, his gaze fixed on the horizon, though Ariana suspected he was looking far beyond it.

    “You asked Corypheus what he was,” Solas began, his voice measured and calm, “and I suspect he gave you a rather unhelpful answer.”

    Ariana crossed her arms, the movement stiff but grounding. “You could say that. Something about being Tevinter and seeing the throne of the gods.” She hesitated, the memory of Corypheus’s orb flashing in her mind. “Then there was that orb…” Her voice trailed off as a realization dawned. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

    Solas turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. “The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used to open the Breach—it is Elvhen,” he said, the words heavy with meaning.

    “Elvhen?” Ariana echoed, the curiosity in her tone tempered by a flicker of wariness. She had learned to tread carefully around ancient magic, particularly when it came to Solas.

    He inclined his head, his voice low and steady. “Artifacts of my people. Foci, used to channel immense magical power. Such tools are not meant to be handled lightly, let alone by someone who does not understand their purpose. Corypheus’s use of the orb—” Solas paused, his expression darkening, “—likely caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. That he survived such recklessness… is troubling.”

    Ariana frowned, the weight of his words settling over her. “You’re saying the Conclave was destroyed because Corypheus didn’t know what he was doing?”

    “That, or he cared little for the consequences,” Solas replied. “The magic of Tevinter was built on the bones of the Elvhenan. It is crude, a shadow of what once was. He wields a power he cannot comprehend.”

    Her fingers brushed against the mark on her hand, its faint glow casting shadows on the snow. “And yet here I am. Alive because of that power.”

    “Perhaps,” Solas said, his tone softer now. “Or perhaps the mark chose you. There is meaning in that, though it may not yet be clear.”

    Ariana studied him, her instincts prickling. “You seem to know a lot about this, Solas. About Corypheus, the orb, and the Breach. How?”

    He met her gaze evenly, his expression as calm as ever. “The Fade holds many memories, Herald. I have walked its paths and glimpsed echoes of the past. I recognize what Corypheus carries because it is part of that past—my people’s past.”

    She exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t have time to dwell on ancient history or what Corypheus thinks he’s entitled to. Right now, we’re barely standing. Whatever that orb is, whatever its origin, we’ll deal with it when we’re not freezing to death.”

    A faint smile touched Solas’s lips. “Pragmatic as always. And yet, pragmatism must be balanced with foresight. To ignore the threat Corypheus poses would be unwise.”

    “I’m not ignoring it,” Ariana countered, her tone firm. “I’m prioritizing. If the Inquisition collapses, there won’t be anyone left to stop him.”

    Solas inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A fair point. Which is why I sought you out. There is a place to the north—long abandoned, but waiting for a force to claim it. It is defensible, well-situated, and capable of sustaining what remains of the Inquisition. There, you could rebuild. Regrow.”

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in his voice. “And you know this because…?”

    Solas’s gaze drifted to the distant mountains, his expression distant. “Because I have walked many paths, Herald. Some of which others have long forgotten.”

    She considered his words, weighing them carefully. Despite the frustration she often felt in his presence, she couldn’t deny the value of his knowledge. “Thank you, Solas,” she said finally, her voice sincere. “For everything.”

    Solas inclined his head, his enigmatic expression giving away little. “I trust you will see the wisdom in what I have shared.”

    Ariana nodded once before turning back toward the camp. As she walked away, the faint glow of her mark flickered against the snow, its light steady despite the storm within her.

    Solas remained where he stood, his thoughts churning. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed her.

    His gaze lingered on the retreating figure of the Herald—the White Wolf, as her Rangers called her. She was unlike anyone he had encountered in centuries. Pragmatic, yes, but also deeply compassionate. She questioned without judgment, challenged without cruelty. And then there was the mark—an anomaly even he had not anticipated.

    “Perhaps there is hope after all,” he murmured to himself, turning back toward the fires. The Inquisition was fractured, but the pieces were beginning to align. Whether the world knew it or not, its fate was now entwined with hers.

    ~~~

    As Ariana reached the heart of the camp, the quiet buzz of activity surrounded her, muted by the exhaustion that clung to every movement. A sharp voice broke through the stillness, piercing and full of emotion. “Ari!”

    She turned just in time to see a small figure racing toward her. Emma flung herself into Ariana’s arms before she could brace herself, and the force of the hug sent a jolt of pain through her ribs. Ariana gritted her teeth but wrapped her arms around the girl, picking her up and holding her close despite the sharp ache radiating through her body. “Hey, cub,” she murmured softly, her voice steady. “What’s this for? You alright?”

    Emma didn’t answer right away, her little arms tightening around Ariana’s neck. “I thought you were gone,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Everyone was saying…” Her words faltered, her face buried against Ariana’s shoulder. “I was so scared.”

    Ariana’s heart clenched as she held Emma close. She adjusted her grip slightly, her ribs protesting, but she ignored the pain. “I’m not going anywhere, cub,” she said firmly. “See? I’m right here.”

    Emma hesitated, her lip quivering. “I… I talked to Cullen. About… about what I said before. About you. I…” Her voice cracked slightly, and she buried her face into Ariana’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ari. I was mean, and it wasn’t fair. I know it’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. Cullen said it was his fault.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened further, though she quickly shifted to comfort Emma. She pulled her closer, resting her chin lightly atop Emma’s head. “Hey, listen to me,” she said, her tone low and reassuring. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I know it’s been hard, and I know I wasn’t always there to explain. But you didn’t do anything wrong, Emma. None of this is your fault, okay?”

    Emma sniffled, her voice breaking. “But… but I—”

    “No,” Ariana interrupted gently but firmly. “You don’t need to feel guilty for how you felt. It’s alright to be upset. It’s alright to ask questions. You’re brave, cub, braver than most people twice your size. And I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

    Emma sniffled again, a small smile breaking through her tears as she nodded. “I love you too, Ari.”

    Before Ariana could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind her. “Emma,” Cullen said, his tone warm but laced with concern as he approached. “There you are.”

    Emma glanced back at him, then turned to Ariana again, her arms tightening around her. Cullen placed his hand lightly on Emma’s back. “You should let Ari rest,” he said gently. “She’s been through a lot.”

    Emma hesitated, glancing between them. “But she’s okay, right?”

    Ariana nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, cub. You don’t have to worry about me.”

    Cullen reached out, scooping Emma up into his arms with practiced ease. “Alright, let’s get you back to Isabel. She’s probably wondering where you ran off to.”

    Ariana gave him a grateful smile, adjusting her stance to hide the pain in her ribs.

    As Cullen straightened, Emma rested her head against his shoulder but cast one last look at Ariana. “Did you tell her yet?” she asked, her voice quiet but insistent.

    Cullen froze for the briefest of moments, his expression caught between surprise and something unreadable. “Tell her what?” he asked, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

    Emma tilted her head, her gaze unwavering. “That you still love her.”

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of Emma’s question. Cullen’s jaw tightened, and a faint flush crept up his neck, but he managed to keep his tone steady as he said, “I did. Now let’s go find your mom.”

    Emma sighed dramatically, her exasperation lightening the moment. “Really? Are you sure? You promise you did?”

    Ariana chuckled softly, unable to prevent the warmth that spread through her as memories of the night she returned from Redcliffe surfaced in her mind.

    Cullen glanced at Ariana, his expression softening despite his lingering embarrassment. “I promise,” he said gently.

    Ariana watched them go, as she leaned against a nearby tent post, her breathing measured as she tried to ease the lingering pain from catching Emma.

    She caught sight of Cullen returning from where he’d left Emma with Isabel, and as he approached, she straightened, already anticipating what was coming.

    Cullen didn’t waste any time. He stopped in front of her and gently took her arm, guiding her out of view of the campfire and any prying eyes. His expression was firm, but his eyes brimmed with worry. “You should be resting. They’re broken again, aren’t they?” he asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.

    Ariana sighed, rolling her shoulders back in a futile attempt to shrug it off. “One or two. Or three… It’s not important,” she replied lightly.

    “Ari.” His tone stopped her. It wasn’t just concern—it was frustration, pain, and something deeper, rawer. “It is important.”

    She hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly, but Cullen pressed on. “Don’t tell me it’s not. I was there the last time you broke ribs. During the Qunari uprising, when you also nearly bled out while saying you were fine,” he said, his voice hard but edged with worry. “You were in bed for weeks, Ari. Weeks. You almost died.”

    Her lips parted as if to argue, but she couldn’t. He was right. She remembered that time all too well—how she had spent nearly a week in his quarters in the Gallows, waking each time to find him by her side. She remembered the weight of his worry etched into his face.

    “It’s not the same,” she muttered, though the conviction in her voice faltered. “I escaped an avalanche this time with only some broken rib–“

    “No, it’s worse,” he countered, his hands tightening slightly on her shoulders. “I helped you almost get killed this time.” He took a deep breath, his voice softening. “Ari, I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you.”

    He stepped closer, his hands settling on her shoulders as if grounding himself as much as her. “I couldn’t protect you,” he said, his voice low now. “Not in Haven, not in Kirkwall—Maker, not even when we were young during the Blight. And I’m tired of it. You’re always in danger, always bearing the brunt of everything, and I… I can’t do anything about it.”

    Her expression softened at his words, the tension in her shoulders easing as she reached up, resting her hand against his cheek. “Cullen,” she said gently, her voice steady. “I’m here. I’m alive. And yes, I have some broken ribs, but I’ve survived worse. I told you before: fate and I have an understanding.” She paused, her gaze softening further. “But if it’s any comfort, I wouldn’t mind if next time you could intercept Emma before she jumps on me.”

    Cullen’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, though his eyes still carried the weight of his worry. “If it’ll keep you from breaking anything else, I’ll intercept her every time.”

    Without a word, he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She didn’t resist, letting the warmth of his presence soothe the lingering ache in her chest that had nothing to do with her ribs. For a moment, they stood there, the noise of the camp fading into the background.

    “I’ll always be here,” Cullen murmured, his forehead resting gently against hers. “No matter what.”

    “I know,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions she felt. “And so will I.”

    She held his gaze for a brief moment, letting herself find comfort in his arms. “So… I hear you have something to tell me?” she teased.

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “I do. More than Emma knows.”

    Ariana tilted her head slightly, searching his eyes. Before she could question him further, he gently took her left hand, pulling off her glove. From his pocket, he pulled out the ring—her ring.

    “Marry me.” His tone was more a statement than a question, steady and unshakable.

    Ariana’s breath caught as she looked down at the ring, then back at him. She wasn’t sure if this was the time, but she couldn’t help the smile that came without a thought. The memory of the first time he proposed replaying in her mind.  As he held her gaze, he slid the ring back onto her finger, and there was a quiet promise that this time there would be nothing that could keep him from her. She was his path, and he would choose her always.

    Ariana looked down at her hand, now adorned with the familiar ring. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “Always, yes.”

    Cullen wrapped both his arms around her waist now, tightening his hold on her briefly, as if committing the moment to memory. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips meeting his with a force that carried the weight of everything she hadn’t been able to say these past few years.

    The world fell away as Ariana melted into the kiss, and Cullen’s hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer. The pain in her ribs was forgotten, the kiss deepening into a mixture of love, relief, and renewed promises.

    When they finally parted, Ariana rested her forehead against his, her breathing uneven, though she smiled softly. “I love you,” she said simply, her voice steady despite her racing heart.

    Cullen’s eyes softened, his hands still at her waist. “And I love you,” he murmured, his voice raw but certain. “I always have.”

    Unbeknownst to them, a small group had gathered nearby, curiosity piqued by the hushed tones and subdued expressions. As the kiss lingered, a single cheer broke the quiet. Then another. And another. Slowly, what sounded like the entire camp erupted into applause, whistles, and shouts of celebration, breaking the spell between them.

    Ariana froze, her eyes wide, looking around briefly before burying her face in Cullen’s chest with a groan. “Well… that’s… I don’t think that proposal will qualify as a rumor,” she muttered, her voice muffled.

    Cullen chuckled, the sound rich and warm, as he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. “No,” he agreed, his tone laced with humor. “I don’t think it will.”

    From the corner of her eye, Ariana caught sight of Varric standing with Riley and Dorian, all grinning far too wide for her comfort. Riley even raised a hand to salute her.

    Next to them, Isabel carried Emma, who was cheering excitedly. “You told her!”

    Cullen laughed, more genuinely than he had in a long time.

    Ariana groaned again, the warmth in her cheeks growing unbearable. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

    “Oh, absolutely,” Cullen replied, a rare playful glint in his eyes as he glanced down at her. “And I don’t care who knows, Ari.”

    “You’re the Commander of the Inquisition,” she muttered, still hiding her face. “I’m certain all of southern Thedas will know by week’s end, so I hope you mean that.” Despite herself, though, she couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound blending with the cheers of the camp around them.

    “The Commander of the Inquisition marrying the Herald of Andraste…” Cullen sighed, already imagining the fallout. But despite the thought, he didn’t care. “It seems fitting,” he chuckled.

    If nothing else, this certainly made people forget the arguing of the last few hours. Now, the energy of the camp was buzzing with lightness and laughter—a stark contrast to the grim tension that had lingered since they fled Haven. For the first time since the Breach appeared, the Inquisition felt unified. Even if it came at her expense, Ariana thought wryly, perhaps this was exactly what they all needed.

    ~~~

    Ariana and Cullen returned to the makeshift table where the Inquisition leadership had gathered. The tension from earlier had mostly dissipated, though it lingered faintly in the furrowed brows and crossed arms of those present. Ariana wasted no time explaining Solas’s suggestion, describing the fortress he had mentioned as a potential haven. Her explanation was peppered with the ongoing teasing and commentary from Josephine and Leliana, much to Cassandra’s mounting annoyance.

    “I would appreciate it,” Cassandra interjected pointedly, her tone clipped, “if we could focus on the matter at hand.”

    Leliana’s lips twitched into a sly smile. “I thought the matter at hand was quite literally on her hand.”

    Cassandra’s glare could have melted steel, but Riley didn’t miss the opportunity to chime in. “Oh, come on, Seeker. I think we’re all a little curious. That was quite the camp spectacle. And no one ever witnessed the first proposal, it was very private.”

    Josephine raised a hand to her lips, feigning thoughtfulness. “Perhaps we should debate the logistics of a proper celebration?”

    Cassandra sighed audibly, rubbing her temple as though physically pained by the teasing. “Can we please focus?”

    “Of course, Seeker,” Josephine replied smoothly, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

    Solas approached the group, rolling out a map to display the approximate location of the fortress. He tapped a slender finger against a section of unmarked mountains. “Here,” he said, his tone calm yet confident. “Nothing on your maps indicates a settlement or structure, but I assure you, it is there. It has simply been… forgotten.”

    “Conveniently forgotten,” Leliana murmured, her sharp gaze fixed on the map. “But if it exists, it may be our best chance.”

    Ariana nodded, her focus shifting to Riley, who had joined them. She pointed to the area Solas indicated. “Riley, I need scouts dispatched immediately. Explore every possible path to this location and find the safest route. We’re not risking lives unnecessarily.”

    Riley gave a quick nod, her expression resolute. “On it, Wolf. I’ll organize the Rangers and coordinate with Leliana’s scouts.”

    As Riley strode off, already barking orders to nearby Rangers, the discussion shifted to logistics. Supplies, weather conditions, and the condition of the refugees all came under scrutiny. Cullen gestured toward Isabel, who stood near a cluster of crates with a clipboard in hand, already directing a small group of volunteers.

    “Isabel,” Ariana called, making her way over to her. Cullen followed, his expression steady but intent. “We need to talk logistics. You’ve already got a handle on the supplies?”

    Isabel looked up, her blonde hair falling slightly from its braid as she adjusted her grip on the clipboard. “I’ve started organizing what’s left,” she replied. “It’s not pretty, but it’s something. We’ve got enough rations for three days if we stretch it, maybe four if we’re clever.”

    “Then clever it is,” Cullen said firmly, crossing his arms. “We need rationing priorities. Children and anyone who can’t move quickly get what they need first. Everyone else will need to make do with less.”

    Isabel nodded, jotting something down. “That’s already in the works. I’ve got people splitting the food evenly for now, but I’ll adjust the portions as you’ve said. Water’s trickier, though—we’re relying on fresh snow and a small stream nearby. I’ve got some Rangers and soldiers rotating shifts to bring it in, but it’s slow.”

    Ariana frowned, leaning over the list in Isabel’s hands. “Can we set up any sort of waystation along the path?” she asked. “Somewhere we can leave supplies to lighten the load?”

    Isabel tapped her quill against the clipboard thoughtfully. “Maybe. If Riley’s scouts find a solid route, I can organize drop points along the way. We’d need enough hands to carry the supplies back and forth without slowing everyone else down.”

    “I’ll assign soldiers to assist with that,” Cullen said quickly, his tone decisive. “Focus on speed and efficiency—we can’t afford to waste time or resources. And we’ll need forward teams to clear the path. Any signs of instability in the terrain, we reroute immediately.”

    Their voices overlapped briefly, neither seeming to mind as their ideas wove together seamlessly. Orders were given, adjusted, and refined without a single argument. Soldiers and Rangers alike moved with renewed purpose, their trust in the pair evident in the way they followed every instruction without question.

    Leliana leaned closer to Cassandra, her sharp eyes observing the interaction. “They work well together,” she remarked quietly.

    “Too well,” Cassandra muttered, though there was no real edge to her words. “It’s almost infuriating.”

    “Almost,” Josephine added with a smile, her gaze flicking to Ariana and Cullen. “But you have to admit, it’s effective.”

    Between the two of them, the camp transformed. Supplies were inventoried, scouting parties dispatched, and routes debated with precision and efficiency. The arguments from earlier felt like a distant memory as the leadership united under the shared goal of survival.

    Ariana and Cullen’s dynamic was impossible to ignore. They complemented each other so naturally that even the most skeptical of onlookers had to admit the strength of their partnership. Where one spoke, the other listened. Where one led, the other supported. Together, they commanded the respect and trust of soldiers, Rangers, and villagers alike.

    As the last orders were given and the camp settled into action, Cullen glanced at Ariana. “We’ll get them there,” he said quietly, his tone carrying an unshakable conviction.

    Ariana met his gaze, her expression softening for a moment. “I know,” she replied simply. “We always do.”

    For the first time since the Breach appeared, the Inquisition felt not only like a cause but like a force to be reckoned with—a family bound by more than survival. They were ready to face whatever came next, together.

  • Chapter 63 – Don’t Hold Back

    28 -30 Drakonis 9:41

    The Inquisition’s leadership had agreed to keep their suspicions about Lord Seeker Lucius quiet for now. Ariana had supported the decision, though it weighed on her. The stakes were already high enough without adding public fear to the equation. She couldn’t shake the memory of Lucius’s detached words, the way his gaze seemed devoid of humanity.

    After the meeting, Ariana had wandered through Haven, her restless thoughts tugging her in no particular direction. Her steps carried her to the Chantry’s lower levels, where the air grew cooler, the stone walls oppressive and quiet. She had no real destination in mind, but the solitude offered her a chance to think.

    Josephine had watched her go, her sharp instincts piqued by Ariana’s unusual mood. The ambassador had been deep in correspondence, but something about Ariana’s gait—deliberate yet aimless—compelled her to follow at a discreet distance. She found Ariana in the dungeon, kneeling before a locked gate, her fingers deftly working a set of lockpicks.

    “Lockpicking seems a curious skill for a noble to possess,” Josephine said, her tone light but curious.

    Ariana didn’t startle, though a wry smirk tugged at her lips. “How else are you supposed to get into a dungeon full of books?”

    Josephine blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I… can’t say I’ve encountered such a situation before.”

    “Neither have I,” Ariana admitted with a soft chuckle as the lock clicked open. She stood smoothly, tucking her tools away. “But I couldn’t let this one go untested.”

    Josephine followed her inside, her gaze sweeping over the shelves of aged tomes and scrolls. “Surely there’s a key somewhere in the Chantry.”

    “Probably,” Ariana replied breezily, already leafing through a book. “But where’s the fun in that?”

    Josephine’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I imagine there’s some fascinating history in here.” She trailed a finger along the spines, her tone shifting to something more measured. “Lady Trevelyan, if I may, I’d like to discuss a matter concerning your family.”

    Ariana paused, glancing at Josephine with a raised brow. “A bit sudden, but I suppose it’s time someone made an honest woman of me.”

    Josephine flushed faintly, though she composed herself quickly. “Very amusing. But this is serious.”

    Setting the book aside, Ariana leaned against the table, a playful glint in her eye. “All right, Lady Montilyet. What’s on your mind?”

    Josephine straightened, her ambassadorial tone returning. “Your parents. I’d like to write to them, requesting their formal support for the Inquisition. Do you believe they would align themselves with us?”

    The question gave Ariana pause. Her teasing smile faltered, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I believe they would.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll include a personal letter with your formal request. Just… let’s avoid inviting them to Haven.”

    Josephine tilted her head, her curiosity plain. “Do you not wish to see them?”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the shelves but unfocused. “It’s not that. I love my parents dearly—it’s just… there are complications.”

    Josephine regarded her thoughtfully. “Complications?”

    Ariana hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to Kirkwall. She remembered the months leading up to everything falling apart. For once, her mother had been softer, more supportive, and they’d connected over something entirely hers: her engagement to Cullen. Ariana had allowed herself to believe in a future that felt right, even magical.

    But the memories turned sharp, unease threading through them. She knew Cullen had noticed the ring was back on her finger—he always noticed. Yet he hadn’t mentioned it, and she hadn’t asked. The thought of initiating that conversation felt like stepping into uncertain ground, every word potentially setting off something she wasn’t ready to face.

    Elara, on the other hand, would never hesitate. If invited to Haven, her mother would confront Cullen directly, forcing a conversation Ariana wasn’t ready for.

    Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally turned to Josephine. “Let’s just say it’s better for everyone if they stay in Ostwick. My mother has a talent for… making things more complicated.”

    Josephine’s expression softened, though her curiosity lingered. Before she could press further, Ariana pushed off the table and offered her hand with exaggerated formality. “Come on. Let’s find a bottle of wine. You look like you could use a break from all those letters.”

    Josephine chuckled softly, accepting the offer. Together, they left the dungeon and made their way to the tavern. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of wine and stories. Ariana regaled Josephine with tales of her travels, spinning humor and candor into each one. Yet, for all the laughter, Ariana carefully steered the conversation away from her family—and from Cullen.

    Some knots, she decided, were not untagled. For now.

    ~~~

    The war room was dim, the flickering lantern light casting shadows over maps and reports spread across the table. Cullen leaned over the edge, scanning a list of troop movements with practiced efficiency. Despite the focus he forced into the task, his thoughts lingered elsewhere—on the rumors Cassandra had mentioned earlier, on Ariana’s return to Haven, and on the ever-present weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.

    The soft creak of the door brought him out of his thoughts. Cassandra entered, her expression set with the kind of intensity that made Cullen straighten instinctively. She closed the door firmly behind her and turned toward him, her posture unyielding.

    “Seeker,” he said, his tone cautious. “What brings you here?”

    Cassandra didn’t answer immediately, instead crossing the room with deliberate steps until she stood across from him. Her sharp eyes locked onto his, and Cullen felt a twinge of unease. This wasn’t the kind of visit that ended with a simple report.

    “There’s a matter we need to discuss,” she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument.

    Her tone gave him pause. Cassandra didn’t mince words, but the weight behind them suggested this wasn’t about logistics or troop movements. He gestured toward the table. “If it concerns the Inquisition’s forces—”

    “It does not,” she interrupted, her gaze narrowing. She crossed her arms, stepping closer. “This is about you. And the Herald.”

    Cullen stiffened, his expression immediately guarded. “What about her?”

    Cassandra’s eyes bore into his. “There were whispers in Kirkwall,” she began, her tone even but pointed. “Rumors among the templars of a Knight-Captain in love with a noblewoman. A love story, they called it, amidst the chaos of the city. At the time, I dismissed it as idle gossip. But now…”

    Cullen clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He could deny the rumors, brush them off as idle gossip, but Cassandra had clearly done her research. She always did. He met her gaze evenly. “Rumors,” he said carefully, “are rarely reliable.”

    Cassandra continued, undeterred. “I also came across records—your formal request to the White Spire for permission to marry. There was no name listed, but it wasn’t difficult to connect the pieces once I saw her.” She hesitated, her voice softening slightly. “And now I see that the Herald wears a ring.”

    Her words hit him like a blow, though he kept his expression neutral. So, she has seen it. Cullen exhaled slowly, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. “I didn’t think she still wore it,” he admitted softly, almost to himself.

