Lost Figment

Tag: Isabel

  • Chapter 27 – Stars Guide You

    8 Wintermarch 9:34

    After a quick conversation with the Rangers, instructing them to meet her in the morning, Ariana changed into more inconspicuous travel clothes. It was safer this way, especially after the close call at the docks. She stepped out of the Hanged Man with a purpose, intent on finding Cullen. She wondered if he would have stuck to his usual patrol schedule or if he might still be out with the Templars she’d seen earlier.

    She decided to head toward the docks first, planning to circle back to Hightown if she didn’t find him. Luck was on her side—she spotted Cullen not far from the Hanged Man, engaged in conversation with a small group of Templars.

    “Hello, stranger,” she called out, her voice teasing, the playful greeting echoing their past at Lake Calenhad before their journey to Honnleath.

    Cullen’s head snapped up, his expression shifting from confusion to surprise, and then softening into pure joy. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between them, his strides purposeful and unrelenting. Ariana stepped forward to meet him, throwing herself into his arms. He caught her with practiced ease, his embrace both firm and gentle, holding her as though nothing else in the world existed.

    For Cullen, nothing else did. Everything around them blurred into the background, a rare moment of unguarded emotion breaking through his usual composure. His charges, however, were not as oblivious. The Templars stood frozen, wide-eyed, murmuring among themselves. The stoic, steadfast Knight-Captain—so often perceived as unshakable—was now undeniably human, undeniably open, and undeniably in love.

    Unconcerned by their whispers, Cullen gently set Ariana back on her feet but kept his arms around her. His hand moved to her face as he leaned down, kissing her with the kind of passion that held every unspoken word, every lingering fear, and every promise he’d been carrying since she left. The kiss was unyielding, grounding them both in the certainty of this moment. When they finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his smile warm and completely unguarded. “I missed you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his sincerity. “More than I can put into words.”

    Ariana felt her heart swell, the weight of her travels and lingering worries momentarily dissolving. She smiled back, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “I can tell,” she teased gently, though her voice carried the depth of her own emotions. “I missed you too.”

    Her eyes flicked over his shoulder to the group of Templars watching the exchange with thinly veiled curiosity. With a playful glint, she added, “Am I interrupting something?”

    Reality crept back in as Cullen turned, his attention snapping momentarily to his men. Even as he addressed them, his arm remained wrapped protectively around Ariana. “Check the Hanged Man,” he instructed, his tone steady and authoritative despite the warmth lingering in his voice. “It’s a likely place for them to go. Find out what you can and report back to me.”

    The Templars nodded, casting lingering glances between them as they saluted, and made their way toward the tavern, their curiosity about their Knight-Captain’s sudden change in demeanor palpable.

    As they walked away, Ariana tilted her head slightly, her tone feigning innocence. “Is something the matter?”

    “Nothing you need to be concerned about,” Cullen replied, his voice soft and reassuring. He smiled down at her, his expression gentle. “Come, let me walk you home.”

    Her heart fluttered at his disarming smile as they fell into step together. Their strides matched effortlessly, as though no time had passed since they were last side by side. Cullen reached out, brushing her hand with his, a quiet but deliberate gesture.

    As they made their way toward Hightown, their conversation shifted naturally to her travels. Ariana steered away from anything too revealing, choosing safer topics—her time in Val Royeaux, a few choice shops she’d visited, and an unexpected encounter with her brother Michael on the road.

    Cullen listened attentively, his eyes never leaving hers for long. “I wish I could’ve been there with you,” he admitted at one point, his tone wistful. “But more than that… I’m just glad you’re back.”

    Ariana glanced up at him, her smile brightening. “Me too,” she replied softly, her words simple but weighted with meaning.

    ~~~

    As they strolled toward Hightown, their conversation flowed effortlessly, a seamless blend of playful banter and quiet warmth. Cullen listened intently as Ariana described her nights aboard the ship, her voice softening as she painted a picture of stargazing on the deck. She spoke of the serenity, the way the sway of the ship lulled her to sleep, and how the stars seemed brighter, closer, when surrounded by endless water. He smiled, not just at her words but at the way she seemed to glow when sharing something that brought her joy.

    He had missed this. Her voice, her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke. These moments had sustained him during her absence, memories he clung to when the world around him felt too heavy.

    “You know,” Ariana began, her tone shifting to one of mischievous anticipation, “I have a surprise for you, but you’ll have to wait until your birthday.”

    Cullen raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking. “A surprise, huh? Should I be concerned?”

    “That depends,” she teased, glancing up at him with a sly smile. “Do you think you have been good this year?”

    “Good?” he repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I have been the model of virtue while you were gone. Though,” he added, stepping closer to her, his tone dropping to something warmer, more intimate, “I missed you enough that I wouldn’t mind starting some new rumors right now.”

