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.