    Cassandra’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Then it’s true.”

    He didn’t answer immediately, his thoughts drifting to the Divine’s words: Your betrothed will need you in the days to come. The truth he’d tried to bury resurfaced, unrelenting. “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with the admission. “It’s true.”

    Cassandra’s expression tightened. “Then you understand why I must ask. Can you remain objective, Commander? Can you do your duty, even if it means sending her to her death?”

    Cullen looked away, his hands tightening on the edge of the table. The memories came unbidden—the Qunari uprising in Kirkwall, the chaos in the streets, and the sight of Ariana bleeding and barely standing. His voice, when he spoke, was low and strained. “During the Qunari uprising. I found her in the street—injured, bleeding. She tried to tell me she was fine but then she collapsed before she could even explain what happened.”

    Cassandra’s brow furrowed, her silence urging him to continue.

    “I carried her to the Circle,” Cullen said, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t want to go, but didn’t have the energy to fight—too stubborn to admit how badly she was hurt. The healers said she might not survive the night.” His voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “She did, but… I realized then that I could never keep her as safe as I wanted. Not Ariana.”

    Cassandra’s eyes softened, though her tone remained measured. “And now?”

    “Now,” Cullen said, meeting her gaze, “I know she’ll throw herself into danger whether I object or not. She’ll do what she always does: try to save the world.” He exhaled, his voice steady but laced with quiet resignation. “The best I can do is give her every possible advantage. Troops, resources, strategies. Whatever she needs to succeed. That’s how I keep her safe.”

    Cassandra studied him for a long moment, her sharp features softening. “I see,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “That cannot be easy.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, the sound bitter. “You have no idea.”

    A faint smile flickered across Cassandra’s lips, though it quickly faded. “It is not my place to judge your feelings, Commander. But your honesty… it speaks well of you. I only hope it does not hinder you when the time comes to act.”

    “It won’t,” Cullen said firmly, though the conviction in his voice didn’t quite reach his heart. “I’ll do what’s necessary.”

    Cassandra nodded, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. “See that you do. The Inquisition needs you at your best, Commander.”

    As the door closed behind her, Cullen leaned heavily against the table, his thoughts drifting to Ariana. The Divine’s words echoed in his mind once more: Your betrothed will need you in the days to come.

    He whispered the words aloud, barely realizing it, before straightening. Whatever lay ahead, he would be ready to stand by her. Even if it meant sending her into the fire.

    ~~~

    The following morning, Ariana focused on the final details for Emma’s birthday celebration. The courtyard bustled with activity as crates were unloaded and supplies organized. Stepping into the lively scene, she immediately spotted Isabel overseeing a delivery. Her sharp eyes scanned the chaos like a hawk, her presence commanding yet effortless.

    “Ah, there you are,” Ariana said as she approached, her voice low to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. She glanced around, ensuring no curious ears lingered. “Have you heard from Harritt? Is it ready?”

    Isabel nodded, folding her arms. “He sent word this morning. It’s done.”

    “Good.” A faint smile tugged at Ariana’s lips. “I want to see it for myself. What about Cullen? Did you speak with him?”

    Isabel tilted her head, feigning sudden forgetfulness, though the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Was I supposed to speak with the Commander? I thought you were handling that.”

    Ariana narrowed her eyes. “Isabel, there’s no need for this.”

    “You two need to talk,” Isabel insisted, her tone softening but no less resolute.

    “We have been talking,” Ariana countered, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Just… maybe not in the way you’d like.”

    Isabel smiled knowingly, offering a slight shrug. “Do you still love him?”

    Ariana sighed, giving her a pointed look before brushing past the question entirely. “Fine. I’ll handle it. In the meantime, make sure Elliot and the other Rangers are ready for the mock battle. It needs to be fun, not terrifying.”

    “Of course,” Isabel replied, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

    Leaving the courtyard, Ariana set off toward Harritt’s forge, her steps brisk and purposeful. Yet Isabel’s words lingered, tugging at the edges of her thoughts like an unwelcome guest.

    Before she could dwell too long, Josephine appeared from a side path, her call breaking the quiet rhythm of Ariana’s footsteps. “Herald! A moment, please.”

    Ariana stopped and turned, her brow lifting slightly. “What can I do for you this morning, Lady Montilyet?”

    Josephine approached, holding out a neatly sealed envelope. “An invitation has arrived for you. The First Enchanter of Montsimmard has requested a meeting with you in Val Royeaux.”

    Ariana arched a brow, taking the envelope and breaking the seal. She scanned the elegantly penned words, her expression remaining neutral, though her mind was already turning. “So… you’re telling me I need to return to Val Royeaux to attend a party?”

    “Well, not a party per se,” Josephine replied carefully, though her tone carried the faintest hint of amusement. “It could be an excellent opportunity to secure valuable allies for the Inquisition.”

    Ariana handed the invitation back, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Very well, I’ll go. But, Lady Montilyet, as I often remind Isabel—please refrain from committing me to any balls or elaborate social gatherings in your efforts to secure alliances.”

    Josephine chuckled softly, inclining her head. “Of course, Herald. I’ll do my utmost to keep your schedule… manageable.”

    “Good,” Ariana said, satisfied, before continuing on her way. Josephine, relieved, turned back toward her office, though her expression lingered with a hint of thoughtful curiosity.

    By the time Ariana reached Harritt’s forge, her thoughts had begun to settle. She realized she was growing more accustomed to this new life—the duties, the responsibilities, the title. It was still overwhelming, but it no longer made her want to retreat.

    As she waited for Harritt, she found herself reflecting on the title itself: Herald. She still didn’t believe it. She didn’t see herself as holy or chosen. But over time, she had come to understand what the title meant to others. It gave them hope, something to hold onto in a world that felt increasingly unsteady.

    Maybe that’s all it needs to be, she thought, her resolve hardening. A symbol. A myth. Like the White Wolf. If it helps me protect them, then I can live with it.

    The thought steadied her, though Isabel’s question refused to leave her mind. Do you still love him? Of course she loved Cullen. She always had. But did she deserve him?

    Her gaze dropped to the engagement ring on her finger, catching the faint glint of sunlight reflecting off the sapphire. She still wore it, despite her doubts. Not because she felt certain of their future, but because she wanted to believe in it. She wanted that life with him more than anything. She just didn’t know if she could be the one to ask for it. Not yet.

    Shaking the thought away, she focused on the task at hand. Emma’s celebration was her priority today. Whatever uncertainties she had about Cullen or her role in the Inquisition could wait. For now, she was determined to make Emma’s day unforgettable.

    ~~~

    Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen noticed Ariana approaching, a small bundle clutched in her hands. Her pace was deliberate, yet there was a hesitation in her stride, a subtle uncertainty that tugged at his attention. He straightened, setting aside the report he’d been reviewing, and turned to face her.

    “Commander,” she greeted, her tone steady, but there was a faint edge of nervousness that caught him off guard.

    “Ariana,” he replied, curiosity evident in his voice. “I was just about to find you. Isabel mentioned you needed something?”

    “Did she now?” Ariana’s grip on the bundle tightened slightly. Her composure wavered for just a moment before she recovered. “Yes, well… she forgot to ask for your help with something.”

    Cullen raised an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And sent you to deliver the message?”

    “Yes,” she replied quickly—too quickly. The flustered note in her voice betrayed her, and Cullen found himself amused by the rare sight of Ariana out of her element.

    “I see,” he said, leaning back slightly, the grin on his face widening. He couldn’t help but enjoy this unexpected glimpse of vulnerability. “Well then, what can I do for Isabel?”

    Ariana exhaled, her frustration barely concealed. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bundle toward him. “You’ll need this. Follow me.”

    Cullen accepted the bundle, bemused, and trailed after her as she led him toward her quarters. As they walked, his eyes fell to her hands, where her fingers flexed nervously against the edge of her coat. That’s when he saw it—the ring. The sapphire glinted in the light, unmistakable against the smooth curve of her finger. His breath caught, the sight anchoring him mid-step.

    He’d noticed it missing from her necklace, Cassandra had confirmed she was wearing it, but seeing it here, on her hand, felt like a quiet declaration he didn’t know how to interpret. A mix of hope and doubt surged within him, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

    They entered her quarters, and Ariana motioned for him to set the bundle on the table. She hesitated, clearly searching for the right words, her gaze flicking to him briefly before settling elsewhere. Cullen crossed his arms, waiting patiently, though the flicker of unease in her eyes stirred something protective within him.

    “As you may recall,” she began, her voice steadying, “Emma’s birthday is tomorrow.”

    He nodded, still unsure where this was going.

    “Isabel tells me that…” She faltered again, her words catching in her throat. Cullen noted the frustration building behind her calm façade as she visibly steeled herself. “Emma has decided she would like to join the Inquisition under your command.”

    Cullen blinked, caught between surprise and amusement. “She mentioned something about that the other day.”

    “She did?” Ariana’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though the tension didn’t entirely leave her. She shook her head, her tone lightening. “Apparently, she’s far more enamored with warriors than rogues. Or maybe it’s just you.”

    Cullen chuckled, opening the bundle. Inside was a set of miniature armor and a wooden sword, crafted with care and adorned with Inquisition insignias. He ran his fingers over the polished edges, his expression softening.

    “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

    “Harritt,” Ariana replied. “It wasn’t easy. I had to source lighter materials and convince him to fashion something in her size. But I think it’s perfect.”

    Cullen studied the armor for a moment, his fingers brushing the craftsmanship. The thought behind the gift struck him more than the gift itself. “She’s going to love this,” he said finally. “It’s remarkable.”

    “Isabel said she’s been following you during your rounds,” Ariana said with a faint smile. “Apparently, you’re her new role model—or still the only one she cares about.”

    Cullen shook his head with a soft laugh. “I don’t know about that. She asks a lot of questions—and occasionally corrects me on tactics she’s read about.”

    Ariana laughed, the unease in her posture beginning to ebb. “That sounds about right. She’s smarter than most people would think.”

    Cullen smiled, but his gaze drifted briefly back to her hand, where the ring rested, steady and certain. It was such a small thing, yet it carried so much weight. He wanted to ask—wanted to know why she wore it again, what it meant now—but the words caught in his throat. The fear of disrupting this fragile peace between them kept him silent.

    Cullen smiled. “Probably. I doubt there’s much I could teach her that she hasn’t already learned from you.”

    Ariana’s smile faltered slightly, and her voice softened. “If she’s learned anything, I assure you it wasn’t from me. She hasn’t been very interested in what I do for years. She blames me. She’s not wrong. Too smart for her own good, maybe… It’s your footsteps she’d prefer to follow in, and I’ll do what I can to give her that.”

    Cullen froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He studied Ariana, noting the way her gaze lowered as though she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. A pang of guilt tugged at him. *Blames her?* His chest tightened at the thought of Emma feeling resentment toward Ariana—a resentment she didn’t deserve.

    “She shouldn’t blame you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve done everything you could for her. You’ve given her a home, a family… stability. Things most children would only dream of.”

    Ariana shook her head, her tone quiet but insistent. “You don’t see it, Cullen. It’s not enough. I took her away from you, and she knows it.”

    His brow furrowed, her words stirring memories he’d tried to push aside—years spent wondering about the life they might have had, and the child who was never truly his but who he’d loved as if she were. “Ariana, you didn’t take her away. You made the choices you had to, for her. For all of us.”

    For a moment, the weight of unspoken emotions lingered between them. Cullen wanted to say more, to tell her that Emma didn’t see her as anything less than a hero, even if she didn’t realize it yet. But the words refused to form.

    “You’ll present it to her tomorrow, then? As her ‘Commander’? She’d love that,” Ariana said, pulling him from his thoughts.

    Cullen nodded, forcing himself to focus on her words. “I’d be honored. Though I suspect she’ll have more questions for me than any of my recruits.”

    “Probably,” Ariana said with a laugh. “Some of the Rangers are arranging a mock battle as well. For both of you. You will win, of course.”

    Cullen raised an eyebrow, his grin growing. “Will I? Should I even bother asking how this is supposed to play out?”

    Ariana’s grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry, Commander. It’s all carefully orchestrated. Emma will have her victory, and you’ll leave with your dignity intact. Mostly.”

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Somehow, I’m not reassured.”

    “Trust me,” she said lightly. “It’ll be the highlight of her day.”

    As they left her quarters, Cullen’s thoughts lingered on the ring and the quiet weight it carried. He resolved to speak with Emma soon, to assure her of the truth. And perhaps, in time, he would find the courage to ask Ariana about the ring—not to question her choice, but to understand the path they were still navigating together. For now, though, he let it rest. Tomorrow was for Emma, and he would make sure it was as special as Ariana had envisioned.

    ~~~

    The crisp morning air carried a rare sense of excitement in Haven. The training grounds bustled with life, recruits standing a little straighter, their movements sharper under the Commander’s watchful eye. Yet Cullen’s attention strayed from the recruits to the edges of the gathering, where he caught sight of Ariana.

    She stood leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed, her posture deceptively relaxed. Yet Cullen knew her well enough to recognize the vigilance in her gaze, the way she seemed to take in everything while deliberately keeping herself apart. It was unlike her to linger in the background, and that subtle withdrawal gnawed at him, a reminder of her words the day before: She blames me. She’s not wrong.

    He exhaled quietly, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. If Emma harbored resentment, it should have been directed at him, not Ariana. He had been the one who hadn’t been there, the one who’d failed to hold everything together. The fact that Ariana seemed to accept and shoulder Emma’s misplaced feelings of blame only deepened Cullen’s guilt.

    The sound of Isabel’s voice pulled his focus back to the present. Emma bounded onto the training grounds, her excitement palpable as she darted toward him. Cullen knelt, the bundle of miniature armor and weapons in hand.

    “Good morning, Recruit Emma,” he said, his tone formal but warm.

    “Good morning, Commander!” she replied, her grin wide enough to rival the rising sun.

    Cullen smiled as he began the small ceremony, presenting the wooden sword and shield with all the gravity he would offer a full-fledged soldier. The crowd cheered as Emma was outfitted in her miniature armor, her confidence growing with every buckle and strap. Watching her beaming face, Cullen felt a pang of pride—and a flicker of discomfort as he glanced toward Ariana again.

    She still hadn’t moved from the shadows of the training grounds, but her expression had shifted. The faint smirk she usually wore was gone, replaced by something quieter, harder to place. Disappointment? Hurt? The thought twisted in Cullen’s chest.

    The Rangers’ mock battle began, drawing laughter from the crowd as they charged onto the field with theatrical flair. Emma’s eyes lit up as the Rangers declared Haven “under attack,” and she took her role as Haven’s defender with earnest determination. Cullen coached her through the mock battle, his own amusement growing as the “invading” Rangers fell dramatically before her wooden sword.

    Then, one of the Rangers seized Ariana, dragging her into the center of the field with a triumphant cry. “We’ve captured the Herald of Andraste!” the Ranger bellowed.

    Emma whirled around, her face alight with determination. “Commander! We have to save her!”

    Cullen hesitated for a moment, his thoughts flashing briefly to Kirkwall and the battles they’d fought there. But Ariana’s exaggerated mock glare at her captor eased the knot in his chest. She seemed comfortable enough, so he nodded. “I’m not sure the Herald needs saving, Recruit,” he teased. “She’s been saving all of us.”

    Emma was undeterred. “We still have to get her back!” she insisted, charging forward with her wooden sword raised high.

    Ariana’s playful smirk returned as she played along, her mock struggles earning cheers and laughter from the crowd. Emma’s triumphant “rescue” was met with applause, the little girl beaming as she stood beside the Commander.

    But then came her next words.

    “I think you’re the strongest in the whole Inquisition, Commander. You’d definitely beat the White Wolf in a fight.”

    The crowd fell silent for a beat before erupting into laughter and murmurs. Cullen’s gaze flicked to Ariana, who raised an eyebrow, her expression caught between amusement and something quieter—perhaps disappointment, or hurt.

    Cullen chuckled softly, trying to lighten the moment. “I’m not so certain of that, Recruit Emma. I happen to know she’s quite formidable.”

    Emma nodded emphatically. “You’re both strong, but you’re stronger, Commander. I’m sure of it!”

    Ariana raised a brow, her voice smooth but edged with playful defiance. “I’d say we’re evenly matched, wouldn’t you, Commander?”

    Before Cullen could respond, the crowd seized on the moment, their voices swelling into a chant: “Match! Match! Match!”

    His gaze shifted to Ariana, torn between amusement and apprehension. She stood there, the glint of mischief in her eyes unmistakable. “I’m not sure this is—”

    “Yes!” Emma said excitedly, cutting him off. “You should, so you can prove it!”

    Ariana shrugged playfully. “You heard the birthday girl, Commander,” she said, her tone teasing yet challenging. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd.”

    Cullen sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

    “Maybe,” Ariana admitted, stepping into the center of the grounds. “But I do hope you’re ready, Commander. Wouldn’t want your newest recruit to lose faith in you.”

    Despite his initial hesitation, Cullen couldn’t help but smile. Ariana had an uncanny ability to draw people in, to make even the most mundane moments feel significant. Straightening, he rolled his shoulders, meeting her gaze with a grin that mirrored her own. “All right, then. Let’s give them a show.”

    The cheers of the crowd rose around them as Cullen stepped forward, wooden sword in hand. And for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities, of his guilt and unease, faded into the background. In that fleeting space of time, it wasn’t about the Inquisition or the Breach. It was just them—Emma’s laughter, Ariana’s playful defiance, and a sense of normalcy that felt all too rare.

    ~~~

    The sparring ground held its breath, the crowd’s murmurs fading as Cullen and Ariana faced each other. The air between them crackled with anticipation, and Cullen couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. Ariana moved with her usual confidence, shedding her coat and handing it off to a Ranger with an almost theatrical ease. Yet there was no mistaking the fire in her hazel-green eyes—a fire he had rarely seen unleashed during their sparring in Kirkwall.

    As the Ranger stepped aside with the coat, Ariana’s hands went to her left hand. Cullen’s eyes instinctively followed the movement as she slid the ring from her finger. The act was deliberate, protective.

    She paused briefly, securing the ring onto the leather cord around her neck with careful precision, before tucking it beneath her shirt. The gesture was pragmatic, yet the care she took was unmistakable. Cullen’s chest tightened. It wasn’t the absence of the ring on her hand that caught him—it was the clarity of its presence, safeguarded, even in the middle of a sparring match.

    The realization stayed with him as she stepped into position. She wasn’t setting it aside out of hesitation or doubt; she was ensuring it wouldn’t be damaged. That understanding was a quiet reassurance—but it also stirred a new thought. If she takes it off her necklace again… He stopped himself, resolving to pay closer attention in the days to come.

    Someone offered her a training sword, but she raised a hand, declining with a smirk that bordered on insolent. She stepped forward unarmed, her stance loose but deliberate. The crowd murmured in surprise, a few laughs rippling through at her brazen gesture.

    “You’re making this too easy for me, Herald,” Cullen said, his voice steady but not without warmth. He needed to focus now—on the match, on her—and not on the weight of the ring she carried.

    Ariana tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

    “Just… don’t hold back this time,” Cullen said teasingly, the words carrying more meaning than he let on. He needed to see her fully, to understand the true strength of the woman before him—not just the skilled fighter he had known in Kirkwall, but the White Wolf whose name carried weight across Thedas.

    Her grin sharpened. “As you wish, Commander.”

    Cullen struck first, a calculated swing to gauge her reflexes. She ducked with ease, her movements fluid as water, pivoting on her heel to evade his follow-up strike. The crowd’s murmurs swelled with excitement, and Cullen pressed forward, raising his shield, but she was already slipping past it.

    Her unarmed style was more unpredictable than he’d expected. She darted and wove like a shadow, her movements impossible to predict. At one point, she leapt onto a barrel, using it as a springboard to evade his shield bash. The landing was so smooth it earned an audible gasp from the onlookers.

    “She’s quick,” a recruit whispered.

    Valentina, standing at the edge of the crowd, grinned. “You have no idea.”

    Cullen found himself grinning despite his growing frustration. She was holding nothing back, and it showed. Her movements were honed, efficient—each dodge and feint calculated to make him overcommit, to leave himself exposed. She was every bit the White Wolf he’d heard about in whispers and reports, a legend in her own right.

    When she darted in and caught the edge of his shield, yanking it free with startling precision, he couldn’t help but laugh despite himself. “You should really stop letting me do that,” she teased, stepping back.

    “Noted,” he replied, shaking his head as he retrieved his balance.

    The rhythm of their duel ebbed and flowed, the crowd’s cheers swelling as the tension built. Cullen knew he couldn’t match her speed, but his strength and reach gave him an advantage he pressed whenever he could. Yet she adapted with every strike, her agility never faltering.

    When she twisted his arm and forced him to one knee, he felt the wooden sword slip from his grip. “Do you yield, Commander?” she asked, triumphant and breathless.

    He raised his hands slowly, her hold on his arm just loose enough to give him an opening. Seizing it, he shifted his weight and flipped her over his shoulder, sending her to the ground with a soft thud. Laughter spilled from her lips as she lay on her back, her grin unbroken.

    “I should have seen that coming,” she admitted, still laughing.

    Cullen extended his hand, his lips curving into a smile. “You should have.”

    Her hand was warm in his as he helped her up, the strength of her grip grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded, and he found himself caught in her gaze. There was a question there, unspoken yet heavy, one he wasn’t ready to answer.

    The crowd’s cheers broke the moment, pulling them both back. Cullen stepped away, nodding to compose himself. “That was…” Varric’s voice rang out, cutting through the din. “Probably the most exciting thing to happen in Haven all month. Call it a draw?”

    The crowd laughed, echoing the sentiment. Ariana smirked, brushing the dust from her trousers. “Evenly matched, it is.”

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Until next time, Herald.”

    As the crowd began to disperse, Emma darted over, her face flushed with excitement. “That was amazing! I knew you would win, Commander. I just knew you were stronger!”

    The words hit Cullen like a blow, though Emma’s admiration was unmistakably genuine. His gaze flicked to Ariana, who had approached with her usual composure. Yet he saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, quickly masked with a faint smile.

    Kneeling to Emma’s level, Cullen chose his words carefully. “Ariana is stronger in ways you might not see yet, Emma. She’s been protecting you for as long as you can remember. You should never doubt that.”

    Emma tilted her head, her youthful certainty undeterred. “I guess… But you’re still stronger.”

    Ariana placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, her smile warm but edged with something else. “She’s right, Commander. We both know I’d lose against you in a fight.” Her tone was light, but the words carried a weight that unsettled him.

    Cullen watched her walk away with Emma, her laugh echoing faintly as they joined the others. We both know I’d lose against you in a fight. The words replayed in his mind, not as a jest but as a quiet echo of the past—a memory of the Gallows, of a battle neither of them had truly won.

    As the training grounds emptied, Cullen tightened his grip on the shield in his hand. Ariana had faced the weight of the world for so long, and it had worn on her in ways he was only now beginning to see. She had stood against impossible odds, shouldered unbearable burdens—and still, she diminished herself.

    Tomorrow, he resolved, he would find a way to bridge the gap between Emma and Ariana. And soon, he would remind Ariana of what she meant to him—not as the Herald, or the White Wolf, but as the woman he had loved for nearly twelve years.

    And he would not hold back. Not this time.

  • Chapter 51 – The Next Chapter

    13 Cloudreach – 24 Solace 9:37

    The first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, their pale light casting the Gallows in a surreal glow. The once-proud courtyard was now a battleground of broken bodies, shattered weapons, and the lingering cries of the wounded. Ariana stood against a stone pillar, her breath shallow, each intake a sharp reminder of the wound Cullen had inflicted. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandages, and her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give out. Still, she stayed upright, refusing to succumb—not yet.

    The Rangers had fought valiantly, holding the line when all seemed lost, but they were spent. Their once-proud formation had splintered under the relentless assault of the Templars. Those who remained were battered, bruised, and silent, their faces pale with exhaustion and grief. Ariana could no longer command them to fight. They had done enough. She had to trust that Hawke and her companions could finish what they had started.

    Her hood hung limp around her shoulders, her mask discarded somewhere in the chaos. She leaned heavily against the pillar, her hazel-green eyes fixed on the center of the courtyard. Meredith stood there, her armor gleaming despite the dust and blood, a grim specter of authority unraveling into madness. Hawke’s voice rang out across the space, firm and unyielding as she confronted the Knight-Commander. Every word she spoke felt like a lifeline—one Ariana clung to, despite the gnawing despair in her chest.

    When Meredith ordered Hawke’s death, Ariana’s body tensed involuntarily. The faintest gasp escaped her lips, her fingers curling around the pillar as though to steady herself. No, not like this. But then Cullen stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tense silence. He stood against Meredith, defying her in the most public, irrevocable way possible. He relieved her of command. Ariana’s breath hitched as she watched him, a flicker of pride breaking through the haze of pain and betrayal. *Finally,* she thought, her chest tightening. She wanted to believe he had found the courage because of her, that her pleas had not fallen on deaf ears. But the flicker of hope warred with the ache of doubt: was it Meredith’s madness that finally broke him, or had he simply reached the limit of his obedience? Maybe there was hope after all.

    But that hope was extinguished the moment Meredith drew her blade. The red lyrium’s glow cast an unnatural light across the courtyard, its eerie pulse reflecting the depths of her madness. Ariana’s stomach turned as she realized the full extent of Meredith’s corruption. The battle that followed was unlike anything she’d ever seen—Hawke, Cullen, and the remaining Templars fighting against a woman they had once followed, a leader now consumed by her own hubris and the dangerous power she had wielded for too long.

    The glow of the red lyrium was a sickness that spread through the courtyard, infecting the air with its heavy, oppressive heat. Meredith was no longer a leader; she was a monster—one of her own making. Ariana’s stomach churned as she watched the remnants of a woman once feared and revered dissolve into a creature consumed by madness.

    Ariana’s grip on the pillar tightened, her knuckles white as she forced herself to watch. Each clash of steel echoed like thunder, reverberating through her bones. She wanted to move, to help, but her body refused to respond. All she could do was bear witness.

    When Meredith fell, her body encased in jagged red lyrium, the courtyard fell into an uneasy silence. The survivors—both Templars and mages—stared at the grotesque statue in horrified disbelief. No one spoke. The weight of what had transpired bore down on them all.

    The Rangers began to regroup, their movements slow and unsteady. Ariana pushed off the pillar, biting back a cry as pain lanced through her side. She raised her hand, signaling them to stand down. “We’re done here,” she rasped, her voice barely audible but commanding enough to be heard. The battle was over, but the war was far from finished.

    She limped toward the remnants of Hawke’s group, her steps faltering but determined. Hawke, standing near the center of the courtyard, turned as Ariana approached. Their gazes met, and for a moment, no words were needed.

    “You did it,” Ariana said softly, her voice thick with exhaustion. “Meredith is gone.”

    Hawke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t do it alone,” she replied, glancing at her companions and the scattered mages around them. Her voice carried a quiet determination, though her eyes betrayed the weight of the decisions she had made. “And it’s not over.”

    Ariana nodded faintly, her expression grim. “No,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is only the beginning.”

    Varric’s voice cut through the tension, subdued but tinged with his characteristic dry humor. “As much as I enjoy standing around in the aftermath of a magical apocalypse, maybe we should think about getting out of here.”

    Ariana couldn’t suppress a faint, bitter smile. “You’re not wrong.” She turned to Hawke, her gaze steady despite the pain radiating through her body. “The Rangers are regrouping. We’re heading home to Ferelden. It’s safer than staying here. You’re welcome to join us, at least until you decide on your next move.”

    Hawke studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Ferelden it is,” she said simply.

    As the group began to move, Ariana glanced back at the Gallows one last time. The towering statues and jagged architecture loomed like silent witnesses to the carnage, the red lyrium casting an ominous glow against the dawning sky. The weight of everything they had fought for, everything they had lost, settled over her like a shroud.

    She adjusted her cloak, her movements slow and deliberate. The Rangers followed her lead, their steps heavy with exhaustion but resolute. Behind them, the Gallows faded into the distance, its dark silhouette a grim reminder of the battle they had survived—and the battles still to come.

    ~~~

    The gentle sway of the ship against the waves was a small mercy amidst the storm raging in Ariana’s mind. The rhythmic motion brought a semblance of calm, though it did little to soothe the ache in her chest or the sharp pain in her side. She leaned back against the railing, her gaze unfocused as Merrill knelt beside her, healing magic weaving through her torn flesh. The faint glow of Merrill’s efforts cast soft shadows across Ariana’s face, highlighting the exhaustion etched into every line.

    “Thank you, Merrill,” Ariana said softly, her voice hoarse. She reached down to squeeze the elf’s hand in gratitude, though the effort seemed to drain what little energy she had left.

    Merrill offered a small, hopeful smile. “You’ll be alright,” she said gently. “Though you should rest—properly, not just leaning against things like this.”

    Ariana chuckled faintly, though the sound carried no humor. “I’ll try,” she murmured, though she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on her.

    Around her, the deck was somber. The Rangers sat or leaned against crates and railings, their expressions heavy with the aftermath of the Gallows. Michael stood a short distance away, his posture tense as he scanned the horizon, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. Valentina and Linnea sat nearby, their quiet conversation punctuated by occasional glances toward Ariana, concern etched into their features. Lamberto leaned against the mast, his eyes closed, though his hand rested firmly on his bow, ready for anything. And the remaining mages that made it out with them were huddled near the stern.

    Further down the deck, Hawke stood at the bow, her silhouette sharp against the faint light of dawn. She stared out at the horizon, her shoulders hunched as though carrying the weight of the entire city. Varric sat cross-legged near the mast, Bianca resting across his lap, his fingers absently tracing the carvings on the crossbow’s stock. Riley paced near the stairs leading below deck, her brow furrowed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

    The silence stretched until Hawke finally spoke, her voice quiet but heavy. “I should have seen it coming,” she said, her words barely audible above the creak of the ship. “I should have known Anders was capable of… all this.”

    Varric let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re not the only one with regrets, Hawke. I should’ve stopped Bartrand before he ever got near that idol. Should’ve known nothing good would come of it.” His tone was sharp, uncharacteristically self-critical.

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her hand drifting absently to her side, where her blood still stained the bandages despite Merrill’s best efforts. Her fingers brushed over her glove, catching on the ring beneath it. She hesitated, then pressed her hand firmly against her lap, as though the simple touch would ground her.

    “And I…” she began, her voice cracking slightly. “I should have realized sooner that operating in the shadows wasn’t enough. That it would never be enough.” Her gaze fell to the deck, her expression a mix of exhaustion and sorrow. “We all played a part in this.”

    The words hung in the air like a shared confession, the weight of them pressing down on everyone.

    From across the deck, Merrill’s soft voice broke through the tension. “What happened with Knight-Captain Cullen?” she asked, her head tilted in innocent curiosity.

    The question landed like a stone in the stillness.

    “Merrill!” The collective groan from Hawke, Varric, Isabela, and Aveline was near deafening, each name shouted in unison with exasperation. Varric even threw his hands in the air for dramatic effect.

    Ariana raised a hand weakly, silencing them with a faint, tired smile. “It’s alright,” she said, her voice gentle, though it carried a weight that quieted the group. Her gaze softened, the vulnerability she rarely showed surfacing in the cool morning light. “Cullen and I… we ended up on opposite sides of this war. I suppose it was always going to come to this.”

    Her fingers brushed over her glove, lingering on the ring beneath as though seeking strength. “We both made choices,” she added quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “I’m sorry, pup,” Varric said softly, his usual wit absent, replaced by a rare, solemn sincerity.

    Merrill, still frowning, tilted her head further. “Did you love him?” she asked, her tone innocent but unflinching in its directness.

    “Merrill!” The exasperated shout from the group was even louder this time, Isabela adding, “You can’t just ask someone that!”

    But Ariana surprised them all with a soft, genuine laugh. It was a rare sound, light but tinged with bittersweetness. “I did,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I do. But sometimes… love isn’t enough.”

    Her gaze drifted to the horizon, her fingers brushing absently over her glove where the ring rested beneath. That love—the very thing that had once brought her solace—now felt like both a tether and a blade. It was a constant ache, grounding her even as it carved deeper wounds. She had thought it would shatter her resolve, but instead, it steeled her.

    I’ll always love you, she thought, her chest tightening as the confession echoed in her mind. And because I love you, I’ll fight for what’s right. For both of us, even if you never understand.

    Ariana clenched her fist, her lips pressing into a thin line as she forced herself to meet Hawke’s gaze. “But love… it doesn’t change what needs to be done.”

    “Oh, darling,” Isabela drawled from where she leaned against the mast, a dagger twirling between her fingers. “That’s why falling in love is dangerous. I’ve always said it—stick to one-night stands.”

    Aveline snorted, her arms crossed as she gave Isabela a sidelong glance. “Have you even been in love, Isabela?”

    “Of course not,” Isabela replied with a wicked grin. “I just said it’s dangerous.”

    The exchange drew faint chuckles from the others, a small reprieve from the weight of the moment. But Ariana’s smile faded quickly as she looked toward Hawke, who had joined them near the railing.

    “We should have done more,” Hawke said, her voice raw with guilt. She glanced at Varric, then Ariana. “All of us. Maybe we could’ve stopped this before it got this far.”

    Ariana shook her head, though the regret in her own expression mirrored Hawke’s. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But the only way out is forward now.”

    Riley approached then, her boots clicking softly against the wood. She stopped a few steps from Ariana, her expression sharp but tinged with concern. “Your orders, Wolf?”

    Ariana straightened slightly, though her body protested the motion. She met Riley’s gaze, her voice steady despite the exhaustion that gripped her. “Let’s go home.”

    The words carried a weight of their own, a promise and a plea all at once. Riley nodded, her resolve firm as she turned to relay the orders to the rest of the Rangers.

    As the ship continued its journey, the group settled into a heavy silence once more. The horizon stretched out before them, the promise of Ferelden ahead and the echoes of Kirkwall’s chaos behind. Ariana’s hand brushed against the engagement ring one last time before she clenched her fist, letting it fall to her side. There was no room for doubt now. The fight wasn’t over—only the battlefield had changed.

    ~~~

    The trip back to Redcliffe took longer than expected. Injuries, exhaustion, and the heavy weight of their collective grief slowed their pace. Yet, thanks to Ariana’s reputation and the goodwill of those who respected the Rangers, they were provided with horses and carts along the way, easing their burden.

    Isabel and Emma had arrived ahead of the group, and when Isabel saw them approaching the manor gates, her heart sank. The sight of Ariana—pale and worn, her steps uneven—and the others, hollow-eyed and quiet, spoke of the battles they had endured.

    Without hesitation, Isabel ran to meet Ariana, wrapping her arms tightly around her the moment she dismounted. The warmth of the embrace was like a barrier breaking, and for the first time since leaving Kirkwall, Ariana allowed herself to lean into someone. Her head rested lightly on Isabel’s shoulder, the familiar scent of leather and lavender grounding her in a way words never could.

    “You’re home now,” Isabel whispered, her voice soft but firm, as though saying it aloud could make it true. “You’re safe.”

    Ariana closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a steadying breath. The words were a comfort, even as the weight of everything still pressed heavily on her. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them until now.

    Emma appeared moments later, her face a mixture of relief and worry. She darted forward, wrapping her small arms around Ariana’s leg, her grip surprisingly strong for a child.

    “Are we going home soon?” Emma asked softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. To her, Kirkwall had been home—the bustling streets, the familiar faces. This manor was new, unfamiliar, and despite its warmth, it didn’t hold the same comfort for her.

    Ariana crouched down, her muscles protesting as she pulled Emma into her arms. “This is home now,” she murmured, her voice gentle. “But I promise, we’ll make it feel like home together.”

    Emma clung to her, her small hands fisting the fabric of Ariana’s cloak. “You’re not leaving again, are you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    The question struck deep, and Ariana hesitated, her throat tightening. “Not if I can help it,” she replied softly, brushing a hand over Emma’s hair. The weight of the promise settled heavily on her shoulders, but she meant every word.

    Michael stood just behind Ariana, his protective stance unmistakable. He watched the reunion silently, his sharp gaze flickering between his sister and Isabel. After a moment, he stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “She needs rest, Isabel. She’s been pushing herself too hard.”

    “I’m not the only one,” Ariana said with a faint smirk, though her voice was hoarse with exhaustion. She placed a hand on Michael’s arm, squeezing it gently. “You’ve been with me every step of the way.”

    As Hawke and her companions stepped into the manor, the warmth of the hearth greeted them, but it seemed almost alien against the weight they carried. Varric trailed just behind Hawke, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. His usual swagger was subdued, though his dry humor hadn’t entirely abandoned him.

    “Feels strange being somewhere that isn’t falling apart,” Varric muttered, his voice low but enough to earn a faint chuckle from Isabela.

    Hawke gave a quiet nod to Isabel as she passed, her gratitude unspoken but clear. Her steps were heavy, her eyes distant, yet her resolve remained unbroken. Behind her, Fenris carried an unconscious Merrill, his protective grip firm as he followed without a word. Aveline brought up the rear, her armor battered but her expression resolute, her sharp eyes scanning the room as though expecting another fight to break out.

    They all moved with the same shared exhaustion, the weight of Kirkwall etched into their very beings. Heroes, yes, but broken ones—stripped bare by the choices they’d made and the lives they couldn’t save.

    “Come,” Isabel said, her voice soft but insistent as she gestured for the group to follow her. “You all need a good meal and some rest. No arguments.”

    She led them into the dining room, promising to prepare something hearty. Isabel had seen these people—heroes of Kirkwall—face insurmountable odds and emerge victorious. But now, they looked like people in desperate need of care, even if only for a little while.

    As the night wore on, Ariana found herself sitting by the hearth in the main hall, Emma curled up against her side. Michael stood nearby, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, his protective gaze never straying far from his sister. Valentina and Linnea joined them, their presence quiet but grounding, their loyalty evident in every glance.

    Riley entered the hall, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. She stopped a few steps from Ariana, her expression sharp yet unreadable. “You did well, Wolf,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Kirkwall was chaos, but we saved who we could.”

    Ariana’s gaze flickered to Riley, her fingers brushing unconsciously against the ring beneath her glove. The compliment felt heavy, almost undeserved, and she struggled to hold Riley’s gaze. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” she admitted quietly, the weight of the past days pressing down on her shoulders.

    Riley’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding in her green eyes. “It’s never enough,” she said, her voice steady but without judgment. She stepped closer, her tone quiet yet resolute. “But you made the call, and we followed. That’s what matters. We’re still standing because of you.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened at the words, but she forced a faint nod. Her fingers lingered over the ring, the small touch grounding her, even as doubt whispered relentlessly in her mind.

    The warmth of the hearth filled the hall, a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to linger in Ariana’s bones. She sat with Emma curled tightly against her side, the little girl’s head resting on her lap, her breaths even and soft. Ariana’s fingers combed absently through Emma’s hair, the simple act grounding her as much as it comforted the child.

    Across the room, Valentina sat near the firelight, sharpening her blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The rasp of steel against stone filled the quiet spaces between conversation, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror the unspoken thoughts of everyone in the room. Linnea, seated beside her, uncorked a flask and offered it silently to Michael, who accepted without hesitation. He took a long pull, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he handed it back.

    Isabela lounged on a nearby bench, her fingers idly twirling a dagger, her usual grin replaced by a contemplative frown. Even her quips had grown quieter since leaving Kirkwall, though she still managed a faint smirk when Varric joined her, muttering about the state of his boots.

    The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a long while, broken only when Emma stirred and mumbled sleepily, “Are we going home soon?”

    Ariana’s breath caught, and she glanced down at Emma, her chest tightening. “We are home, cub,” she murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

    As the manor settled into a quiet evening, Ariana stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The soft hum of voices and the occasional clink of metal carried on the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds wash over her, grounding herself in the moment. For now, they were home. And for now, that was enough.

    ~~~

    Weeks passed, the physical wounds from Kirkwall’s fall healing with time, though the deeper scars lingered. Everyone settled into a rhythm of planning their next steps while taking the time to recover. The manor, though temporary, offered a sense of community that none of them had expected but all of them needed.

    The energy of the Rangers breathed life into the manor. Recruits trained in the courtyard, their laughter and camaraderie a sharp contrast to the grim silence of Kirkwall’s final days. The Rangers who had followed Ariana to Kirkwall were greeted with cheers and heartfelt relief. Comrades clasped forearms and exchanged weary smiles, their shared survival strengthening bonds forged in battle.

    Hawke found herself wandering to the courtyard more often than not, her restless energy drawing her toward the clatter of practice swords and sparring drills. She leaned against the wooden fence, watching the recruits spar with a wistful smile. Their awestruck expressions as they realized the Champion of Kirkwall was among them filled her with a bittersweet pride. She answered their eager questions, humoring their hero worship, though each inquiry about Kirkwall made her chest tighten. Champion. The title felt hollow now, weighted by the city she couldn’t save. Fenris stayed close, his quiet presence a steadying force. He spoke little, but his words carried weight, cutting through her self-doubt with blunt clarity. “They don’t need perfection,” he said once, his tone low but firm. “They need to see someone who keeps standing, no matter the fall.” His green eyes lingered on hers for a moment before turning back to the recruits, his silence as grounding as his rare, earnest words.

    Varric, meanwhile, had claimed a permanent seat by the largest campfire. His voice carried across the manor grounds, spinning stories that softened the night’s edges. New recruits and seasoned Rangers alike gathered around, drawn in by his charisma and the escapism his tales offered. Bianca rested across his lap, his fingers occasionally brushing the familiar wood as he recounted adventures both real and exaggerated. Laughter often rippled through the group, the sound warming the cold evenings and reminding them that hope wasn’t entirely lost.

    Aveline and Donnic brought structure to the chaos, running drills in the training yard with their usual no-nonsense efficiency. Aveline’s sharp commands and Donnic’s quiet encouragement forged a balanced dynamic that even the most skeptical Rangers respected. Their steady presence brought a sense of order to the bustling manor, a reminder that discipline could coexist with camaraderie.

    Isabela, unsurprisingly, had no trouble finding her place among the Rangers. She weaved through the groups effortlessly, her sharp wit and flirtatious nature earning laughter and playful groans in equal measure. Her evenings were spent exchanging banter, her easy charm a deliberate effort to lighten the mood. Beneath her teasing smiles, however, was a glimmer of something softer—a silent understanding of the darkness they were all trying to keep at bay.

    Merrill, in her endearing way, moved between groups with innocent curiosity. She asked the recruits questions about their lives and their training, her wide-eyed wonder disarming even the gruffest among them. Her presence brought a sense of lightness, her naïve but sincere inquiries coaxing smiles from battle-hardened Rangers who had forgotten how to laugh.

    Sebastian gravitated toward the library, where he found quiet solace amid the stacks of old tomes and maps. He and Ariana often sat together by the hearth, their conversations ranging from shared histories to the burdens of nobility. They pored over records, tracing their family trees with an air of quiet determination. In those moments, the weight of the world outside the manor faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of pages turning and the soft glow of firelight. They spoke of myths, of the Maker and Andraste, their voices low but filled with an unspoken camaraderie.

    Ariana watched it all with a quiet sense of gratitude, though her heart remained heavy. This was what she had wanted—a place for her people, her friends, to feel safe, even if only temporarily. Yet, the shadows of Kirkwall loomed, a constant reminder of what had been lost and the battles still to come.

    ~~~

    One evening, Ariana sat at the kitchen counter with Isabel and Emma. The quiet hum of the manor surrounded them, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her fingers absently spun the engagement ring on her finger, the cool metal pressing against her skin like a silent accusation. Memories surfaced with each turn of the ring—the warmth in Cullen’s eyes when he’d slipped it onto her finger, the tentative plans they had whispered late at night. Each memory felt like another weight added to the burden she carried.

    “When is Cullen coming home?” Emma’s bright, hopeful voice cut through Ariana’s thoughts, pulling her back to the present.

    Her breath hitched. The innocence in Emma’s question felt like a blade, twisting in a wound she hadn’t allowed to fully surface. “I’m sorry, Emma,” she said gently, her voice strained. “He won’t be able to see us for a while. He has work to do.”

    “But why?” Emma asked, her young face crumpling in confusion. “I want to see him! He promised me another story!”

    Ariana forced a faint, trembling smile, but Isabel stepped in before she could answer. “That’s enough, Emma,” she said firmly. “Cullen has important duties. Now, run along.”

    Emma pouted but obeyed, her small footsteps fading down the hall. As soon as the door closed behind her, Ariana’s composure cracked. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob as tears welled in her eyes.

    Isabel placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, child,” she said softly.

    Ariana shook her head, her voice cracking as she replied, “You don’t have to be sorry. You knew this would happen. You warned me.” She wiped at her face, but the tears kept coming. Her hand moved back to the ring, twisting it again. “Do you know what he said to me during the battle?” Her voice wavered as she recounted his words. “‘You could have told me! Maker, Ariana, I would have fought for you. With you. But you didn’t even give me the chance.’”

    The weight of those words hung between them like an open wound, raw and unhealed. Ariana replayed them constantly, wondering if she had been wrong, if she had destroyed what little hope they had left. Her fingers brushed against the pendant on her leather choker. Its familiar presence offered a fleeting sense of stability.

    Isabel’s grip on her shoulder tightened, grounding her. “You told me what he said,” Isabel began, her voice thoughtful, “but do you know what I hear in those words, Ariana?”

    Ariana glanced up, her eyes wary but curious. “What?” she whispered.

    “I hear a man who’s hurt,” Isabel said, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “Angry, confused, yes—but not because he stopped loving you. It’s because he loves you still. That’s what’s tearing him apart.”

    Her voice dropped lower, heavy with disappointment. “He stood with her, Isabel. He stood by Meredith, carried out her orders until the very end.” Her breath hitched again. “I begged him to take command, to stand against her before it was too late. And he didn’t.”

    The words hung in the air like a bitter confession. She felt her heart breaking all over again, the sting of betrayal blending with the ache of her own guilt. “He said I didn’t give him a chance, but… how could I trust him when he let it come to that?”

    Isabel tightened her grip on Ariana’s shoulder, her expression steady but understanding. “You’re not wrong to feel that way,” she said gently. “Cullen made mistakes. He let duty blind him, just as you let the weight of your secrets keep you from him.”

    Ariana blinked, tears spilling down her cheeks as she looked away. “He knew what Meredith was, what she’d become. And yet…” She trailed off, her hands trembling as they twisted the ring. “How can I forgive that?”

    “Because you know Cullen,” Isabel said softly, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “You’ve seen his heart, Ariana. You know how bound by duty he’s always been. That’s part of who he is. But in the end, he stood against her.”

    Ariana’s fingers stilled on the ring, her lips trembling. “It was too late.”

    “It wasn’t too late for him to show where he truly stood,” Isabel countered. “He’s not perfect, child, but neither are you. He made his choice in the end, just as you made yours. And if you can’t forgive him yet, then give yourself time. Let yourself grieve what you’ve both lost.”

    Ariana closed her eyes, her tears flowing freely now. Isabel’s words were steady, unwavering, but they weren’t easy to hear. “Do you think he regrets it?” she whispered.

    “Without a doubt,” Isabel said firmly. “And not just because of Meredith. He regrets standing against you. You saw it in his eyes, didn’t you? That’s why it hurts so much—for both of you.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened as she recalled those final moments, the way Cullen had looked at her. Hurt. Conflicted. Yet something else had flickered there—love, unyielding despite everything.

    “Do you really think this isn’t the end?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    Isabel’s gaze softened, her hand warm and reassuring on Ariana’s. “If there’s one thing I know about Cullen, it’s that he’ll carry this with him, just like you are now. But I also know he’ll fight for what he loves—once he’s ready. And I think, deep down, you know that too.”

    Ariana closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek as she let Isabel’s words sink in. Slowly, she slid the ring off her finger, holding it in her palm like something fragile. Her other hand reached for her choker, the leather cord warm against her skin. She threaded the ring carefully onto it, letting it rest beside the Visus pendant.

    She clasped the choker back around her neck, the ring now a part of her armor. A reminder of what she carried—her guilt, her hope, and the love she wasn’t ready to give up. When she finally looked up at Isabel, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—not quite hope, but not despair either.

    “It’s not over,” she murmured, her voice filled with quiet resolve.

    Isabel nodded, her smile faint but certain. “No, it’s not. But give it time, child. Time to heal.”

    Ariana glanced toward the door where Emma had disappeared, her heart heavy but steadied by Isabel’s words. She didn’t have all the answers yet, but she wasn’t ready to give up—not on herself, and not on Cullen.

    ~~~

    Over the course of the following weeks and months, one by one, Hawke’s companions departed the manor, each setting out toward the unknown. The farewells were quiet, marked by shared understanding rather than ceremony. The manor, once bustling with camaraderie and life, began to grow still.

    Aveline and Donnic were the first to leave. Their departure was practical, as it always was with Aveline. She had been restless since arriving at the manor, the steady routine of the Rangers not quite enough to temper her sense of duty.

    “We’ll be staying in Ferelden,” Aveline said, addressing Hawke with her usual steadiness. “Denerim needs good people, and Donnic and I can do more there. You know where to find me if you need someone to knock sense into those fools in the palace.”

    Hawke smiled faintly, her respect for Aveline evident. “We’ll miss you,” she said. “But they’ll be lucky to have you.”

    Aveline turned briefly to Ariana. “You’ve built something impressive here,” she said, her tone carrying a rare note of admiration.

    Ariana nodded. “Thanks. And knowing the King, you’ll probably see Rangers in Denerim more often than not. We still do plenty of work for him.”

    Donnic smiled at that, giving a polite nod. “Then I suppose we won’t be strangers.”

    They exchanged farewells, and with that, Aveline and Donnic left, their figures disappearing into the horizon as the first light of dawn broke over the hills.

    Isabela left a week later, her goodbyes as casual as her demeanor. She had spent her time at the manor flirting with the Rangers and filling the halls with laughter, but even she had her limits for staying in one place.

    “You know me,” she said with a grin, her hands resting on her hips as she faced Ariana and Hawke. “I don’t do well with roots. The sea is calling.” Then, with a playful gleam in her eye, she leaned in closer to Ariana. “But you know, Wolf, I think you could use a little more adventure in your life. One-night-stands, danger, treasure hunts. We’d make a great team.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Tempting,” she replied dryly, “but I think I’ll have to pass for now. Someone has to keep the rest of these Rangers in line.”

    Isabela laughed, throwing an arm around Ariana’s shoulders in an unexpected show of affection. “Your loss, darling. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

    Merrill was next. Her farewell was bittersweet, her innocent optimism shining even in the wake of so much loss. She lingered at the gates, her gaze darting between Ariana and Hawke.

    “I’m going back to the Dalish,” she said quietly. “I’ve been away too long. They need me.” She hesitated, her wide eyes searching Ariana’s. “But… if you ever need me, I’ll come back. I promise.”

    Ariana smiled softly, resting a hand on Merrill’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Merrill. And don’t let anyone tell you you’re not enough. You’ve done more than you know.”

    Merrill’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around Ariana in a tight hug. “Thank you, Ariana. For everything.”

    Bethany, ever the steady presence, stayed longer than most, helping where she could around the manor. But eventually, her sense of duty pulled her elsewhere.

    “I think it’s time I returned to the Grey Wardens,” she told Hawke one evening. “There’s still so much to be done, and they’ll need every hand they can get.”

    Hawke’s expression softened as she reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. “Bethany, are you sure?”

    Bethany nodded firmly, though her smile was warm. “I’m sure. This isn’t goodbye, though. You’ll always have me”

    The sisters embraced, their bond unshaken even in the face of another farewell. Ariana stood nearby, watching with quiet respect as Bethany departed, her figure disappearing into the twilight.

    Sebastian was the last to leave before Hawke and Fenris. He approached Ariana in the courtyard one evening, his expression solemn yet kind.

    “I’ll be returning to Starkhaven,” he said. “My people need me now more than ever.”

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “I’m glad they’ll have you. You’ll make a fine ruler.”

    Sebastian smiled faintly, his usual air of piety tempered by something warmer. “And if you ever find yourself in need of anything, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re family, after all.”

    Ariana smirked, crossing her arms. “So it would seem. Maybe I’ll make it back to Starkhaven sometime soon, we’ll finish tracking down all these branches of the family tree.”

    Sebastian laughed, his rare sense of humor shining through. “I’ll be waiting. But rest assured, Ariana—family means you can always count on me.”

    With a bow and a final farewell, Sebastian departed, his steps purposeful as he walked toward a future that only he could shape.

    Finally, it was just Hawke and Fenris who remained. Fenris, ever the stoic, offered no words as they prepared to leave. Instead, he gave Ariana a nod—brief, but full of unspoken respect and understanding. It was a gesture that spoke louder than anything he could have said.

    “We’ll send word when we know where we’re going,” she promised, her tone warm but tinged with uncertainty. “And… if you need us, we’ll be there for you.”

    Ariana clasped Hawke’s hand briefly, her grip firm despite the exhaustion that still weighed on her. “And if you need us, you know you’re always welcome here.”

    As Hawke lingered at the gates, her hand brushed against Fenris’s arm. Ariana caught the small gesture, and it struck her how much had changed between them. Fenris, who once couldn’t bring himself to trust mages, had stood by Hawke’s side in the Gallows, defying everything he once believed. Ariana’s gaze lingered on their intertwined shadows, her chest tightening.

    “Take care, Ari,” Hawke said, her tone firm yet warm. “And keep him out of trouble,” she added with a nod toward Varric.

    Ariana’s smile was faint but genuine. “Impossible,” she replied, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at Fenris, the silent strength in his presence undeniable. He fought for her, she thought, a flicker of bittersweet realization passing through her.

    Hawke’s grip on Fenris’s arm tightened as they turned to leave, and Ariana couldn’t help but wonder if Cullen could ever make that same choice—if he could overcome the weight of his oaths and fears to stand with her, as Fenris had with Hawke. Ariana watched them disappear down the path, side by side, until they were nothing more than shadows on the horizon.

    Ariana lingered at the gates long after Hawke and Fenris had vanished into the distance. The ache in her chest was a familiar one, the same she’d felt each time another of Hawke’s companions had left. Relief that they were alive warred with the sharp sting of their absence, a reminder of how fragile their unity had been amidst the chaos of Kirkwall.

    She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as the cool evening wind swept across the manor grounds. She had fought to keep them all alive, to give them a chance at something beyond the horrors of the Gallows. But survival had come at a cost—fragmented connections, unspoken regrets, and lingering scars.

    Watching Hawke and Fenris together stirred something deeper, a quiet longing. Fenris had stood beside Hawke, even when her choices challenged everything he believed. It was a bond forged in fire and tempered by trust—a trust Cullen had withheld when it mattered most. She swallowed hard, the weight of her own choices pressing against her like the cold iron of her daggers.

    “Think they’ll find peace out there?” she murmured, more to herself than to Varric.

    He didn’t answer right away, his gaze distant as he followed the line of the horizon. “They’ll find what they’re looking for,” he said at last, his voice calm but thoughtful. “And so will you, pup. Maybe not today, but someday.”

    Ariana nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She turned back toward the manor, her steps slow but resolute. For now, she would carry the weight of their shared journey, even as the threads of their fates unraveled. Because Varric was right—their story wasn’t over. It was simply moving to the next chapter.

  • Chapter 49 – The End of a Life

    12 Cloudreach 9:37

    Ariana’s parents had returned to Ostwick a few weeks earlier, but not before Elara made a promise to return by summer. She had suggested a trip to Orlais to find Ariana’s wedding dress or a seamstress capable of crafting the perfect one. To her surprise, Ariana felt a small thrill of excitement at the idea, something she hadn’t expected given how complicated her relationship with her mother had always been.

    Yet, tonight her mind was far from dresses and wedding plans. She found herself caught up in a rather peculiar proposition.

    “So, what do you say, pup?” Varric asked, his grin as mischievous as ever. “You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Ghosts, Varric? Really? I expected better from you.”

    “It’s not just a ghost story,” he replied, chuckling. “It’s Bartrand’s old estate. You know, the one not too far from your place.”

    “You’re telling me I live down the street from a haunted house?” Ariana asked, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

    “Apparently, we both do,” Hawke chimed in, smirking.

    Ariana’s lips twitched into a grin. “Fine. I’ll go with you. If for no other reason than to prove this isn’t some elaborate prank.”

    “That’s the spirit, pup,” Varric quipped, already leading the way. “Let’s see what’s rattling around Bartrand’s old house.”

    As they approached the estate, the air seemed heavier, oppressive. Shadows danced unnaturally across the exterior, and the silence of the surrounding area was deafening. The grand halls, once lavish and filled with life, were now cold and lifeless. Dust clung to every surface, and the faint scent of decay lingered in the air. A soft creak of wood accompanied their first steps inside, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the dense silence.

    “Do you hear that music?” Varric asked suddenly, his expression shifting as his head tilted slightly, as though straining to listen.

    Ariana frowned, glancing at him. “I don’t hear anything. What kind of music?”

    “It’s faint… like a melody. Old, haunting.” Varric’s voice seemed to soften, lost to whatever he was hearing.

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading slightly. “You sure you’re not just spooked, Varric? This place might be dredging up old memories.”

    “Spooked? Please. I’ve faced worse,” Varric retorted, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.

    Ariana couldn’t shake the unease settling in her bones. She didn’t believe in haunted houses—at least, she didn’t think she did. But there was something about this place, an energy that felt alive, sentient, and far from welcoming.

    They pressed on, the oppressive silence broken only by their cautious footsteps. Shadows seemed to shift and twist in the corners of her vision, and more than once, Ariana caught herself glancing over her shoulder. A faint whisper of wind brushed past her ear, though no windows were open, sending a chill down her spine.

    The unease turned to alarm as a vase suddenly floated off a nearby table, hovering in the air before shattering on the ground. Ariana exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Hawke.

    “That’s… unsettling,” Ariana muttered, her voice tinged with forced calm.

    “It’s only starting,” Varric said grimly, his hand instinctively resting on Bianca’s stock.

    In the library, the surreal nature of the estate deepened. Books floated from their shelves, pages fluttering like wings before returning to their places as if nothing had happened. Ariana reached out to touch one, only for it to snap back to the shelf just before her fingers made contact.

    “Well, that’s not normal,” Hawke remarked, her tone dry but her posture tense.

    “Not normal doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Ariana muttered, her unease growing with every passing moment.

    As they moved into the hallway beyond the library, two ghostly figures darted across their path, their forms humanoid but indistinct. The air grew colder, and Ariana felt a shiver run down her spine.

    “Were those… ghosts?” she asked, her voice faltering.

    “Oh no,” Varric said, his tone grim. “I think I know what’s happening.”

    “What’s happening?” Ariana pressed, her eyes narrowing.

    “The idol,” Varric replied. “It has to still be in the house.”

    “What idol?” Ariana asked, looking between Hawke and Varric.

    Hawke sighed, her expression darkening. “The red lyrium idol from the Deep Roads expedition. Bartrand kept a piece of it. We thought it was gone, but…”

    “But clearly it’s not,” Varric finished, his voice bitter.

    “And you think it’s causing all this?” Ariana asked.

    “It’s not a coincidence,” Varric said grimly. “That thing is pure poison.”

    “Then we find it,” Hawke declared, her tone resolute. “And we end this.”

    The main hall was worse than before. More vases floated ominously, their movements deliberate, as though guided by unseen hands. The air felt suffocating, heavy with something unseen and malevolent. Ariana’s breath quickened as the tension grew, her hand tightening instinctively on the hilt of her blade.

    As they neared the stairs, a low, guttural growl reverberated through the air, deep and menacing, sending chills down Ariana’s spine.

    “Is that what you’ve been hearing, Varric?” Ariana asked, her voice sharp with nerves.

    “No,” Varric replied, his tone unusually clipped, his brow furrowed in unease.

    “Oh, good then,” she muttered dryly, though her attempt at humor fell flat in the oppressive atmosphere.

    At the top of the stairs, the scene grew stranger. The dimly lit room ahead was filled with an eerie, pale glow, casting long shadows that flickered unnaturally. A woman stood in the center of the room, her wide eyes darting toward them as they entered. Fear was etched deeply into her face.

    “Are you… real?” she asked, her voice trembling as she took a hesitant step back. “You need to leave. Before he comes back.”

    “Who’s ‘he’?” Ariana asked cautiously, stepping closer but keeping her blade ready.

    The woman’s gaze darted toward the shadows, as if expecting something to materialize at any moment. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s always here. Watching. Waiting.”

    Varric stepped forward, his usually relaxed demeanor gone. His hand rested on Bianca, and his eyes bore into the woman with a mix of suspicion and urgency. “Where’s the idol?” he demanded, his voice sharp, almost harsh.

    The woman flinched, her hands trembling as she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. “There’s no idol—”

    “Don’t lie to me!” Varric’s voice rose, echoing off the walls. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The red lyrium idol. Where is it?”

    The woman’s fear deepened, her eyes darting to the door as though contemplating escape. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I don’t know anything about—”

    “You’re lying,” Varric snapped, stepping closer. His grip on Bianca tightened, and his usual charm was nowhere to be found. “People don’t just stay in a place like this for no reason. What are you hiding?”

    “Varric,” Ariana interrupted, her voice firm as she moved between him and the woman. “That’s enough. She’s terrified.”

    “She knows something, pup,” Varric retorted, his voice sharp. “And I need answers.”

    “Not like this,” Ariana said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Varric opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the floor beneath them trembled violently. The walls groaned, and a rush of cold air swept through the room, extinguishing the faint light. The woman let out a panicked cry and bolted past them, disappearing into the shadows of the hall.

    Moments later, the sound of her scream tore through the air, sharp and gut-wrenching.

    Ariana’s heart raced as they rushed to the source of the scream, descending the stairs with weapons drawn. At the bottom, they found her lifeless body sprawled across the floor, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Standing over her was a massive, spectral figure—a jagged, hulking form with glowing eyes that burned with malice.

    “Is that a… ghost golem?” Ariana asked, her voice disbelieving and tinged with dread. She drew her blades, her grip tightening. “I think I’ve made a terrible life choice today.”

    The creature let out a deafening roar, the sound reverberating through the halls. It charged, its massive arm swinging toward them with crushing force. Ariana darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow as it shattered the stone banister. Hawke leapt into action, her movements swift and precise as she landed a well-placed strike with her daggers, drawing the creature’s attention.

    “Aim for the core!” Hawke shouted, pointing to the faintly glowing center of the golem’s chest. “It’s holding the thing together!”

    Ariana moved quickly, circling around the creature while Varric fired a flurry of bolts from Bianca, each shot glowing faintly as it struck the spectral figure. The golem roared again, its form flickering as Ariana slashed at its core. The blow seemed to destabilize it, and with one final coordinated effort, she drove her blade deep into the center as Hawke struck from behind, and Varric’s bolt pierced the core. The golem let out a final, guttural scream before disintegrating into a haze of spectral light.

    As the dust settled, Varric’s gaze was drawn to a faint glimmer in the debris. His expression darkened as he knelt, his hand hovering over a jagged shard of glowing red lyrium.

    “It’s still here,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All this… because of this cursed thing.”

    “Varric,” Hawke said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Put it down.”

    “I can’t,” Varric replied, his voice strained. “You don’t understand. This… it’s what’s left of Bartrand, of everything he destroyed.” His grip on the shard tightened, his knuckles white.

    “Varric,” Ariana said gently, stepping closer. “You don’t need to carry this. Let it go. This thing ruined Bartrand and almost ruined you. Don’t let it finish the job.”

    “It’s not that simple,” Varric said, his voice breaking. “It’s all that’s left of him.”

    Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone softening. “And it’s not your burden to bear. Let me take it. I’ll keep it safe. You’ve done enough, Varric. It’s time to let it go.”

    For a long moment, Varric didn’t move. Then, with a heavy sigh, he handed the shard to Hawke, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had been lifted.

    “Fine,” he said quietly. “But if it starts whispering sweet nothings to you, Hawke, I’m taking it back.”

    Ariana let out a small laugh, the tension finally easing. “You did the right thing, Varric,” she said, giving him a reassuring nod.

    “Let’s get out of here before this place decides to collapse on us,” Hawke said, tucking the shard safely away.

    As they stepped out into the cool night air, the oppressive energy of the house seemed to release its hold. But the memory of what had transpired—and the dangers of the idol—lingered with them as they walked back into the quiet streets of Hightown.

    ~~~

    The oppressive weight of the night clung to Ariana as she stepped into her house, the door creaking closed behind her. The events at Bartrand’s estate had left a shadow over her thoughts, but that shadow deepened as she saw Cullen standing in the hall, the dim light catching on his polished armor. His expression was etched with worry, the kind that sent a pang through her chest.

    “Where have you been?” His voice was sharp, laced with tension, his hazel eyes scanning her as though confirming she was unharmed.

    Ariana blinked, her guard immediately rising. “Just down the street at a haunted house,” she replied, her sarcasm biting. “You know, because that’s normal.”

    Cullen stepped closer, his brows knitting together. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Ariana. It’s not safe out there.” His voice dropped, heavy with urgency. “You need to stay inside tonight. Please.”

    She frowned, the edge in his tone unsettling. “What’s going on? Wait, why are you fully armed?”

    He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting hers again. “Something’s brewing between Orsino and Meredith. The tension’s been building for weeks, but tonight… something feels different. Wrong.”

    Her stomach tightened, the foreboding in his words settling like a weight in her chest. “Orsino sent for Hawke and Varric tonight,” she said slowly, her voice edged with worry. “They’re with him now.”

    Cullen’s face darkened, his jaw tightening. “This won’t end well then.”

    “What won’t end well?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Cullen, you’re not telling me anything.”

    He sighed heavily, the lines on his face deepening. “Meredith has ordered the tower searched, top to bottom. Every mage, every room—she won’t stop until she’s rooted out all blood mages.”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You know what that means,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “She’ll accuse anyone who looks at her the wrong way. Innocent mages will die, Cullen. You cannot let this happen.”

    “And what do you expect me to do?” he snapped, his frustration finally surfacing. “Defy her? Risk throwing the entire Order into chaos? The Templars need leadership, Ariana, and right now—”

    “They need you!” she cut in, her voice rising. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “You know she’s gone too far. You’re the Knight-Captain, Cullen. You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late.”

    For a moment, he looked at her, his resolve wavering. The storm in his eyes reflected the weight of her words, the battle raging within him. “And then what?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with pain. “Meredith is the Knight-Commander. My duty is to her.”

    Ariana’s grip tightened, her voice trembling. “Your duty is to protect people, Cullen. To do what’s right. You know this isn’t right.”

    He stepped back, breaking her hold. His face was a mask of conflict, his voice hollow. “It’s not that simple, Ariana.”

    “It is to me,” she whispered, her heart aching as the distance between them grew. “Please, Cullen. Help me stop this. Help me save them.”

    “Ari…” His voice broke, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might relent. But then he shook his head, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry.”

    She reached for him again, her hands trembling as they rested against his chest. “We’re supposed to be in this together,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her plea. “Stand with me, please. The Templars will follow you.”

    Cullen’s gaze dropped to her hands, his jaw tightening. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—hope, perhaps, or the faintest shadow of belief in her words. But then he shook his head again, stepping back just enough for her hands to fall away.

    “I’m not sure that’s true,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with conflict. “Even if I wanted to, relieving Meredith of command would fracture the Order here in Kirkwall. It could tear us apart.”

    “You’ve seen what she’s done,” Ariana argued, her desperation clear. “You know where this path leads, Cullen. If you don’t act now, it won’t just be the mages who suffer—it will be everyone.”

    His face was a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, and a deep, aching sorrow. “And what happens when the Templars start questioning everything?” he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind. “When they see their leaders divided, when they lose faith in the Order entirely? That chaos would destroy us.”

    Ariana clenched her fists, her chest tightening with every word. “And standing by while Meredith tears this city apart won’t?”

    “I don’t have the power you think I do, Ariana,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t risk what little unity we have left.”

    Her heart ached at the resignation in his voice, at the weight he carried alone. “You’re stronger than you think, Cullen,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “But if you won’t stand with me now, then who will?”

    His silence was deafening, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own. Finally, he turned toward the door, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his decision.

    “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely audible as he opened the door. “Stay safe, Ari. Please.”

    And with that, he was gone, leaving Ariana standing alone in the suffocating silence.

    The silence that followed was deafening, her outstretched hand trembling as she let it fall to her side. Her heart pounded, her mind racing. She wanted to scream, to break something, to tear down the walls she’d built between her identities. For the first time, she had been on the verge of telling Cullen everything—who she really was, what she truly stood for—but she couldn’t.

    She let out a shuddering breath, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. Time had run out. Meredith’s madness would force her hand, and when it did, the White Wolf would no longer be a shadow in the dark. She would have to face the consequences of her double life, and Maker help her, she wasn’t sure if Cullen would still stand beside her when the truth came to light.

    With a trembling resolve, Ariana turned toward the stairs, her mind already calculating her next move. If the storm was coming, she would be ready for it—even if it cost her everything.

    ~~~

    Isabel stood at the base of the stairs, her face pale, her eyes locked on Ariana with a mixture of disbelief and fear.

    “This… can’t be happening,” Isabel whispered, her voice trembling as if saying the words aloud might summon more devastation.

    Ariana’s chest tightened, but her expression hardened into one of resolve. “Get changed,” she ordered, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “Travel clothes. Pack light, bring Emma, and anything you absolutely need. You’re leaving the city tonight.”

    Isabel’s lips parted as if to protest, but the unyielding determination in Ariana’s eyes silenced her. This wasn’t a request—it was a command. Ariana would not risk them staying, not with chaos ripping through Kirkwall like wildfire. Isabel gave a single, tight nod before hurrying away.

    Ariana’s legs carried her up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. She had been here before, packing for flight, leaving behind pieces of herself to protect what little she could. In her room, she knelt by the bed and pulled out the chest, the latch clicking open to reveal her past. Her hands brushed over the familiar fabric of the White Wolf’s cloak. Each movement felt heavier, the weight of her decision settling like stone in her chest. She had fought for years to keep her lives separate, but now, the fragile threads holding them together were snapping.

    She donned her gear with practiced efficiency—leather bracers, reinforced boots, twin daggers strapped to her thighs. The weight of the cloak on her shoulders felt like stepping back into an old self she had tried to leave behind. The White Wolf wasn’t just a mask; it was who she truly was, even if she had tried to build something different with Cullen. But could the two lives ever truly coexist?

    As her fingers hovered over her gloves, her gaze fell to the ring on her finger, its faint blue crystal catching the dim light. Her breath hitched. This ring was a symbol of everything she wanted—a life with Cullen, a family, love, and stability. But it was a life built on lies, on half-truths and secrets.

    Her hand trembled as she slid on her gloves, covering the ring. She felt as though she were sealing away a part of herself. The Wolf demanded action, demanded she protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But the woman who loved Cullen, who dreamed of something beyond the shadows—she was still there, buried under layers of duty and necessity. She had told herself she would choose Cullen if it ever came to it. But she realized now that she had lied to herself. This was the moment, she could choose him here and now. All she needed to do was stay home. But she would never make that choice.

    The final strap clicked into place. Just as she straightened, the world seemed to heave beneath her feet. An earsplitting explosion tore through the air, the sound reverberating through her bones. She staggered, clutching the bedpost for balance as the house shook violently around her.

    When the tremors subsided, her ears rang with a high-pitched whine, but the sickening reality of what had just happened drove her forward. She bolted toward the balcony, her heart pounding.

    As she stepped outside, her breath caught in her throat. The Chantry was gone. In its place, a towering column of red light split the night sky, casting an eerie glow over Kirkwall. Flames roared hungrily, devouring the remnants of the holy building, while smoke billowed upward like a vengeful specter. The distant screams of terrified citizens reached her ears, a symphony of chaos that filled the city.

    Ariana’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the railing, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Andraste guide us…”

    This was it. The moment she had dreaded but somehow known would come. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. Whatever fragile peace she had tried to create was shattered, the life she had built with Cullen teetering on the edge of ruin.

    She turned sharply, her resolve hardening. There was no time to waste. She raced downstairs to find Isabel already in the main hall, clutching Emma tightly with a pack slung over her shoulder. The fear in Isabel’s eyes mirrored Ariana’s own, but her movements were steady, her grip on Emma firm.

    “We need to leave now,” Ariana said, her voice sharp and commanding. “The city won’t hold.” She turned to the household staff, her gaze sweeping over them. “If you want to leave, come with us. If you stay, barricade the doors. Fortify the house. It will hold if you’re careful.”

    Some nodded and began packing hastily, while others moved to fortify the estate, their faces grim but resolute.

    Ariana stepped closer to Isabel, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You stay right behind me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Close and to my left, always. Do you understand?”

    Isabel nodded, her grip tightening on Emma as the little girl buried her face in her mother’s neck. Despite the chaos, Isabel’s calm gave Ariana a sliver of reassurance.

    Ariana drew her blades as they stepped out into the fiery streets of Hightown. The world had become a battlefield—flames licked the sides of buildings, casting long, flickering shadows; shouts and cries echoed through the night, mingling with the distant clang of steel. Every sound, every movement, set Ariana’s nerves on edge.

    “We head to the Rangers,” she said, her voice unwavering as she addressed the small group that followed her. “Stay close. Stay together. Do not stray.”

    With each step, Ariana felt the weight of the White Wolf embrace her like an old friend. This was her life. The one she built through sacrifice, mistakes, and her own choices. The one where she could protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. She had just hoped that Cullen could have been a part of it.

    Whatever lay ahead, Ariana would face it as she always had—with blades in her hands and a fierce determination burning in her chest. The Wolf was ready, and this time, she wasn’t running.

    But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

    ~~~

    The group moved through Hightown as swiftly as the panicked crowds allowed. Though chaos reigned, the disarray was driven more by confusion than outright violence. Frightened citizens wandered aimlessly, shouting for loved ones or stumbling through the streets in a daze. Ariana stopped briefly to give the same advice to anyone who approached her: “Barricade yourselves in your homes. Stay safe. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

    As they descended into Lowtown, the air thickened with heat and smoke, and the tension became palpable. Here, chaos had taken a sharper edge. Shadows darted through the narrow alleys, and the clash of steel against steel echoed from the direction of the Docks. Angry shouts and cries for help pierced the night. Ariana tightened her grip on her daggers, her pulse quickening as her group pressed on.

    A familiar voice cut through the noise. “Wolf!”

    She turned sharply, relief flooding through her as Riley and three other Rangers—Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto—approached, flanked by six more. Their armor bore fresh scuffs, their weapons drawn and ready. Riley’s familiar voice brought a rare moment of reassurance.

    “Riley,” Ariana said, her tone brisk but grateful. “You’re a sight. I need ships. Do we have any docked and ready?”

    Riley nodded but hesitated, her expression grim. “We do, Wolf, but there’s more.” She glanced at Valentina before meeting Ariana’s gaze. “Meredith has invoked the Right of Annulment.”

    The words hit Ariana like a blow to the chest, momentarily knocking the air from her lungs. Her mind reeled, the full weight of the declaration crashing over her. It was worse than she had feared. The Templars would purge the Circle, innocent and guilty alike, leaving nothing but blood and ash in their wake.

    “Your orders, Wolf,” Riley said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing around them.

    Ariana straightened, shoving her shock and despair aside. There was no time to waste. “Lamberto,” she said firmly, turning to the broad-shouldered Ranger. “Take a squad and escort this group to the docks. Get them on the ships. Defend the docks with your life if you have to. Reinforcements will join you as soon as possible.”

    “By your order, Wolf,” Lamberto replied, his tone steady and resolute. He motioned to his team, who began forming up with swift, practiced precision.

    Isabel stepped forward, clutching Emma tightly, her face pale but determined. “Ariana,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re not coming with us?”

    Ariana’s throat tightened, but she shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, her voice softening as she pulled Isabel and Emma into a brief but fierce embrace. “I’ll find you. I swear it.” She knelt to meet Emma’s wide-eyed gaze, her heart clenching. “Stay with your mother, alright? She’ll keep you safe.”

    Emma nodded solemnly, her small hands gripping Ariana’s cloak. “You’ll come back, right?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    “Always,” Ariana said firmly, brushing a strand of hair from Emma’s face. “Be brave, my little cub.”

    She straightened and met Isabel’s gaze. “Go. Stay safe. Lamberto will protect you.”

    Isabel hesitated, her eyes filled with unspoken fears, but she nodded. “You too,” she whispered before following Lamberto and the others as they disappeared into the smoke-filled streets.

    Ariana turned back to Riley, Valentina, and Linnea, her voice hardening. “We’re heading to the warehouse. The Rangers need their orders, and I need to know who’s still standing.” Without waiting for a response, she raised her horn and blew a sharp, commanding blast. The call echoed through the streets, summoning the scattered Rangers.

    By the time they reached the warehouse, it was a hive of activity. Rangers moved with focused urgency, their sharp efficiency a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Scouts poured in, delivering reports, while others prepped supplies and coordinated escape routes. Despite the tension, the group operated like a well-oiled machine, their discipline forged through years of shared battles.

    Ariana climbed onto a crate at the center of the room, her voice cutting through the din as she addressed the assembled Rangers. “Templars are hunting mages,” she began, her tone steady but commanding. “And frightened mages will turn to blood magic if they think there’s no way out. We’re going to give them one. Our job is to find them and get them to the docks. No mage gets left behind.”

    Her gaze swept over the crowd, settling on Linnea. “Spread the word. Every scout we have is to search the streets, the slums, and Darktown. Make sure the mages know this is their chance. Escort them if necessary, and get them to the ships.”

    Linnea nodded sharply, already signaling to her scouts to prepare.

    Riley stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “And the Templars?” she asked, her voice carrying a weight that made the room fall silent.

    Ariana’s expression darkened, and her response was measured but firm. “Incapacitate them if you must. Reason with them if you think they’ll listen. But if it comes down to it…” She hesitated, the gravity of her next words heavy in her chest. “Kill only as a last resort. We don’t need more bloodshed, but we protect our own. And…” Her voice softened, her gaze dropping for a moment. “If any of you find Michael, I need to know he’s safe.”

    Linnea nodded, her hand resting on the pommel of her blade. “What’s our path, Wolf?”

    “Start in Lowtown and Darktown,” Ariana replied without hesitation. “We’ll clear the streets and move toward the Gallows. Scouts, run constant communication between groups—no one gets left in the dark.”

    Valentina’s voice rang out, sharp and resolute. “We’ll get it done, Wolf. Whatever it takes.”

    The Rangers echoed her, their unified response reverberating through the room: “By your order, Wolf.”

    The group began to disperse, each Ranger moving with purpose into the night. Only Riley lingered, her gaze steady as she studied Ariana.

    “And you?” Riley asked quietly, her concern evident.

    “I’ll find where I’m needed most,” Ariana said, adjusting her cloak with calm resolve. “But first, I need to find Hawke and Varric. Orsino sent for them earlier. I need to know what’s happening.”

    Riley hesitated, then nodded, her voice softening. “Don’t get dead, Wolf.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile. “Not tonight.”

    As Riley led her squad into the fray, Ariana stood for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on her. She pulled her hood over her head, the White Wolf stepping fully into the chaos. Kirkwall was burning, and her path was clear: protect those who could not protect themselves, no matter the cost.

    Tonight, the city was a battlefield, and she would fight until her last breath.

    ~~~

    Ariana pulled her hood up, her fingers brushing over the mask as she secured it in place. The legend of the White Wolf wouldn’t falter tonight—not while there were lives to save. Yet each step through Kirkwall’s burning streets was a bitter reminder of what she stood to lose. Beneath her gloves, the ring on her finger burned like a brand, the weight of its promise a cruel contrast to the reality unfolding around her.

    This isn’t how I wanted this to end, Cullen. But it’s who I am. She tried to push the thought aside, but it clung to her, heavy and unrelenting.

    Her heart clenched as her mind turned to him again, that fragile hope still flickering within her. Please let him see what she’s doing. Please let him stand with me. But doubt whispered insidiously. Cullen was bound by duty and oaths she couldn’t untangle him from—not even for her.

    The streets were chaos incarnate, filled with fire and desperation. Mages ran in terror, their cries blending with the clash of steel as Templars bore down on them. Ariana moved like a shadow, striking swiftly and precisely. She disarmed and incapacitated where she could, her blades flashing in the firelight. But when cornered, she had no choice but to end a life, and each time she did, it carved a deeper scar into her soul.

    “Do not fight,” she urged trembling mages whenever she reached them. Her voice was steady, a beacon of calm in the chaos. “Follow my Rangers. Trust us. We’ll get you to safety.”

    Most listened, their desperation outweighing fear. But Ariana couldn’t save everyone. Twice she arrived too late, finding mages who had succumbed to blood magic, their bodies grotesque and twisted, their minds lost to demons. She fought beside the very Templars she despised to put them down, the White Wolf forced to be their ally in those fleeting, harrowing moments.

    Even then, she heard whispers: “The White Wolf is here. Beware.”

    Her teeth clenched as she muttered bitterly, “I just saved you,” before vanishing into the next alley.

    The city seemed to pulse with its own malevolence, every corner hiding new horrors. Finally, she spotted familiar figures in the distance. “Hawke!” she called, relief rushing through her as she sprinted toward them.

    Hawke turned, her usual smirk replaced by a somber expression. Varric stood at her side, crossbow at the ready. “Ariana,” Hawke said, her voice heavy.

    “What happened?” Ariana demanded. “No—how did this happen?”

    Varric was the one to answer, his voice uncharacteristically grim. “Anders blew up the Chantry.” His words hung in the air, stark and cold. “He thought it’d spark a war.”

    “And he was right,” Hawke added quietly, guilt shadowing her features.

    Ariana’s stomach twisted. “Anders…?” She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “There’s no time. The Rangers are moving mages to the docks. If you find anyone, send them there.”

    Hawke nodded. “We’re heading to the Gallows. Meredith’s out for blood, and we’re at the top of her list.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. “Be careful, Champion,” she said softly. “I’ll get there when I can.”

    Hawke’s smirk returned briefly, though it lacked its usual bite. “You too, Wolf.”

    Ariana gave a brief nod before vanishing back into the shadows.

    In Lowtown, the chaos escalated. Flames licked at the edges of wooden structures, and the air was thick with smoke. Then she heard it: the sound of steel striking stone, and voices raised in fury. She followed the noise to find a group of mages cornered in a narrow alley by six Templars.

    She acted without hesitation, raising her horn to her lips and blowing a sharp, commanding note. The sound echoed through the streets, breaking the Templars’ focus just long enough. Ariana leapt into the fray, landing between the mages and their pursuers.

    “Do not fight,” she whispered to the mages over her shoulder. “I’ll protect you.”

    The Templars advanced, their blades gleaming in the firelight. Six against one.

    But before the first blow was struck, one of the Templars faltered. “I… I can’t do this anymore,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He stepped away from his comrades, his sword lowering. “I’ll stand with you, if you’ll let me.”

    Ariana’s sharp gaze softened. “Thank you,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Stay with the mages. Protect them.”

    The other Templars hesitated, their formation breaking. Ariana seized the opportunity, her movements swift and deadly. Within moments, two of them were disarmed and unconscious.

    Then, a voice cut through the chaos—a voice she knew too well.

    “Stop! Surrender yourselves!”

    Her blood turned to ice as she turned to face him. Cullen stood at the end of the alley, flanked by three more Templars. His armor gleamed in the flickering light, and his expression was grim, resolute.

    “The Right of Annulment has been invoked,” he declared, his voice cold and distant. “Anyone aiding the mages will be arrested. Even you, ‘White Wolf.’”

    The words struck her like a physical blow. Her breath caught, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to blur. Cullen…

    He had chosen the Order. He had chosen Meredith. Her heart cracked, the weight of betrayal crashing down on her.

    Their eyes met, and she saw the conflict in his gaze, the doubt he tried so hard to suppress. But it wasn’t enough. Not now.

    The Templars advanced again, and Ariana moved on instinct. She fought like a whirlwind, incapacitating another enemy with precise, controlled strikes. Her blades flashed, her every move deliberate—no deaths, not even now.

    And Cullen… he watched her, his brow furrowed. Her fighting style was familiar, but the chaos of the moment left him unable to place it.

    Reinforcements arrived in the form of her Rangers, their sudden appearance shifting the tide. “Go, Wolf!” one of them shouted. “We’ll cover you!”

    She hesitated, her gaze flickering to Cullen once more. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, a thousand unspoken words passed between them—love, betrayal, heartbreak, and resolve.

    Ariana turned away, her voice sharp but quiet as she addressed the mages. “Follow me.”

    With a final glance at Cullen, she disappeared into the shadows, leading the mages to safety as her heart shattered in her chest.

    ~~~

    Ariana led the group of mages to the docks, her steps unwavering even as exhaustion clawed at her. The cries of chaos echoed behind her, the city’s flames painting the sky in hues of red and orange. The mages clung to one another as they followed her, their trust evident despite the fear etched into their faces.

    As they reached the pier, Ariana saw Riley standing near the edge, her posture steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. She moved toward her, her steps purposeful but heavy with emotion.

    “Status?” Ariana asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her.

    “Two ships have already left, full,” Riley replied briskly. “Yours will be the last. Isabel and Emma are safe—they’ve already departed. Everyone is headed for Redcliffe.”

    At the mention of Isabel and Emma, Ariana’s breath hitched slightly, her expression softening. Relief flickered through her, but it was fleeting, buried beneath the weight of everything else. “Good,” she said curtly, her tone betraying the strain she carried.

    Riley’s gaze shifted to the Templar who stood beside Ariana, his armor dented but his resolve clear. “New recruit, Wolf?” she asked, her tone edged with dry humor.

    Ariana nodded. “Someone who wants to help,” she said, glancing at the Templar. Then, addressing him directly, she added, “Stay here. More mages are being brought to this ship. You’ll leave with them—watch over and protect them.”

    The Templar gave a sharp nod. “Of course.”

    Riley smirked faintly, her tone light despite the gravity of the moment. “Welcome to the Rangers, kid. You’ll find some of your fellow former Templars already by the ship.”

    Riley turned her attention back to Ariana, her expression softening. “Are you alright?” she asked, her concern evident.

    “I’m fine,” Ariana replied curtly, her tone clipped. She rolled out her neck and adjusted her blades, trying to shake off the heaviness pressing down on her. “Just tired.” Then, after a pause, she asked, “Any sign of Michael yet?”

    The Templar stiffened slightly at the name, then turned back to Ariana. “Ser Michael Trevelyan? He was still in the Gallows when all this began,” he said, his voice hesitant. “He’s a capable warrior. I’m sure he’s alright.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. She wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at her. “Thank you,” she said quietly, though her mind raced.

    “As soon as this last group clears, we head for the Gallows,” she said firmly, her voice sharpening with determination. “Hawke will need help there. And I need to find Michael.”

    Minutes later, the final groups of mages began arriving, escorted by Rangers whose faces bore the weariness of battle. Despite their exhaustion, they moved with purpose, guiding the mages to the ship. Ariana oversaw every detail, ensuring no one was left behind. Each mage she saw safely aboard was another weight lifted, though it did little to ease the ache in her heart.

    “Are all Rangers accounted for?” she asked Riley once the ship was nearly ready to depart.

    “With the ones that just arrived, yes,” Riley confirmed.

    Ariana nodded, her voice steady but tinged with finality. “Good. I need fifteen volunteers to stay behind with me. Everyone else, head for Ferelden with the mages. We’ll regroup at the manor when this is over.”

    “I’m staying,” Riley said immediately, stepping forward with her usual confidence. “Can’t let you get yourself killed, Wolf. Somebody’s gotta keep you in line.”

    “So are we,” Valentina said, stepping into view with Linnea and Lamberto at her side.

    Ariana allowed herself a faint smirk despite the heaviness in her chest. “Very well. Let’s hope you’re all up for the task.”

    The volunteers stepped forward one by one, a mix of Rangers she had fought alongside for years and newer recruits whose determination shone in their eyes. As the final ship set sail, Ariana turned to the remaining Rangers. Her voice was steady, but her words carried a fire that burned brighter than the city behind her.

    “We head for the Gallows now,” she said, her tone resolute. “Let’s carve a path.”

    As they boarded a small boat to cross the harbor, Ariana sat silently at the prow, her hood pulled low against the chill. There was no room for doubt, no time for grief. Every choice she’d made, every life saved, had led her here. If Cullen wouldn’t fight for justice, she would do it alone. She would not falter, not now. The rhythmic splash of oars against water did little to calm her racing thoughts. The image of Cullen’s face—his hardened expression as he invoked the Right of Annulment—played on a loop in her mind. 

    *The Right of Annulment has been invoked. Even you, White Wolf.* 

    The words struck like a dagger each time they echoed in her mind, the betrayal cutting deeper than she’d thought possible. She had believed in him, trusted that he would do what was right, that he would stand against Meredith when the time came. But he hadn’t. He had chosen duty over justice. Over her. Had she been a fool to believe he could stand against Meredith? To think that love could bridge the chasm between who he was and who she needed him to be?”

    Her fists clenched at her sides, her gloved fingers brushing against the ring hidden beneath the fabric. The weight of it felt unbearable now—a promise she wasn’t sure either of them could keep anymore.

    She had hidden the White Wolf from him, told herself it was to protect him, but now she wondered if it had only widened the distance between them. Could he have stood with her if she had been honest? Or would he have walked away even sooner? She wanted to believe he would come to his senses. That the man she loved would break free from the chains of duty and stand beside her.

    And yet, beneath the heartbreak, anger simmered. Anger at Meredith, at the Chantry for failing to act before things had escalated this far. Anger at Cullen for his inaction, for his inability to defy the Order. And anger at herself—for letting the White Wolf sit idly by for so long, for believing she could balance both halves of her life without breaking something.

    Riley’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Wolf? We’re almost there.”

    Ariana glanced back at the Rangers, their faces set with determination. They believed in her. They had always believed in her. And that, more than anything, reminded her of who she was. The White Wolf wasn’t just a mask—it was a promise. A promise to protect, to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, no matter the cost.

    As the boat neared the Gallows, the fires of Kirkwall reflected in the water, casting eerie shadows across their faces. Ariana pulled her hood tighter and adjusted her blades. The battle wasn’t over yet. And tonight, the White Wolf would not falter.

  • Chapter 46 – A Promise in the Dark

    5 Harvestmere 9:35 – 16 Wintermarch 9:36

    Cullen sat at his desk, carefully weighing each word as he drafted the note. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but his focus remained steady. He leaned back, tapping the pen against his chin as he tried to recall the memory he cherished most vividly. It had been years, but the details were etched in his mind like a finely drawn map—her laughter echoing against the ruins, the sunlight catching in her hair, the sound of sparring swords mingling with the distant crash of waves.

    Ari,

    Meet me by the ruins on the cliffs at dawn tomorrow. Bring whatever you might need for the day—and perhaps be ready for anything.

    I’ll be waiting.

    —Cullen

    He read the note over again, smiling faintly before carefully folding it. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining her expression when she read it. Would she remember that day near Lake Calenhad? Would it bring her the same comfort it brought him?

    Then, as quickly as the warmth settled over him, doubt crept in. Cullen’s hand lingered on the parchment. Was this enough? Could a simple gesture—an echo of the past—bridge the growing gap between them? He’d seen her struggle, the weight she carried, and he wondered if this memory held the same meaning for her as it did for him. Still, he pushed the thought aside. It doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be real.

    He grabbed his cloak and made his way to Hightown, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he navigated the quiet streets. The sky was deepening into twilight, and the distant hum of the city felt muted, almost reverent.

    When he reached the Trevelyan estate, Isabel greeted him at the door, her usual knowing smirk firmly in place.

    “Cullen, are you here for Ariana?” Isabel asked, her tone teasing as her green eyes sparkled with curiosity.

    “Not tonight,” Cullen replied, holding out the folded note. “Can you leave this on her bed? It’s a surprise for tomorrow.”

    Isabel raised an eyebrow as she took the note, her expression shifting slightly. “A surprise, you say? For her birthday?”

    Cullen hesitated, his tone softening. “It’s… a reminder. Of a simpler time.”

    Isabel studied him for a moment, her smirk fading into something gentler. “A simpler time, hmm?” she said, her voice tinged with both amusement and understanding. “You know, Cullen, she might not say it, but she’ll appreciate the effort. She always does.”

    He smiled at that, grateful for her reassurance. “Thank you, Isabel.”

    She nodded, her smirk returning as she stepped back. “Now, go get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it for whatever you’re planning.”

    The ruins the next morning were everything Cullen had hoped for—quiet, timeless, and serene. The faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs mingled with the distant calls of seabirds. A cool breeze carried the scent of salt and damp stone, and the rising sun painted the sky in shades of pink and orange.

    Cullen had prepared everything: the training swords leaned against a moss-covered pillar, a basket of food rested on a nearby stone, and a small stack of books sat carefully wrapped in cloth. He glanced toward the horizon, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.

    It wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t need to be. It was a memory brought to life, a gift meant to remind her of the bond they’d forged long ago—and perhaps, to remind her of the man who would stand beside her through whatever lay ahead.

    ~~~

    The words in the note made Ariana’s heart skip a beat. She recognized them instantly, the memory flooding back with startling clarity. That first birthday near Lake Calenhad had been one of the happiest days of her life—a day filled with laughter, light, and the ease of simply being together. She smiled to herself, tucking the note into her pocket. It was such a Cullen thing to do—to remember something so small yet so meaningful. It reminded her of the man she fell in love with, the man who still made her heart ache with both joy and longing.

    She left the estate before dawn, wrapping herself in a cloak against the morning chill. The streets of Kirkwall were silent, the faint glow of lanterns guiding her steps as she made her way toward the cliffs. As she approached the ruins, the sight of the two training swords leaning against the pillar brought a wave of nostalgia so powerful it stole her breath. She paused, her gloved hand brushing the rough stone of the pillar, the memory of that long-ago day playing vividly in her mind.

    Her eyes swept the ruins, searching for him. Cullen was nowhere to be seen, but she felt his presence lingering in the air, like a familiar warmth.

    A faint shift of rocks to her left caught her attention. She smiled to herself, pretending not to notice.

    When Cullen lunged from behind the pillar, wrapping his arms around her, she let out a surprised laugh, her heart leaping as she turned in his embrace to face him.

    “You remembered,” she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion as she leaned up to kiss him.

    “I’ve never forgotten,” he replied, his voice warm and steady, his hazel eyes filled with affection. He cradled the back of her head, holding her close as if anchoring himself in the moment. Then, with a playful grin, he stepped back, bending to grab the training swords. Tossing one to her, he said, “Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

    Ariana caught the sword with practiced ease, her eyebrow arching. “Are you sure you want to do this, Knight-Captain?”

    “Are you ready to be bested, Lady Trevelyan?” Cullen retorted with a smirk, his playful challenge setting her heart alight.

    They sparred as the sun rose higher, its golden rays casting long shadows across the ruins. The clash of wood against wood echoed in the crisp morning air, mingling with the distant sound of waves. Ariana moved like water, her strikes fluid and precise, her footwork light and agile. Cullen was relentless, each strike carrying the weight of his strength, his focus unwavering.

    Their laughter punctuated the sparring match, each teasing the other between breaths. Ariana’s breath came in quick bursts as she dodged another heavy strike, her grin wide. “You’ve gotten better,” she remarked, feinting to the left before spinning to tap his shoulder with her sword. “Maybe I’ve taught you too much.”

    Cullen laughed, breathless, his stance steady as he adjusted. “And you’ve gotten faster,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow.

    They continued, each round more intense than the last, neither willing to yield. Finally, after a particularly swift exchange, they called a draw, collapsing onto the grass side by side. Their laughter mingled with the sound of the waves crashing far below, the warmth of their shared moment dispelling the coolness of the morning air.

    “I’m impressed, Knight-Captain,” Ariana teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “Not many can keep me on my toes.”

    “So it seems,” Cullen replied, his tone filled with quiet admiration. He turned his head toward her, his gaze softening. “You realize just how remarkable you are, don’t you?”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his gaze. She searched for the right words, her emotions tangling in her throat. “You always bring out the best in me,” she managed quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show.

    Cullen reached over, his fingers brushing against hers as he smiled. “Then I’ll make sure you never forget how extraordinary you are,” he said softly.

    Ariana felt her heart swell, her love for him an ache and a comfort all at once. Beneath the rising sun, surrounded by the ruins that carried echoes of their past, she let herself believe, even if only for a moment, that the weight of their world could be lifted.

    ~~~

    After sharing the food he had packed, Cullen pulled out one of the books, opening it to a marked page. He began to read aloud, his voice steady and calm as he recounted the tale of an Elvhen warrior who defied impossible odds. Ariana rested her head on his lap, her eyes half-closed as she listened, a soft smile playing on her lips.

    “Are you sure we can’t run away?” she murmured, her voice wistful, barely louder than the whisper of the waves below. “I could spend the rest of my life like this.”

    “Someday, Ari. I promise,” Cullen replied, his fingers gently combing through her hair. His words were tender but resolute, a vow spoken as much to himself as to her.

    The sun dipped lower as the day wore on, casting the ruins in warm golden hues. As they sat together, watching the ships in the harbor, Cullen couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up here. He had met the woman in his arms, the love of his life, six years ago. At that time, she was just a girl running away from a fate that had been decided for her, but she had been strong enough to carve her own path. More importantly, she had chosen to walk that path with him all those years ago—she had chosen him.

    Cullen knew full well that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t by her side. The weight of his unspoken thoughts pressed against his chest, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. The words escaped him before he had fully thought them through.

    “Ari,” he began softly, his voice almost hesitant. She looked up, her hazel-green eyes bright with curiosity. Cullen exhaled, his golden eyes searching hers as if seeking strength. “Marry me,” he said, the words firm but soft, a quiet plea. “Marry me, Ari. Please.”

    Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth as tears began to spill over.

    He pulled back slightly, reaching into the pocket of his coat with a faintly nervous breath. “I—” Cullen paused, his voice catching as he revealed the small, simple ring resting in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t ostentatious, but its design held a quiet elegance: the centerpiece was a sapphire, its surface polished to a brilliant gleam, set within a starburst pattern. The star was surrounded by delicate engravings of vines and leaves, their intricate curves etched with painstaking precision. The blue stones that flanked the star glinted like tiny shards of sky, catching the light and drawing the eye to the center.

    “The star…” Cullen began softly, his thumb brushing over the engraved lines, “I thought maybe you could follow it one more time.”

    The ring wasn’t grand or extravagant—it was a reflection of him: simple, steady, and deeply meaningful. It was a token of the life they dreamed of, a life beyond the shadows of Kirkwall and the burdens they both carried.

    For a moment, time seemed to still. Cullen’s heart pounded as he watched Ariana’s eyes widen, the shock flickering across her face like the first ripple in still water. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips trembling slightly as if the words caught in her throat.

    Her hands moved instinctively, brushing over the ring he held as if to confirm its existence. Cullen caught the faint hitch in her breath, saw the way her gaze softened even as her brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

    When her eyes finally met his, they were shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips parted again, this time curving into a radiant smile that seemed to light up the dimming sky. He felt her fingers tremble as they wrapped around his, her grip tightening as if grounding herself in this moment.

    “You… you mean it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying both awe and vulnerability.

    Cullen nodded, his voice steady but low. “I’ve never been more certain of anything, Ari.”

    Her laughter came softly, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of her joy and relief. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, her smile widening. “Yes, Cullen. Of course, yes.”

    Relief coursed through him, and as she threw her arms around his neck, he pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her embrace and the steady beat of her heart against his own. He felt her tears dampen his collar as she buried her face into his shoulder, but he knew they weren’t born of sadness. They sat like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, with the cliffs and sea as their silent witnesses.

    Cullen pulled back just enough, taking her hand and gently took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. The delicate craftsmanship caught the fading light, a tangible symbol of everything they had shared, of the quiet strength that bound them together. She traced the star with her thumb, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with love and wonder.

    As they sat in each other’s arms, staring out over the cliffs where the horizon kissed the sea, Cullen’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to the shadows that loomed over their lives. Meredith, the Templar Order, the weight of duty—they were ever-present, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But as he felt the steady beat of Ariana’s heart against his own, he knew this was a battle he would fight. For her. For them.

    “She won’t let us, will she?” Ariana’s voice broke through the silence, quiet but heavy with unspoken fears.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened as he exhaled slowly, the truth clawing at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. His arms tightened protectively around her. “But I won’t let her stop us—not forever.”

    Meredith’s shadow loomed over every facet of his life, her grip relentless. He had endured her commands, her oppressive methods, her ability to instill fear in others—all in the name of duty. But this? This was a line she would not cross. Not for him. Not for them. Ariana was his light, his home, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that he would not let Meredith take that away.

    He pressed a kiss to the top of Ariana’s head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You will be my wife, Ari,” he said, the words a quiet promise. “No one—not Meredith, not the Order—no one will come between us.”

    The ring was more than just a promise—it was his vow that no matter what the future held, nothing would come between them. Not Meredith. Not the Order. Nothing.

    For tonight, they allowed themselves to simply exist in this moment, the future awaiting them—uncertain but no longer so daunting.

    ~~~

    Cullen couldn’t sleep that night. Despite the peace of the room and the warmth of Ariana curled against him, his thoughts churned ceaselessly. There had been a small part of him—a cowardly, unworthy part—that had expected her to say no. Maybe even hoped she would. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her—Maker knew he wanted her more than anything. But she was nobility, and he was… who he was. 

    She deserved more than he could give her. A part of him had whispered that this wasn’t her path, that someone like Frederick, someone of her standing, might make her life easier. Safer. Meredith’s fixation on Ariana as a “distraction” had already complicated her life. What would Meredith do now, knowing they were engaged? 

    He glanced down at her, sleeping peacefully on his chest. Her dark hair spilled over his shoulder, and her hand rested lightly on his heart, the ring he had given her catching the faint moonlight. The sight of her eased his fears, as it always did, silencing the storm in his mind—if only for a moment. 

    She had said yes without hesitation, without doubt. And in truth, he had never doubted her love for him. Whenever she said it, he felt the truth of it in her words, in her actions. But still… was it enough? Did he need to be the one to remember who she was, what she had been born into? Did it matter? 

    He stared at the ring, the tiny sapphire catching the faint light. What if I fail her? The thought clawed at him, unrelenting. He had failed so many—mages, colleagues, himself. How could he be enough for someone like Ariana? She deserved a life free of shadows, of chains. Could he truly give her that?

    Without realizing it, his fingers traced lazy circles over her hand, lingering on the delicate ring now gracing her finger. The star engraving and blue crystal had been chosen with care, something simple yet meaningful, like her. But as much as he wanted to believe it was perfect, the doubts remained. 

    “You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Ariana’s sleepy voice cut through his thoughts, soft and tinged with amusement. 

    Cullen let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head at himself. “One of us has to,” he teased, though his voice held a hint of guilt. 

    Ariana propped herself up slightly, her hazel-green eyes catching his in the faint light. “Do you… regret it?” she asked, her tone low and hesitant, as though unsure she truly wanted the answer. 

    “Maker, Ari… no. Never.” He squeezed her hand, willing her to feel the sincerity in his words. “You’re the only thing in my life I’ve ever been sure of. Even when I didn’t know why, I knew I needed you. It’s just…” His voice faltered as his fingers returned to tracing the ring. 

    “It’s perfect, Cullen,” she said, her voice steadier now. She sat up slightly, leaning on her elbow to look at him. “I don’t know yet how to figure out everything I am or everything I need to be. But this?” She gestured toward the ring, her lips curving into a soft smile. “This is one of the few things I’m certain of. Who I am, who I’m meant to be—it’s here, with you.” 

    Her words struck something deep within him, unraveling the knot of worry he had carried since he first slipped the ring onto her finger. 

    “It reminds me,” she continued, her voice growing gentler, “that you’re the only person who’s ever truly seen me. You’ve always understood me, even when I couldn’t understand myself. Don’t overthink this, Cullen. I never needed or wanted anything grand or extravagant. I would never wear it if it was. This… is the most like myself I’ve felt in a long time.” 

    She leaned in, brushing her lips against his, and he responded instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. The kiss was slow and reassuring, a silent promise exchanged between them. 

    As she settled against him again, her head resting on his shoulder, Cullen felt the doubts start to fade. She was right. She had chosen him—not the life she was born into, not some safer, more predictable path. She had left that behind, ran from it, even. She had stayed in Ferelden during the Blight for him, spent years searching for him. 

    And she had said yes to him.

    He exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest beginning to lift. She had chosen him—not out of obligation, not because it was easy, but because she wanted him, flaws and all. If she can see something worth holding onto, then I’ll fight for us. Always. Cullen pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, his voice firm as he murmured, “I’ll protect this, Ari. I’ll protect us. No matter what.”

    In the quiet of the night, with her steady breaths against his chest, Cullen allowed himself to believe that they could make it work. For now, that belief was enough.

    ~~~

    Cullen woke first, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Ariana, in a rare moment of peace, was still fast asleep, her features relaxed and her breathing steady. He smiled, taking a moment to commit the sight to memory before slipping out of bed without disturbing her. 

    As he made his way down the stairs, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and bread baking greeted him. He chuckled quietly to himself, already guessing what scene awaited him in the kitchen. 

    Sure enough, Emma was perched on the counter, her tiny hands buried in a bowl of flour, streaks of white powder covering her face, her dress, and—somehow—the floor around her. Isabel was nearby, scolding gently but making no real effort to stop the chaos. 

    The moment Emma saw Cullen, she let out a delighted squeal, holding her arms out toward him. “Cullen! You’re here! You want flour?” 

    Cullen laughed, “I’d prefer the bread” he said stepping forward to scoop the flour-covered toddler into his arms. She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, promptly transferring the flour onto his shirt. 

    “Would you stop encouraging the mess she’s making, Cullen,” Isabel teased, walking over with a towel in hand to clean off Emma—and now Cullen. 

    “It’s alright, Isabel,” he said with a grin, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before she could swat him away. “I still need to change anyway.” 

    Isabel raised an eyebrow, clearly noting the unshakable smile on his face. “Well… what’s this then? Someone is in a particularly good mood this morning.” 

    Cullen hesitated for a moment, then sat down at the kitchen table, settling Emma onto his lap. He looked back at Isabel, his expression softening. “I asked her to marry me, Isabel.” 

    Isabel froze for a moment, the towel in her hand stilling as her sharp green eyes fixed on him. 

    “She said yes,” Cullen added, the memory of the night before flooding his mind—the way Ariana’s eyes had lit up, the joy in her voice, the feel of her in his arms as she said the words he hadn’t dared to dream of. His smile widened at the thought, uncontainable.

    Isabel’s smile didn’t fully reach her eyes. She set the towel down deliberately, her movements slower than usual. Cullen caught the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers lingered on the edge of the table. It wasn’t hesitation born of surprise; it was something deeper, heavier.

    “Well, of course, she did,” Isabel said, her tone light but carrying a noticeable edge that didn’t escape him. “That girl is in love with you.” 

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, her response not what he had expected. “But?” he asked, suddenly less sure of himself. 

    Isabel’s gaze softened, but her voice carried a quiet steel. “You’ve got to understand, Cullen. Ariana’s been through storms most of us wouldn’t survive. She’ll carry that weight alone, even if it breaks her. Not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she’s trying to protect you from it. That’s who she is.”

    She paused, her gaze shifting between Cullen and Emma as though carefully choosing her words. “Can you, Cullen, be happy knowing that? Knowing that you may never find out what happened to her during her time in Ferelden? Can you stand by her even then?” 

    Cullen’s chest tightened. He had always known Ariana carried burdens she didn’t share, but now he felt the full gravity of that truth. There were moments—fleeting, but undeniable—when he caught her staring at nothing, her gaze distant, shadowed. He had told himself it wasn’t his place to pry, that love meant patience.

    But was patience enough? He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing absently over Emma’s tiny hand. He now he wondered if he had underestimated the depths of what she carried. Could he be what Ariana needed if he didn’t even know what haunted her? Would love alone be enough to banish those shadows? Or would they always linger, just out of reach?

    His chest tightened as Isabel’s words echoed in his mind. *What happened to her during her time in Ferelden?* There was something more there, something Isabel knew and struggled not to reveal. 

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, her words settling like a weight in his chest. “We all have secrets, Isabel,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm.

    Her sharp green eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable as she studied him. “Do you?” she asked, her tone gentle but probing, as though she hadn’t fully expected that answer.

    Cullen exhaled, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Kinloch Hold,” he began softly, the name alone carrying a shadow that darkened his features. His fingers instinctively clenched against Emma’s small hand before he forced himself to relax. “No one can imagine what it’s like for a tower to fall to abominations.” His voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “I wouldn’t be here if not for the Hero of Ferelden.”

    Isabel’s sharp gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. “And you’ve never told her?”

    He shook his head, his golden eyes steady but shadowed. “Some things are too heavy to place on someone else’s shoulders,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost resigned. “Ariana may not know everything about my past, but she’s never demanded I share it. She accepts me as I am, without conditions.”

    There was a beat of silence before Isabel leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I see,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a thread of something unspoken. “Maybe that’s why it works between you two. You both carry scars, but you don’t demand the other show them.”

    As Cullen mulled over Isabel’s words, Emma tugged on his sleeve, her small voice breaking through the weight of the moment. “Cullen, why does your shirt smell like bread?” she asked, tilting her head in earnest curiosity.

    He blinked, momentarily startled before a soft laugh escaped him. “Because someone,” he said, booping her on the nose, “decided to cover me in flour.”

    Emma giggled, clapping her hands, the sound bright and unburdened. Cullen glanced at Isabel, who watched the exchange with a faint smile, her guarded expression softening briefly.

    Isabel’s demeanor shifted instantly, her usual smirk returning. “Well, my child,” she said, walking over to Ariana. “I hear there’s something you need to tell me…” 

    Ariana looked between them, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding as her gaze landed on Cullen. A smile played on her lips, and Cullen couldn’t help but mirror it. 

    Before Isabel could respond, soft footsteps on the stairs drew their attention. Ariana appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She paused, her gaze flicking between them as she rubbed her eyes. The subtle glint of the ring on her finger caught Isabel’s sharp gaze, and her expression softened.

    “Well, my child,” Isabel said, her tone light but fond, “I hear there’s something you need to tell me.”

    Ariana blinked, her hand brushing over the ring as if suddenly aware of it. Her lips curved into a soft smile. “You’ve heard, then,” she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

    Isabel stepped closer, gently taking Ariana’s hand and tilting it slightly to catch the light. Her sharp green eyes flicked to Cullen, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said simply, her voice unusually soft. “It’s you.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened, her words settling over him like a soothing balm. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear it, the quiet validation grounding him in his decision.

    Ariana’s smile grew, her eyes glimmering with unspoken gratitude as she gently squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Thank you,” she said softly, the weight of the moment shared between them.

    Isabel’s usual smirk returned, and she stepped back, waving a hand toward the kitchen. “Now, go on. Sit down before Emma destroys what’s left of breakfast. Maker knows that child gets away with far too much.”

    Ariana laughed, the sound light and easy as she moved to Cullen’s side, her hand slipping into his. Cullen felt the tension in his chest ease further, the quiet intimacy of the moment strengthening his resolve.

    ~~~

    Little could temper Ariana’s happiness at being engaged to Cullen. The last time she had been engaged, the feeling had been suffocating—a cage disguised as a promise. She hadn’t realized just how different it would feel to be engaged to someone she truly loved. Now, she found herself smiling at the smallest things, often without realizing it.

    Hawke and Varric teased her mercilessly, their banter relentless. Even the Rangers weren’t above joining in—Riley, Valentina, and Linnea all took turns pointing out her uncharacteristic cheerfulness. If she were honest, Ariana didn’t mind the teasing. It felt good to laugh amidst the weight of their lives.

    But winter had returned to Kirkwall, a stark reminder of the darkness that hung over the city. Another year had passed. Despite everything they had accomplished—the mages they had saved, the intelligence they had gathered—the Divine’s orders remained unchanged.

    Stay invisible. Act subtly. Avoid drawing attention.

    The words gnawed at her, a bitter mantra she wanted desperately to reject. How could they remain subtle when the world around them screamed for action? How could she stay silent when delay meant more lives lost to the horrors of the Gallows? More children taken from their families? More people crushed under Meredith’s iron rule?

    The mission that morning had been a tipping point.

    Linnea’s scouts had identified a transport route along the Wounded Coast, one being used to deliver mages to Kirkwall. Ariana had led the effort with her usual precision, but this time, she had made a choice she knew was reckless. She wore her iconic white cloak. She needed people to know that someone—the White Wolf—was watching, was coming to save them.

    The ambush was swift, the Rangers striking with their characteristic efficiency. No casualties, no unnecessary bloodshed—just as Ariana demanded. By the time the mages were freed and the Templars disarmed, the Rangers were already escorting their charges to safety.

    But then, three Templars approached, their movements hesitant. Their armor bore the marks of countless battles, and exhaustion clung to them like a shadow.

    The youngest of the three—a man barely out of training—stepped forward, his sword still in hand but held low. His voice wavered, but his resolve was clear. “We can’t… we can’t keep doing this,” he said. “We want to help. Please, let us come with you.”

    Ariana studied him closely, her hazel-green eyes sharp but not unkind. She saw the guilt in his expression, the same weight Michael had carried when he spoke of the Gallows. Her voice was calm, measured. “Sheathe your weapons.”

    The young man obeyed immediately, motioning for his companions to do the same. They complied, each exhaling as though they had been holding their breath for years.

    “Why?” Ariana asked softly, her tone carrying the weight of all that was unsaid. “Why leave now, after everything?”

    The young man hesitated, glancing nervously at the Rangers flanking her. “Because we’ve seen enough,” he admitted, his voice trembling but resolute. “We’ve heard the whispers, seen the fear in the mages’ eyes. The Gallows isn’t a sanctuary—it’s a prison. And Meredith…” He faltered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Meredith is losing her mind. We can’t be part of this anymore.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her expression softening but still guarded. “You understand what this means?” she asked. Her voice carried no malice, only the weight of truth. “There is no turning back. We will protect you, and we will accept your help gladly. But once you leave the Order, there’s no going back.”

    The three Templars exchanged quick glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, with quiet conviction, the young man replied, “We are prepared to accept the consequences.”

    Ariana allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. “Then you will always have a home and a purpose among the Rangers.” She gestured to Linnea. “She will get you where you need to go.”

    With that, Ariana turned and walked away, her white cloak billowing behind her. She didn’t look back, leaving Linnea to handle the defectors.

    What she didn’t realize was that not every Templar had been subdued. A single knight, hidden among the rocks nearby, had overheard fragments of the exchange. He hadn’t seen the White Wolf’s face, but the name alone—spoken in hushed reverence—was enough to set events in motion.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s eyes lingered on the report, the words blurring together under the dim light of his office. “A figure in a white cloak. The White Wolf?” The name stirred something deep within him—a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. He thought back to the Qunari uprising, to the moment when that enigmatic figure had saved his life and stood as a bulwark against chaos. Back then, the White Wolf had been a symbol of hope, a hero amidst Kirkwall’s madness. But now, if the reports were true, they had become something else entirely—a force acting outside the boundaries of law and order.

    The knock on his door jolted him from his thoughts. He glanced up, tension already tightening in his chest. “Come in,” he called, his voice sharper than intended.

    The door opened, and Ariana stepped inside, her presence a beacon of warmth amidst the cold stone walls. For a fleeting moment, his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her. Even here, in the heart of the Gallows, she could still bring him a sense of calm.

    “You’re here,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

    “I’m not fond of visiting the Gallows,” she said with a small, teasing smile, settling into the chair. “But for you… anything.”

    Her words, meant to soothe, struck a dissonant chord. His fingers tightened around the edge of the report, and he hesitated before speaking. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

    Her smile faltered, replaced by quiet concern. She leaned forward slightly. “What is it?”

    Cullen leaned forward as well, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers laced together as though bracing himself. “There’s been a report… about the White Wolf. It seems they’ve resurfaced in Kirkwall.”

    He watched her closely, searching for any crack in her composure. Her expression remained steady, though he thought he caught the faintest flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or was it something more carefully veiled? “The White Wolf? Here?” she asked, her voice calm, curious. “What makes you think that?”

    “The transport ambush this morning,” he explained, keeping his tone even despite the storm inside him. “Three more Templars defected. One of the knights overheard an exchange—a mention of the White Wolf. And then there’s the description: a figure in a white cloak.” He paused, letting the words hang heavily. “Do you know if the Silver Rangers are involved?”

    She hesitated—a heartbeat’s pause, but enough to set his nerves on edge. “You’ve asked me about their activities before, Cullen,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “Why would my answer be different now?”

    The deflection gnawed at him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He leaned back, exhaling deeply, his fingers tapping against the desk. “The last time I saw the White Wolf, they saved my life,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Why would they turn to this? Why intercept mage transports now?”

    Her eyes softened slightly, though her voice carried a quiet strength. “Perhaps they believe the mages need saving. Would you disagree?”

    The question struck harder than he anticipated. He wanted to disagree, to hold firm to his convictions, but the truth gnawed at the edges of his resolve. “No,” he admitted, frustration bleeding into his tone. “But mercenaries involving themselves in a Templar matter is not the answer. Why are they doing this? Who are they working for?”

    Her gaze didn’t waver, her tone unwavering. “If it’s them… I’m sure they believe in what they’re doing.”

    The response felt like a wall he couldn’t breach. “You think mercenaries are the answer?” he pressed, his voice rising slightly. “That they can be trusted to do what’s right? Their loyalty is bought, Ariana. It shifts with the wind.”

    “Sometimes, Cullen,” she replied, her tone sharpened like a blade, “the people in the shadows act because the light has failed them.”

    The words cut through him, leaving him grappling with their implications. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he looked down at the report. “If the White Wolf and the Rangers are involved… I need to know. The Order will not look the other way. I can’t look the other way.”

    Her voice softened, though it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. “And if I do find out something?” she asked. “What would you do with that knowledge?”

    The question stopped him cold. What would he do? His duty demanded action, but his heart faltered at the thought of betraying her trust—or asking her to betray those who had cared for her. He struggled with the thought of those people protecting her in ways he couldn’t. “I need to know, Ari,” he said, his tone firm but carrying a note of desperation. “The Order demands justice.”

    Sadness flickered in her eyes, though she kept her composure. “Then it would be best if I don’t involve myself. I can’t be the one to help you capture the only people trying to help.”

    Her words hit him like a blow. She wouldn’t choose him in this. She wouldn’t choose the Order. “Ariana,” he said slowly, disbelief tinging his voice. “This is serious. If you know anything, I need to know.”

    She reached across the desk, her hand resting briefly on his. “You’re asking me to betray the people who cared for me when I was alone. For what? For Meredith?”

    He pulled his hand back, his jaw tightening. “It’s not Meredith,” he said, though the words felt hollow. “It’s about justice. It’s about what’s right.”

    “Justice looks different depending on where you stand,” she said softly, her gaze unwavering.

    Cullen stared at her, his chest tightening as doubt and frustration warred within him. Do I trust her enough? Or do I trust her too much?

    When she finally rose to leave, her expression calm but unreadable, he felt the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. As the door closed behind her, Cullen stared at the report once more, the words blurring as his thoughts spiraled into uncertainty.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s mind churned with the weight of her conversation with Cullen as she walked back to Hightown. Each step felt heavier than the last as she replayed his words and her own. Had she lied outright, or merely danced around the truth? The distinction felt meaningless. Every step she took deeper into the Rangers’ work, every intercepted transport, every secret she kept from him, pulled her further from the man she loved.

    How can I marry him when I keep lying to him?

    The thought clawed at her until a familiar voice broke through the storm.

    “I hear we have a wedding to plan…”

    She froze, her head snapping toward the sound. A smile broke through unbidden as she spotted Frederick leaning casually against a wall, his arms crossed, his expression warm but laced with quiet understanding.

    “Fred,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but…” Her voice softened, her grip tightening. “I’m just happy to see you.”

    Frederick’s arms enveloped her with a steadiness she hadn’t realized she needed. “Well,” he said lightly, “I expected the bride-to-be to seem happier…”

    His teasing tone carried an undercurrent of concern that made her throat tighten. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hazel-green eyes glassy. “I could use a friend.”

    “Then let’s talk,” he said simply, offering his arm in the familiar way that always made her feel like a girl again.

    The familiar comfort of the Trevelyan estate offered a small reprieve. She led him to the sitting room, where the fire crackled softly, casting warm light against the cool stone. She sank onto the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her vision blurring as tears pricked her eyes.

    “Will you just sit here with me for a while?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    Frederick didn’t hesitate. He shed his cloak, kicked off his boots, and settled beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. Without a word, she leaned into him, letting his steady presence anchor her.

    For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

    “You want to tell me what this is about?” Frederick’s voice was gentle but probing. “Or does being engaged just not suit you?”

    Ariana let out a soft, shaky laugh, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. “I love him, Fred,” she said quietly, her voice wavering. “More than anything. But…” She trailed off, her breath catching as the words she had tried so hard to bury spilled out. “I know I’m going to lose him.”

    Her tears came then, slipping down her cheeks as the admission hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.

    Frederick tightened his hold on her, his voice low and soothing. “I doubt that. I watched the way he looked at you, Ari. I’ve never seen a man more in love. Tell me what’s happening.”

    She shook her head, her sobs subsiding into uneven breaths. “It’s… it’s the life I have to keep from him. The lies I have to tell…”

    Frederick’s silence was thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “You mean the mages you’re helping? He doesn’t know yet, does he?”

    She shook her head again, unable to speak.

    “I suppose that makes sense,” Frederick said, his tone far gentler than she expected.

    She looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of judgment. “You don’t think I should have told him?”

    Frederick shook his head, meeting her gaze steadily. “No. Not yet.”

    “But why—”

    “Because,” he interrupted gently, “you’d be putting him in an impossible position. If you tell him everything, you’re asking him to keep secrets from the Order—secrets that could destroy his career, his life. Cullen’s a good man, Ari, but you know how much his duty means to him. Could you live with yourself if it tore him apart?”

    Ariana’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. She dropped her gaze, her fingers twisting together. “What if I lose him when he finds out? What if he’s angry?”

    Frederick sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Then he wasn’t the man you thought he was.” He paused, his voice softening further. “But I don’t think that’s the case. He loves you, Ari. He just doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between who he thinks you are and who you truly are.”

    Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “How did you bridge that gap?”

    Frederick chuckled softly, the sound tinged with regret. “I lost you, remember?”

    Ariana’s heart sank. Is that what it would take? Did she need to risk losing Cullen and simply hope he would forgive her in time? The thought terrified her, but Frederick’s words carried an undeniable truth.

    “I don’t want to lose him,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

    “You won’t,” Frederick said firmly, his hand brushing her hair back gently. “But he needs to understand you fully, just as you’ll need to understand him. That kind of love… it takes time. And sometimes, it takes losing something to truly see its worth.”

    His words settled over her, sinking deep into the cracks of her fear. She leaned into him again, the weight of her secrets still heavy but no longer crushing.

    For now, she wasn’t alone.

    And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t break them apart. 

  • Chapter 22 – A Buried Secret

    16-17 Firstfall 9:33

    The next morning, as Ariana sat at the breakfast table with Isabel, the thought of Emma weighed heavily on her mind. Despite everything they’d discussed the night before, this unanswered question lingered. She had to know—was Isabel more than just a trusted confidant? Was she family? Was Emma her niece?

    Ariana took a deep breath, trying to steady her thoughts. “Isabel…” she began, her voice quieter than she intended. The hesitation in her tone was unmistakable.

    “Yes, child?” Isabel responded, turning to face her, the soft morning light catching the warmth in her expression. She noticed the way Ariana’s brow furrowed slightly, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

    “Is Emma…” Ariana paused, her words faltering as she searched for the right way to ask. “Is she… my niece? Is she a Trevelyan?”

    For a moment, Isabel’s expression didn’t change, but her body stiffened just slightly. It wasn’t enough to alarm most people, but Ariana noticed. She always noticed. Isabel took a measured breath before responding, her voice calm and even. “You need not concern yourself with such matters, my dear. You have enough to think about already.”

    “So, she is my niece,” Ariana replied, her voice sharper now, cutting through Isabel’s attempt at deflection.

    “I did not say that,” Isabel countered quickly, her tone still gentle but firm.

    “No,” Ariana said, narrowing her eyes at Isabel, her expression one of quiet determination. “But you didn’t say she wasn’t either.”

    Isabel held her gaze for a moment before sighing softly. “It changes nothing,” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a note of resignation.

    “It changes everything,” Ariana shot back, her voice steady but with a clear edge of urgency. “Mark?”

    Isabel hesitated, her lips pressing together in a way that confirmed more than any words might have. Her silence was all the answer Ariana needed. The weight of her suspicions settling fully in her chest, Ariana leaned back slightly, her hazel-green eyes searching Isabel’s face.

    “You won’t say it outright,” Ariana said finally, her voice quieter now, “but I know. I know he’s the one.”

    Isabel’s gaze softened, her own heart heavy with the knowledge. “My child,” she began gently, reaching across the table to place her hand over Ariana’s. “It does not change the love I have for her—or for you. She is my daughter, but she will never be anything less than family to you.”

    Ariana held her gaze, emotions swirling in her chest—anger, sadness, and an odd sense of relief all vying for space. She nodded slowly, the corners of her lips twitching into the faintest smile. “Then we’ll make sure she grows up knowing that, too.”

    Ariana’s gaze shifted to Emma, who sat on the floor, quietly playing with her doll. The little girl’s laughter, soft and sweet, filled the room like the chiming of bells. Ariana couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through her at the sight. The innocence in Emma’s tiny face, untouched by the weight of expectations or obligations, filled her with a renewed sense of purpose.

    She leaned back in her chair, watching as Emma gently tucked her doll under a scrap of fabric, mimicking what she’d seen of bedtime routines. The thought of helping raise another Trevelyan—one free of the burdens that had weighed so heavily on her own shoulders—felt like a quiet victory.

    Isabel noticed the soft expression on Ariana’s face and followed her gaze to the little girl. “She’s quite the joy, isn’t she?” Isabel said softly, her voice carrying the kind of pride only a mother could have.

    Ariana nodded, her smile growing. “She deserves to grow up free. Free to choose her own path, without anyone telling her who or what she has to be.” She glanced back at Isabel, determination flickering in her eyes. “I’ll make sure of it.”

    Isabel placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, her touch both comforting and affirming. “With you in her life, she’ll have all the freedom in the world, my dear.”

    ~~~

    After breakfast, Ariana sent word for Varric to join them. Isabel would need help managing the intricate logistics of her affairs, especially with the Silver Rangers. Varric, with his unparalleled network of contacts, was the perfect ally to facilitate communication, arrange shipments, and handle financial transfers. After all, he was the “Merchant Prince of Kirkwall.”

    When Varric arrived at the estate, he stepped into the entryway with his usual swagger. “Pup, seems like you’re moving up in the world!” he greeted, his tone warm with a teasing edge.

    Ariana chuckled, motioning for him to follow her toward the kitchen. “Thanks for coming, Varric. I’m going to need your help,” she said, leading him to where Isabel was waiting. Emma sat on the counter, happily making a mess with a bowl of flour.

    “Is Emma making today’s bread, then?” Ariana teased, walking up to her niece.

    “She has to start learning sometime,” Isabel replied with a soft laugh, dusting some flour off Emma’s nose.

    “Well, and who is this little doll?” Varric asked, stepping closer. Emma immediately became fixated on his necklace, tugging at it and holding her hands out for him to pick her up.

    “My niece,” Ariana said with a smile, her voice warm with pride.

    Isabel, noticing Emma’s quick attachment to Varric, smirked. “Seems like she likes you.”

    “It’s the chest hair. Women, of all ages, find it irresistible,” Varric replied with a perfectly straight face.

    Ariana and Isabel both laughed, shaking their heads.

    “I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced,” Ariana said, gesturing toward Isabel. “Varric, this is Isabel.”

    “Ah, the famous Isabel. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Varric said, giving her a respectful nod.

    “The pleasure’s mine,” Isabel replied warmly.

    “So, Varric…” Ariana said as she took a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing to the maps and papers spread out across its surface. “I need your help.”

    With Emma still perched comfortably in his arms, Varric strolled toward the table. “What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the array of documents.

    Isabel brought over drinks and joined them at the table as Ariana began to explain. “This,” she said, pointing to the maps, “is the current position of Ranger forces and holdings throughout Ferelden. Isabel will be helping me with the administrative side of things, but this is where you come in.”

    Varric quirked an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Well, this sounds interesting…”

    Ariana grinned. “I hope you keep feeling that way…”

    She went on to outline her plans. She needed someone to assist Isabel with managing communications to and from Ferelden until she could hire someone to handle it directly. On top of that, she required help transporting goods and moving money between Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches.

    “That’s… a tall order,” Varric remarked, the shrewd merchant in him coming to the forefront. “How much money are we talking about moving?”

    “Haven’t sorted out the logistics entirely yet, but at least once a month, I’d estimate around one to two thousand sovereigns initially.”

    Varric choked on his drink, clearly caught off guard. “Two thousand sovereigns?” he sputtered.

    Ariana laughed at his reaction. “What can I say? It’s expensive to run a mercenary company, especially when you pay people well enough to prevent them from leaving—or taking bribes.”

    Varric recovered, slipping back into his Merchant Prince persona. “This is certainly a larger job than the small favors I’ve done for you before.”

    “Hence why this is a business arrangement, Varric.”

    “And communications?” he asked, his tone turning serious again.

    “If I’m going to spend more time in Kirkwall, I need a consistent way to stay in touch with the Rangers near Redcliffe. Weekly at most, but I need reliability.”

    “Weekly, huh? Regular schedules cost money, pup. Are you sure this is worth it? Because, honestly, it’d be cheaper to move the estate to Ferelden…” He let the implication hang in the air, clearly referring to her relationship with Cullen.

    Ariana met his gaze with a calm, unwavering resolve. “It is,” she said simply.

    Varric studied her for a moment before nodding. “Consider it done.”

    ~~~

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, satisfied with how the conversation had gone. Varric’s agreement brought her one step closer to balancing her responsibilities with the Rangers and her growing ties to Kirkwall. Isabel gave her an encouraging smile as she tidied up the table, clearly pleased with the progress they’d made.

    But Ariana wasn’t finished yet.

    There was still one task lingering in the back of her mind, the one she had been putting off for too long: Cullen. She needed to determine how much she could tell him about the Silver Rangers—if she could be honest with him about who she really was and what she’d built.

    The thought made her stomach tighten. She knew Cullen’s stance on mercenaries. In their conversations, it was clear he wasn’t particularly fond of them, seeing many as little better than opportunists who profited off chaos. Yet, she also knew that the Silver Rangers were different. She had worked tirelessly to make them a force for good—defending villages, assisting in rebuilding efforts, and operating with a code of honor that set them apart. If Cullen had heard the same rumors coming out of Ferelden, the ones that painted the Rangers as protectors rather than profiteers, maybe he would understand.

    But what if he didn’t? Would he see her efforts as noble, or would the word “mercenary” overshadow everything else? Would it change how he saw her, how he felt about her?

    It couldn’t wait forever. If she was going to be dividing her time between Kirkwall and Ferelden, she owed him the truth—or at least as much of it as she could share. But not today. She knew better than to try. Fridays were always consumed with Templar duties at the Gallows, and Cullen rarely had time to step away. She would wait for tomorrow, hoping to catch him after his afternoon prayers at the Chantry.

    Ariana let out a quiet sigh, rising from her chair and stretching. “One step at a time,” she muttered to herself, trying to steady the mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling inside her. She only hoped Cullen would see the Silver Rangers for what they truly were: a part of her she was proud of, and a part she desperately wanted him to understand.

    ~~~

    Isabel entered the sitting room, her arms weighed down with a basket of laundry, only to pause mid-step as she caught sight of Ariana. The younger woman was pacing near the writing desk, her hands fidgeting with the edges of a folded note. Her usually composed demeanor was notably absent, replaced by an almost palpable nervous energy.

    “And what, pray tell, would you like prepared for dinner?” Isabel asked, her tone light but teasing as she leaned against the doorframe, watching Ariana with quiet amusement.

    Ariana froze, her head snapping up as if she’d been caught doing something illicit. A faint blush crept up her neck. “I… have not given it much thought,” she admitted, the words tumbling out quickly. “Do you think the dish will truly change the outcome of this conversation?”

    Isabel raised an eyebrow, setting the laundry basket down on a nearby chair. “Perhaps not,” she said with a chuckle, “but it seems to be occupying your thoughts more than usual. Something tells me this conversation is important to you.”

    Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave a small, reluctant nod. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the note in her hand, folding and unfolding it absentmindedly. Isabel studied her for a moment, noting the subtle shift in Ariana’s posture. Though she was nervous, there was a determination beneath the surface, a quiet resolve that spoke volumes about how far she had come.

    “Something… Ferelden,” Ariana murmured, her voice hesitant, as though testing the idea aloud. Slowly, her expression brightened, and she looked up at Isabel with a flicker of inspiration. “You know, King Alistair makes this Lamb and Pea Stew that is quite good. I do not have the exact recipe, but I could tell you what I remember.”

    Isabel blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A wry smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve met the King, then?”

    Ariana’s expression shifted from nervous to momentarily perplexed before she gave a small laugh. “Hmm? Oh, yes, a couple of times. First when he hired the Rangers and handed me a stack of reports asking us to ‘fix all the things.’ I mostly worked with his aides and Bann Teagan, but one day, I found myself in the kitchen discussing logistics, and in walked King Alistair himself to cook.”

    Isabel’s eyebrows climbed higher as she listened, her curiosity piqued. Ariana’s voice softened as she continued, a smile curving her lips at the memory. “Apparently, it is a ritual he and the Hero of Ferelden maintain to remind them of their travels. Something Queen Anora, of course, disapproves of.”

    A ripple of laughter escaped Isabel before she could stop it. She shook her head, marveling at the casual way Ariana recounted the tale. It wasn’t boastful or self-important; it was simply another story, another moment in the life of the woman Isabel had raised.

    “You truly met the King? And the Hero who ended the Blight?” Isabel asked, though her tone was more curious than incredulous.

    Ariana nodded, though her expression turned modest. “Lyna I only met the one time,” she clarified, giving a small shrug. “I cannot claim much of a personal relationship with either. But they are both very kind. Very… normal. King Alistair is quite charming and funny, and Lyna—she’s definitely a match for him. They make an adorable couple.”

    Isabel couldn’t help but smile at Ariana’s description. “Yet here you are, pulling recipes from royalty to impress another,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

    The blush that spread across Ariana’s cheeks was almost comical. She gave Isabel a playful glare, though it lacked any real heat. “Anyroad, stew. Yes, I think a stew will suffice.”

    Isabel’s smirk softened into something more genuine as she nodded. “Very well. Write down what you can recall, and I’ll make it happen.”

    Ariana quickly grabbed a scrap of parchment and began scribbling down the details, her brow furrowed in concentration. Isabel watched her for a moment, her heart swelling with a mixture of affection and pride. There was something remarkable about Ariana, about the way she carried herself despite everything she’d been through. She had endured so much darkness, yet here she was, fretting over a dinner and pulling inspiration from a king’s kitchen. It was a testament to her resilience, to the light that refused to be snuffed out.

    As Ariana handed over the parchment, her gaze briefly met Isabel’s. There was a flicker of vulnerability there, a hint of uncertainty that she tried to mask with a confident smile. Isabel took the parchment with a nod, determined to make this dinner perfect. If anyone deserved a moment of peace and happiness, it was Ariana.

    ~~~

    Ariana must have changed clothes no fewer than six times that day, growing increasingly frustrated with each choice. Then she went shopping, as though something new would magically feel right. Over the past week, while her father was still in Kirkwall, they had restocked her wardrobe with elegant dresses, finely tailored travel clothes, and practical armor. Yet somehow, none of it seemed to fit her mood—or the weight of tonight’s conversation.

    Finally, she settled on something practical yet undeniably elegant. She donned a sleek, fitted leather bodice and trousers in rich shades of deep blue, reminiscent of twilight skies, accented with fine silver stitching and Elven-inspired patterns that ran along the seams. The outfit flattered her slender, athletic build, hugging her form in a way that was both commanding and graceful. The long flowing sash at her hip softened the ensemble, a perfect balance of utility and sophistication. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, the hazel-green of her eyes striking even more vibrantly against the blue tones of her attire.

    As she looked at herself in the mirror, Ariana’s mind raced. Tonight felt monumental, and she could not shake the nerves that had settled in her chest like a restless bird. The practical outfit had been the right choice; anything more formal would have felt like a costume. She needed to feel like herself, grounded and confident. Yet, even as she resolved that thought, a part of her whispered doubt. Would it be enough?

    When she stepped into the courtyard, the cool breeze touched her face, carrying with it a sense of calm that she desperately needed. The fading light painted the stones in soft golds and purples, and Ariana tilted her gaze skyward. The stars began to peek through the expanse above, and she felt her shoulders relax ever so slightly. She thought back to all the nights she and Cullen had spent stargazing, his quiet presence steadying her as the world spun on. Those moments had been simple yet profound, and she clung to them now, letting the memory anchor her.

    As she stretched out on the bench, staring up at the sky, she replayed fragments of memories—his laugh, the way his hand felt in hers, the softness in his voice when he said her name. She allowed herself a small, private smile. Whatever tonight brought, she would face it.

    The sound of approaching footsteps broke her reverie, and she turned her head just in time to see Cullen enter the courtyard. He paused, his eyes finding her immediately, and for a moment, neither of them moved. His gaze was warm, admiring, and it sent a soft flutter through her chest.

    “See anything interesting?” he asked, his voice teasing yet gentle.

    Ariana sat up, brushing her hair back as she smiled at him. “Perhaps,” she replied lightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “But I imagine you already know the best view tonight is standing right in front of me.”

    The faint blush that crept up Cullen’s cheeks was endearing, and Ariana felt a flicker of amusement at having caught him off guard. For all his composure and confidence, she loved these moments when he seemed just a little unsure of himself.

    “Well,” he said, clearing his throat as he regained his composure, “I could say the same about you. Though I I’m beginning to think I should have worn armor if I’ll be deflecting such flattery tonight.”

    Ariana laughed softly, the sound warming the cool air. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, Knight-Captain,” she said, rising from the bench with an easy grace. She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her sash. “But I might enjoy watching you waver just a little.”

    Cullen chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped closer. “Is that so? I’ll have to stay on my guard then.” His tone was light, but his gaze softened as it lingered on her. “You look… incredible tonight, Ari.”

    Her breath hitched slightly at the sincerity in his voice. There was no teasing now, just quiet admiration that made her heart ache in the best way. “Thank you,” she said softly, her confidence flickering back as she met his gaze.

    She motioned toward the table set up in the courtyard, needing to redirect her focus before the warmth in her face betrayed her entirely. “Dinner is ready,” she said lightly. “I hope you are hungry.”

    “Starving,” Cullen replied with a smile, offering her his arm. “Lead the way.”

    Ariana took his arm, her earlier nerves now a distant hum beneath the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. As they walked toward the table, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet confidence settle over her. Whatever tonight held, she would face it with him by her side.

    ~~~

    As the first course was served, Ariana couldn’t help but notice the way Cullen’s presence grounded the room. There was a quiet strength to him, an unspoken steadiness that had always drawn her to him. And yet, tonight, as she carefully navigated the conversation toward the topic she’d been avoiding for a while now, she couldn’t shake the unease settling in her chest.

    “Have you… heard much about the Silver Rangers in Ferelden?” she asked, her voice carefully even as she set her wine glass down. She met his gaze, trying to gauge his reaction, though her heart was already beating faster than she liked.

    When he answered, his voice was measured but firm, the familiar conviction of a Templar in his tone. “I’ve heard the rumors. But they’re mercenaries. At the end of the day, their loyalty lies with coin, not principles. Trusting a group like that…” He shook his head. “The kind of work they’re doing should be left to governments, the Chantry, or other established organizations—not those who could be bought out the moment a better offer comes along.”

    The words struck harder than she’d expected, like a slap disguised as reason. Ariana straightened in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “Why only governments or the Chantry?” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. “Do you really think they’re always the answer? That they never fail?”

    Cullen leaned back slightly, his expression hardening. “Because those institutions are accountable, Ariana. Even when they falter, they are built to serve the greater good. Mercenaries…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “They are free agents. No oversight. No accountability. How can you trust their motives?”

    Her chest tightened, anger flaring alongside the sting of his words. “Then explain why they’re known for helping people who have no coin to give,” she countered, her voice rising. “Why so many of the people they protect are the ones governments and the Chantry have ignored—farmers, refugees, the forgotten. If it’s all about money, why do they risk their lives for those who have nothing to offer?”

    Cullen frowned, her words clearly unsettling him, but he stood firm. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change the fact that they answer to no one. There’s no way to guarantee their good intentions last.”

    Her words came out faster than she’d intended, the frustration bubbling over. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his principles clashed with the points she was making. Before he could respond, she pressed on, her voice tinged with a mix of hurt and determination. “The Rangers answer to the White Wolf,” she said firmly. “A leader who risks everything to save those in need, who goes where they’re needed most without asking for anything in return. Isn’t that the kind of leadership worth trusting?”

    Cullen’s expression darkened. “The White Wolf is the perfect example of why they can’t be trusted,” he said evenly. “If their leader isn’t even willing to show their face, how can anyone trust their motives? Hiding behind a name, operating in the shadows… that doesn’t inspire confidence. It raises questions.”

    Ariana’s hands curled into fists in her lap. The sting of his words cut deeper than he could know. *He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what I’ve sacrificed, what I’ve done.* Her voice wavered as she replied, “Why are you so quick to dismiss them? Maybe they’re motivated by something more than coin. Maybe they’re trying to help because no one else will.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Why do you care so much, Ari? You’re defending them like your life depends on it.”

    She froze, his words cutting through her like a blade. Her gaze dropped to the table as she took a steadying breath. When she looked back up, her voice was quieter but filled with raw emotion. “Because my life did depend on them,” she said. “When I was alone, when I had nothing, they were the ones who saved me. They took me in, protected me when no one else could.”

    The words left her lips, ringing with conviction—but almost immediately, a shadow of doubt crept into her mind. *That’s not entirely true, is it?* she thought. Her heart twisted as the image of Krieger surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. *It wasn’t the Rangers who saved me—not at first. It was him. And he didn’t protect me; he used me. He manipulated me. He…*

    The realization hit her like a cold wind, making her grip her glass tighter. Her pulse quickened, shame and frustration bubbling under the surface. She had spoken of the Rangers as though they were her saviors—and in many ways, they were. Riley, the Vanguard, the people she now trusted with her life—they were good, they were hers. But while they had been there in the beginning, it had been Krieger who chose to save her. And he had expected a payment. She shoved the memories aside, forcing herself to focus on the present.

    Ariana raised her head, her expression calm, though the storm inside her raged. She wouldn’t take back what she’d said; it wasn’t entirely a lie. The people who became the Rangers had been there, even if their foundation had been built on the ashes of betrayal.

    The room fell silent. Cullen’s rigid posture softened, his expression flickering with something between guilt and understanding. “Ari…” he began, his voice gentler now. “I’m sorry. For what you went through. For how it shaped your view of this.”

    Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her anger ebbing but not her frustration. “Maybe the White Wolf doesn’t care about inspiring confidence in organizations like the Chantry or the Templars,” she said after a long pause. “Maybe they only care about doing what needs to be done while others sit back and debate whether it’s worth the risk.”

    Her words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding. Cullen’s gaze lingered on her, his thoughts a storm of conflict. She could see it in his eyes—the struggle between his principles and the truth she had laid bare.

    “I’m not asking you to change your mind,” she said finally, her voice softer now. “But I am asking you to understand. Not all mercenaries are selfish or corrupt. Some of them… some of them save lives when no one else will.”

    Cullen nodded slowly, though his expression remained troubled. “I’ll… try,” he said, his tone hesitant but sincere.

    The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of their unspoken truths settling between them. Ariana looked away first, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she tried to steady herself. She had said too much, but at the same time, she hadn’t said enough.

    The rest of the meal passed in a strained quiet, the earlier tension refusing to dissipate. As Ariana stole glances at Cullen, she wondered if he would ever truly see things as she did—or if this divide between them was one that could never be bridged.

    ~~~

    After dinner, Cullen couldn’t shake the lingering tension from their conversation about the Rangers. The weight of Ariana’s words pressed against his mind, a mix of frustration and confusion churning in his chest. He stood in the courtyard, debating whether he should leave and give her space, but before he could make a decision, Ariana’s voice broke through his thoughts.

    “Come with me,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. Her touch was gentle but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Cullen followed her, curiosity flickering in his golden eyes as she led him toward the manor. “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

    “You’ll see,” Ariana replied with a faint smile, though he could sense the resolve behind her words. Despite the tension between them, her invitation felt like an olive branch, and he wasn’t about to refuse it.

    They entered the library, its warm, golden glow from the hearth instantly softening the room’s edges. Cullen’s gaze shifted to the firelight dancing along the shelves of books before landing on the small figure seated on the rug. Emma sat cross-legged, her tiny hands flipping through the pages of a picture book, her soft giggles filling the space.

    Ariana’s expression softened as she noticed the child, and Cullen felt his own tension begin to ease. “Ah, I see you’ve found the library,” Ariana said, her tone lighter now. “Perfect. Isabel, would you mind grabbing a bottle of wine for us?”

    Isabel turned, arching a brow at the request before giving a small, knowing smile. “Of course, my lady. Let me take Emma back to the kitchen with me.”

    Ariana stopped her with a gentle hand. “No need. She’s happy here, and we’ll watch her while you finish up.”

    Isabel hesitated, her gaze flicking between them before settling on Ariana. “If you’re sure,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet fondness. “But no climbing the furniture. She has no fear, much like someone else I raised.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, earning a playful glare from Ariana. “Understood. She’ll stay firmly on the ground—or my lap,” she promised, lifting Emma into her arms as she settled into an armchair. Emma giggled, her small hands reaching for the book again, and Cullen found himself smiling despite the heaviness still lingering in his mind.

    Cullen watched as Ariana scooped Emma into her arms, settling into an armchair by the fire. The sight of her holding the little girl, her posture relaxed and her smile gentle, sent a warmth spreading through him. It was a side of Ariana he rarely saw—unburdened, natural, at ease—and it stirred something deep within him.

    “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to join us?” Ariana asked, her teasing tone drawing his attention.

    He chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to sit in the chair beside hers. “I suppose I’ll join you, though I’m not sure I’ll be much competition for her,” he said, nodding toward Emma, who was babbling happily as she pointed to the book’s illustrations.

    The warmth of the fire and the simplicity of the moment began to chip away at Cullen’s earlier frustration. As they sat there, the tension from dinner slowly dissipated, replaced by an unspoken understanding. He found himself watching Emma’s tiny fingers trace the pages, her giggles blending seamlessly with the crackling fire.

    When Isabel returned with the wine and glasses, Cullen accepted them with a nod, noticing the way she looked at Ariana—a quiet pride in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel the same. Despite the hardships she had faced, Ariana had built a life here, one that extended beyond herself to include Isabel, Emma, and perhaps even him.

    “Thank you for staying,” Ariana said softly, her gaze meeting his.

    “Always,” he replied, the weight of the word settling between them. He meant it—more than she probably realized.

    As the minutes passed, Cullen found his eyes drawn back to Emma. She was so small, her laughter so innocent, and yet she carried the weight of a story he didn’t fully understand. His curiosity grew, his protective instincts sharpening as he remembered the tightness in Ariana’s voice when she had mentioned her brother.

    “Is she… Isabel’s daughter?” he asked, his voice careful.

    Ariana nodded, her hand brushing lightly over Emma’s hair. “Yes,” she said softly. “And my niece.”

    Her answer gave him pause. He studied her face, searching for the emotions beneath her steady exterior. There was a tension in her shoulders, a heaviness in her gaze as she looked down at Emma. Slowly, pieces of their earlier conversations began to click together in his mind.

    “You said there was something you needed to be sure of,” he said gently. “Something about your brother.”

    Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze fixed on Emma as she spoke. “This… was it,” she admitted, her voice quiet but laced with frustration. “Mark… being the entitled bastard that he is, is her father.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t need to ask for details—the bitterness in her tone, the tightness in her expression, told him enough. His jaw clenched, anger flaring briefly at the thought of her brother’s actions. But more than that, he felt a surge of protectiveness, not just for Ariana, but for Emma and Isabel as well. The thought of anyone hurting them was unbearable.

    “Ari…” he began, his voice soft, unsure of what to say.

    “I know what you’re thinking,” she interrupted, finally looking up at him. Her hazel-green eyes held a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “And no, you don’t need to say anything. Isabel has made it clear that Emma will never know him, and my father made sure she’s safe here. That’s all that matters.”

    He nodded, though the weight of her words lingered. She was strong—stronger than anyone he had ever known—but even the strongest carried scars. And he couldn’t help but wonder how deeply hers ran.

    “If there’s anything you need,” he said after a moment, his voice steady, “anything at all, you only have to ask.”

    Ariana’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile. “Can you send Templars to drag him to the Gallows?” she quipped, her tone light but edged with a lingering bitterness.

    Cullen’s brow arched slightly, a glint of steel in his eyes. “If that’s your wish,” he replied evenly, “I’ll see it done.”

    She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, I think Isabel and I have it handled,” she said, her tone lighter now, though a flicker of gratitude lingered in her gaze.

    Almost as if on cue, Emma’s attention shifted to the Halla pendant hanging around Cullen’s neck. Her tiny hands reached out, her gurgles of curiosity drawing his focus, her curiosity bringing a soft smile to his face. He gently lifted her from Ariana’s lap, holding her carefully as she examined it. “She has good taste,” he said, glancing at Ariana, whose eyes lingered on him with a quiet fondness.

    For a moment, Cullen let himself imagine a different life—a life where scenes like this weren’t so fleeting. He wondered what it might be like to have a family of his own, to share in moments of simple joy and quiet togetherness. The thought of Ariana as the mother of his children surfaced unbidden, and he quickly pushed it aside, chastising himself. It was far too soon to entertain such notions, and yet the warmth of the thought lingered.

    When his eyes met Ariana’s, he saw something in her expression—something tender and knowing that made his heart race. It was as if she, too, had entertained a similar thought, though neither of them dared to voice it.

    “Seems like she’s a good judge of character,” Cullen said softly, his words meant for Emma but carrying a deeper weight as his gaze remained on Ariana.

    As Emma babbled and pointed to the pendant hanging around his neck, Cullen’s thoughts drifted. The Halla pendant was a reminder of the life Ariana had lived before coming to Kirkwall, of the burdens she carried. He felt a deep protectiveness, not just for her but for Isabel and Emma as well. He thought of her earlier words about her brother, Mark, and the pain hidden beneath them. Learning that Emma’s father was a man who had hurt her only deepened Cullen’s resolve. Ariana might not ask for help, but he would offer it all the same.

    She laughed lightly, her cheeks tinged with warmth. “She is, though I think it’s just the pendant,” she teased, her smile softening as she watched Emma’s tiny fingers tug at the charm.

    Isabel returned then, her gaze sweeping over the scene with quiet approval. She placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she said, “You two make quite the pair. And Emma clearly approves.”

    Cullen’s heart swelled at the words, a mixture of pride and longing settling in his chest. For now, this was enough—a quiet moment, a shared smile, and the unspoken promise of something more.

  • Chapter 21 – The Whole Truth

    11 – 15 Firstfall 9:33

    A couple of nights later, Cullen was summoned to the Trevelyan estate. Though the note had been simple and polite, he couldn’t shake the faint unease that had lingered since he read it. Charles’s request seemed innocuous enough, but Cullen’s mind churned with possibilities. Perhaps this was just an invitation for dinner, he reasoned. Yet as he approached the grand estate, he found his thoughts drifting back to Ariana, to the way she smiled when she spoke of her father, to the quiet strength that seemed to run in her family. Would Charles approve of him? Would he see a simple Templar as someone unworthy of his daughter?

    By the time Isabel led him into the library, Cullen had managed to steel himself—mostly. Still, the room’s quiet atmosphere and Charles’s composed demeanor as he turned to greet him did little to settle his nerves.

    “Ah, Knight-Captain, thank you for coming,” Charles said, his voice friendly yet carrying an undertone of seriousness that made Cullen straighten instinctively.

    “Of course, my lord,” Cullen replied, his tone guarded as his gaze flickered briefly around the room. Ariana wasn’t here. That detail alone made his heart sink slightly. He had half-expected her presence to soften whatever this meeting was meant to be, but the absence only heightened his worry. Some part of him had anticipated this—the moment a noble father would look him over and find him lacking.

    “My daughter seems quite taken with you,” Charles began, his words carefully measured. Cullen stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back as Charles continued. “I’m aware you met her in Ferelden before the Blight. I imagine you’ve never experienced what being involved with a noble family might entail.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. The statement wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but it grated against his pride nonetheless. “Not directly, my lord,” he replied, keeping his words neutral and concise.

    “Please, just Charles is fine,” the older man said, his tone taking on a more reassuring note. “You’ve likely noticed that every noble is afforded their dalliances, but we do our best to keep such matters quiet—shadows and whispers, nothing more. However, if the rumors circulating Kirkwall are anything to go by…” His gaze flicked to Cullen, his smirk faint but pointed. “Your relationship with my daughter appears to be far more public. And, if I may say, rather vividly imagined.”

    Cullen felt his breath hitch for a moment, a mix of emotions stirring within him. That Charles was aware of the rumors was one thing. That he’d grouped what Cullen shared with Ariana among “dalliances” was another entirely. Cullen’s hands tightened at his sides, but he forced himself to stay composed. Still, his voice carried an edge when he responded.

    “Tell me, Knight-Captain,” Charles continued, leaning forward slightly, “what are your intentions with my daughter?”

    The question hung in the air, more curious than accusatory, yet it bore a weight Cullen couldn’t ignore. He held Charles’s gaze for a long moment before answering, his voice steady but filled with conviction.

    “She is no dalliance, Charles,” Cullen said firmly. “Ariana deserves more than I can ever give her—I know that. But I will give her everything I have, for as long as I am able. I will stand with her against anything and anyone who would threaten her, her freedom, or her happiness.”

    Charles regarded him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a genuine, warm expression that took Cullen slightly by surprise.

    “Well said,” Charles remarked, rising from his chair with a satisfied air. He picked up a folded letter from the desk and extended it to Cullen. “Then you have my blessing. I’ll be content knowing she has someone like you by her side.”

    Cullen stared at him, momentarily stunned, before reaching out to take the letter. Charles placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but not heavy. “Goodnight, Knight-Captain,” he said simply before making his way out of the library, leaving Cullen alone.

    For a moment, Cullen remained where he was, the weight of the letter in his hand grounding him as his emotions churned. Relief, gratitude, and a faint sense of disbelief swirled within him. Slowly, he unfolded the letter, his breath catching as he recognized Ariana’s handwriting:

    Father,

    I’m sorry. Please don’t be disappointed. I couldn’t bear it, but I also can’t bear to remain here.

    I don’t yet know where I belong, but I know it’s not as Frederick’s wife, as the next Duchess of Markham.

    I know life isn’t a fairy tale, but I think that there’s still more to it than this. I need to find the adventure that I know is somewhere out there waiting for me. With any luck, maybe I’ll even find my knight in shining armor who will come to my rescue when I need him…

    You have always supported me in the past, and I’m sorry I have to do this, but I know you can’t support me this time even if you were willing.

    I hope you can forgive me, Father.

    I love you. 

    Ariana

    Cullen’s lips curved into a soft smile as he read the words, his chest tightening at the line that stood out above all the rest: “Maybe I’ll even find my knight in shining armor who will come to my rescue when I need him…”

    He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as a wave of warmth spread through him. Her knight in shining armor… The thought was almost too much to believe, yet here he was. Whatever twists of fate had brought them together, he would ensure that nothing—not rumors, not titles, not the expectations of others—would ever take her from him again.

    Still holding the letter, Cullen leaned back in his chair, a quiet resolve settling over him. He would defend her against anything and anyone. Because she wasn’t just anyone. She was his, and he would be hers for as long as she allowed it.

    ~~~

    The rest of the week passed quietly, with Ariana splitting her time between her father, Cullen, and the familiar comfort of the Hanged Man.

    Much of her time at the estate was spent alongside Isabel and Charles, assessing the state of the house. They worked to determine which furniture needed replacing, organizing cleaning efforts, and ensuring the house was properly stocked. Ariana had one specific request that she made clear to both her father and Isabel: “Please, hire as many of the staff as you can from the Alienage. Elves aren’t treated well in Kirkwall, and… we can’t fix that for everyone, but…” Her voice trailed off, the weight of her words lingering in the air.

    Charles smiled, pride evident in his eyes as he nodded in agreement. “Of course, my dear. It’s a fine idea.”

    Isabel, already jotting down a list of tasks, gave a supportive nod. “We’ve enough room in the servants’ quarters to make that work easily.”

    Ariana felt a sense of relief, knowing her home could provide even a small haven in a city as harsh as Kirkwall.

    When her father’s time in the city came to an end, Ariana found it harder than she expected to see him go. She thanked him profusely for everything he had done, but guilt lingered in her voice as she apologized again for the rift her departure had caused with her mother.

    Charles, however, shook his head, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Ariana, that rift was there long before you ever left. Your mother and I… we’ve always seen the world differently. You bear no blame for that.”

    His words were comforting, though she couldn’t entirely quiet her lingering guilt.

    Cullen had started visiting the estate whenever his duties allowed, and Ariana found herself looking forward to those moments more and more each time. She had the courtyard arranged with comfortable seating, transforming it into an ideal place for their stargazing escapades. No more moonlit trysts in Hightown, she teased herself. The thought made her smile. It was a subtle way of creating a space for them, one that felt uniquely theirs.

    Despite everything seeming to fall into place, Ariana couldn’t shake a growing unease. It had been over a month since she’d left Ferelden, and she was honestly surprised Riley hadn’t sent a search party after her. She knew she’d need to return soon, at least temporarily, but the thought of explaining her absence weighed heavily on her.

    No one but Varric knew about the Silver Rangers. How would she explain such an extended disappearance, especially to Cullen? He had made his thoughts on mercenaries clear that first night. Yet the idea of keeping such a secret from him felt wrong, but the risk of revealing it loomed large in her mind. What if he changed his mind about her, what if he couldn’t respect her for who she was now.

    Maybe… I need to find out how he’d feel about it, without revealing too much just yet, she thought, considering her next steps carefully. Then I can decide what to do.

    ~~~

    After her father left, the estate felt quieter, heavier somehow, even with Isabel and Emma filling the space. That night, after Isabel prepared dinner, Ariana asked her to sit with her. She couldn’t keep carrying everything alone. If Isabel was managing her life in so many other ways, it only made sense to confide in her. And not just about the logistics of running the estate—about everything. Ariana needed someone to know, someone to share the weight of her past, the truth about the blight, Krieger… all of it.

    As happy as she often felt now—here, with friends, with Cullen—the darkness still lingered. The nightmares were unrelenting. She needed someone to see her fully and not turn away.

    “Isabel…” Ariana began, her voice soft, trailing off as she watched Isabel holding Emma on her lap, gently brushing the little girl’s hair. The sight was grounding, comforting, yet it made her own hesitation even harder to push past. “I… can I trust you?”

    Isabel’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked up, her kind eyes meeting Ariana’s. “Of course,” she said simply, but her tone carried an undercurrent of concern. She set Emma on her feet with a small kiss on the head and motioned for her to fetch her doll from the corner.

    Ariana hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Do you… work for me, or my father?” she asked softly. There was no accusation in her tone, only an earnest need to know where Isabel’s ultimate loyalty lay. She wouldn’t blame her if it was with Charles—he was the one who brought her here, after all.

    Isabel tilted her head, a knowing smile forming on her lips. She reached across the table to gently place her hand over Ariana’s. “My loyalty is first and foremost to you, my Lady. Always.” Her voice was steady and warm, filled with maternal affection. “To you, my child.”

    Ariana’s lip quivered slightly, the tension she’d been holding in her shoulders easing at Isabel’s reassurance. “I need someone to know… everything,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly on the last word. “Someone who understands the whole story. I—I can’t keep it all inside anymore.”

    Isabel’s gaze softened, and she squeezed Ariana’s hand, her own resolve clear. She could see how much Ariana had been carrying. “Then you’ll tell me, my lady,” she said gently. “But not tonight on an empty stomach. Finish your dinner. I’ll make you some tea—and perhaps fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar.” Her voice had a calming rhythm, her practical nature shining through as she rose to her feet, Emma now dozing against her shoulder.

    Isabel’s touch was light as she passed Ariana, her presence so steady that Ariana already felt a small weight lift, knowing she wouldn’t have to do this alone anymore. As she watched Isabel leave to tuck Emma into bed, Ariana allowed herself a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

    This was right. Isabel had been there at the start, helping her escape when no one else would have dared. If anyone could handle the full truth of who she had become—and who she used to be—it was Isabel. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pity. She would understand.

    ~~~

    Isabel wasn’t gone long. When she returned, she carried two bottles of wine and a pair of glasses. She moved with a calm deliberation, placing the glasses on the table and pouring a glass for Ariana first before filling her own. Her presence alone was steadying, grounding in a way Ariana hadn’t realized she needed.

    “Now, my child,” Isabel said softly, sitting beside her and covering Ariana’s hand with her own. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? What happened when you left the manor?”

    Her tone was gentle, free of judgment, but her words made it clear—she wanted to know everything. Ariana smiled faintly, despite the heaviness of the conversation she was about to have. She felt a flicker of relief knowing someone finally wanted to understand.

    Taking a slow sip of wine, Ariana began. She detailed her first steps away from the manor—the naive realization that leaving on foot wouldn’t get her far, and the desperate decision to board the first boat she could find. She spoke of finding Berthold and how pure luck had brought her to him. His ship had been her salvation in more ways than one.

    Isabel listened intently, her only interruptions coming as slight nods or a squeeze of Ariana’s hand. Her attention never wavered, her eyes focused entirely on Ariana as she unfolded her story.

    Ariana continued, recounting her arrival in Kirkwall and meeting Varric. She described the months spent learning from him, unraveling the tangled web of his dealings and the intricacies of his spy network. When she reached the part about seeing her father in Kirkwall and his urging her to run further, she hesitated, unsure if Isabel already knew.

    Isabel nodded knowingly. “Your father told me.” She said. “When he came back to Ostwick, I could see how torn he was, but he was certain it was the best choice for you.”

    Encouraged by Isabel’s understanding, Ariana pressed on, describing her flight to Ferelden. Her voice softened as she spoke of meeting Cullen, her words growing lighter as she recounted the night at the Spoiled Princess. Isabel laughed at the awkward charm of their first conversation, clearly amused.

    “Seems like a good man, that one,” Isabel said when Ariana mentioned Cullen helping her escape her brother. “And it sounds like he’s cared for you for a very long time.”

    Ariana’s face softened, a rare, unguarded smile touching her lips. “And I for him…”

    Eventually, the story turned darker again. She spoke of the letter from Varric about the Blight, how she and Cullen had tried to warn people. She described the chaos in the aftermath of the Battle of Ostagar and how it marked the beginning of the end for them—for that version of them, at least. Barely a month later, they were separated, and she lost him.

    Her voice faltered as she described the months she spent running, alone, trying to stay a step ahead of the Blight and the darkspawn while still searching for Cullen. The tension in her words grew, and Isabel could see the weight of those months pressing down on her even now.

    Finally, Ariana paused, her grip tightening around her wine glass. “I was cornered,” she said, her voice quieter, her gaze distant. “I was certain it was the end. I’d been fighting for hours, endless waves of darkspawn, and I was so exhausted. Then suddenly, a group of warriors charged in… They saved my life.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It was the Crimson Blades.”

    At first, the words seemed a relief—salvation in the form of a mercenary company. But Isabel didn’t miss the hesitation, the way Ariana’s tone shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Whatever had happened with the Crimson Blades was not the blessing it initially appeared to be.

    Isabel leaned forward slightly, her hand still resting over Ariana’s, steady and encouraging. She didn’t push, waiting for Ariana to find the words. But in her heart, she knew—this was where Ariana’s story would take a much darker turn, darker than even the Blight.

    ~~~

    Ariana took another sip of wine before setting the glass down, her fingers tracing its rim absentmindedly. “I traveled with them for a little over a year. It seemed like the smart thing to do,” she began, her voice measured but distant. “They weren’t a large company—about forty of them, including… Krieger… their leader.” Her words faltered, the name catching in her throat. Isabel’s hand tightened around hers, sensing the storm beneath her calm facade.

    She went on to explain how Krieger had an unprecendented mastery with blades. How his motions were so effortless and fluid. She spoke about him with a quiet yet hesitant admiration. She spoke of how Krieger had believed in her, believed that she could be more than she was. That with the right training she would become unstoppable. She spoked of how she wouldn’t have survived or become who she is today without him.

    “Not many people know what I’m about to tell you. At least not many still around.” Ariana’s gaze fell to the wine in her glass, her eyes hollowing as though she could see the memories swirling in its depths. She paused, taking a deep breath, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she needed to force the words free.

    Isabel didn’t rush her. She sat still, her hand unwavering, but her own heart began to race. Whatever Ariana was about to reveal was something Isabel knew she had carried alone for far too long.

    Slowly, Ariana began to recount the story. She spoke of how it started, the insidious way Krieger’s manipulations had crept into her life. The way his obsession slowly manifested itself until it finally snapped. She described what it felt like to endure it, the suffocating powerlessness, the helplessness that had once made her believe she’d never escape. Her words were clinical, dispassionate, almost detached, as though she were narrating someone else’s story. But Isabel could feel the weight behind each word, the pain Ariana refused to let herself feel. When she mentioned Riley and the others—how, without their intervention, she wasn’t sure she’d be here—her voice cracked for the first time, though she swallowed it down quickly.

    Isabel’s hand flew to her mouth, unable to stifle the sobs that threatened to spill. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the anguish of hearing such a story from someone she cared for so deeply slicing through her. She felt an angry, helpless rage simmering beneath her grief, but she didn’t interrupt, letting Ariana continue.

    Ariana kept her eyes fixed on the glass in front of her, her voice bitter and distant. “He didn’t leave significant marks. No significant scars.” Her hand brushed over her forearm as though tracing invisible wounds. “He knew exactly how to make it hurt without showing a single sign.”

    Isabel rose abruptly, her body trembling with the effort to contain her emotions. She couldn’t stay seated—couldn’t sit idle after hearing what she had. Her voice was cold, sharp as a blade. “Is he dead?”

    Ariana’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “I didn’t kill him myself,” she said, her tone carrying a dark satisfaction. “But I did leave him crippled. Figured I’d let the darkspawn or anything else do the rest. I hope he suffered.” The edge in her voice made it clear she meant every word.

    For a moment, Isabel couldn’t speak. She turned away, taking a deep breath before looking back at Ariana. She walked back to the table and knelt beside Ariana, pulling her into an embrace.

    Ariana stiffened at first, unused to such vulnerability, but Isabel didn’t let go. “You’ve been holding this in for too long, my child,” she murmured, stroking her hair gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

    Ariana remained silent, her head resting against Isabel’s shoulder. The warmth of Isabel’s embrace and the quiet understanding in her words began to chip away at the wall Ariana had built around her pain. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to relax, to lean into the care of someone else. She didn’t cry, not yet, but Isabel knew it was only a matter of time. Ariana’s armor had finally begun to crack.

    ~~~

    Ariana wasn’t sure how long she sat there, letting Isabel’s arms encircle her in quiet comfort. She understood what Isabel meant, what she was gently urging her toward. But Ariana knew there would be no tears for this—not now, not ever. In her mind, crying over what Krieger had done would mean giving him power over her, a victory she refused to allow.

    As Isabel slowly released her, Ariana exhaled softly, straightening in her seat. “I’m sorry, Isabel,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry you have to carry this with me. But don’t feel sorry for me. I made my mistakes, and I own them.”

    Isabel’s heart ached at her words, a sorrow she wished Ariana would let herself share. “You should never have had to pay that price, my child. None of this was your fault—it was the fault of a madman.”

    Ariana motioned for Isabel to return to her seat at the table, determination flickering in her hazel-green eyes. “Come. Sit,” she urged. “It’s time to finish the story.”

    She offered Isabel a faint smile as they settled back into their chairs. “I promise, that’s the worst of it. After that point…” Ariana hesitated, her smile firming with resolve. “I haven’t regretted a thing.”

    She began detailing how the fifteen who left with her that night became the foundation of the Silver Rangers, a company born from necessity but forged with purpose. Ariana’s voice grew lighter as she recounted their growth, their victories, and their mission to do good in a world so often weighed down by darkness. How they began helping Ferelden rebuild. They might be mercenaries by definition, but she was proud of what they had built—of the hope they carried with them wherever they went.

    When Ariana explained the origins of the “White Wolf” moniker, Isabel’s eyes lit with amusement. The story, equal parts accidental and endearing, brought the first genuine smile to her face since the night began.

    Isabel leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a warm laugh. “Riley’s right about you—you are a softie.”

    Ariana shrugged, her lips curling in a mischievous grin. “It made that boy happy,” she said, her tone light but fond. “That’s all that mattered.”

    As the tale neared its conclusion, Isabel’s curiosity deepened. She leaned forward, her questions flowing naturally. “And the Rangers—how do you keep it all running? The funding, the contracts? You’re here in Kirkwall now—how do you manage everything?”

    Ariana tilted her head, her hazel-green eyes narrowing with a meaningful glance that said more than words could. It didn’t take Isabel long to piece it together.

    “Oh,” Isabel said, realization dawning in her expression. She paused, thinking through the implications of what Ariana’s subtle request might mean. “I see.”

    “I can’t stay in Kirkwall permanently,” Ariana admitted, her voice softening with regret. “I’ll need to travel between Ferelden, Kirkwall, and Orlais more often now. Riley is good—great, even—at managing the tactical side of things. She’s a brilliant leader in the field. But contracts? Finances? The day-to-day operation?” Ariana shook her head. “That’s not her. And she shouldn’t have to carry that burden.”

    Isabel chuckled, the sound light and reassuring. For the first time that evening, the weight in the air seemed to lift. “Very well,” she said, her tone practical but warm. “Get some rest tonight. In the morning, we’ll go over everything. You’ll tell me exactly what I need to know to help.”

    Standing, Isabel reached over to give Ariana’s hand a firm squeeze before bending to kiss her forehead, an unmistakably maternal gesture. “Goodnight, my child.”

    Ariana smiled up at her, the warmth of the moment settling into her chest. She finally felt as though she could feel her past and her present were coming back together. As if both sides of her could maybe become one now.