    The teasing glint in her eyes deepened, but before she could respond, he slid a hand to her waist and pulled her closer, his other hand resting lightly at her back. He felt her body tense slightly in surprise before relaxing against him, her hazel-green eyes sparkling with a mix of challenge and amusement.

    “Oh,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a low, playful tone, “you mean the Lowtown kind of rumors…”

    Cullen’s breath hitched, her words sending a pleasant heat coursing through him. Her hands slid around his neck, her fingers grazing the edges of his hair, and she leaned in, her confidence intoxicating. He swallowed, his usual composure fraying at the edges as he tried to keep up with her teasing. “I might,” he managed, attempting to sound unaffected. “Would you like to add to them?”

    She tilted her head, her gaze locked on his, her lips curving into a devilish smile. “Well,” she began, her voice slow and deliberate, “we are not far from the estate… If you’d like to sneak into my room for a ‘vigorous strategy session’…as Isabela will label it”

    Her words hung in the air, and Cullen felt the heat rise to his face. He wasn’t sure if it was her suggestion or the sheer audacity of her confidence, but he was utterly undone. Before he could muster a response, she pulled him into a kiss that sent every coherent thought fleeing from his mind. It wasn’t the playful teasing of before—this kiss was deep, insistent, a silent declaration of her longing.

    He found himself lost in her, his hands tightening around her waist instinctively as a soft moan escaped her, igniting something in him that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. For a moment, the world narrowed to just her—her warmth, her touch, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. It was unlike her to be so bold, but he found himself reveling in it, captivated by the confidence that mirrored his own feelings.

    When he finally broke the kiss, it was only because he needed air, though he wasn’t ready to let her go. He let his forehead rest gently against hers, his breaths uneven as he tried to steady himself. Her soft laugh, so triumphant, so full of joy, brought him back to the moment.

    “Maker’s breath, Ariana,” he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation but softened by amusement. “You are… in rare form tonight.”

    Her triumphant laughter rang out, filling the quiet street. “Oh, look at that,” she teased, folding her arms and leaning back just slightly, her expression smug. “The unshakable Knight-Captain, undone by a simple suggestion. I believe I win this round.”

    Cullen shook his head, his lips curving into a rueful smile. “If this is what victory looks like, I’m not sure I stand a chance,” he replied, his tone lighter now, though his heart still raced. He found himself wondering not for the first time how she managed to disarm him so completely—and how, despite his every instinct to remain composed, he didn’t mind in the slightest.

    Cullen shook his head, his lips curving into a grin despite his best efforts. “You are insufferable,” he said, though the affection in his tone betrayed any attempt at sternness.

    “And yet,” she replied breezily, turning back toward the path to Hightown, “you cannot seem to stay away.”

    “Do not remind me,” he said with a chuckle, following her lead. The playfulness between them carried a newfound undercurrent of unspoken affection, both teasing and testing the boundaries of their still young relationship.

    As they walked, Cullen found his thoughts straying to her demeanor. The way she carried herself, the light in her eyes—though still vibrant—seemed shadowed by something he could not place. Their banter was as natural as ever, yet there was a heaviness to her, a depth in her gaze that had not been there before. Whatever had happened during her time away, it weighed on her, and the realization filled him with an unsettling sense of guilt.

    Something had happened to her. Something he had been unable to shield her from. The thought gnawed at him, and he resolved, quietly, that he would not fail her again.

    ~~~

    As they approached the estate, the quiet stillness greeted them like a gentle pause after the bustle of the city. Ariana felt a sense of familiarity wash over her, though something about the silence seemed heavier than usual. Isabel was likely in the kitchen, preparing the next meal, as she often was when the household was at rest.

    The soft sound of their footsteps echoed in the hallway, and soon enough, Isabel appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lit up the moment she saw Ariana.

    “My dear girl!” Isabel exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her. Her strong arms wrapped Ariana in a warm, maternal hug. “How we’ve missed you.”

    Ariana leaned into the hug, a genuine smile spreading across her face. “And I have missed you,” she replied warmly. With a playful glance toward Cullen, she added, “Though I heard Cullen here has been keeping you company in my absence.”

    “That he did,” Isabel said, turning her attention to Cullen. Her gaze softened, noting how the tension he had carried for weeks seemed to lift now that Ariana was home. “He has been a good guest. But I think I speak for both Emma and myself when I say we are glad you are back.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, his posture relaxing further. “I am just glad she finally made it home.”

    “Come, both of you,” Isabel said, motioning toward the kitchen. “I just made tea.”

    Ariana hesitated. “Isabel, I desperately need a bath and a change of clothes.”

    Isabel smiled, ever the caretaker. “Sit and have some tea first. I’ll have a bath drawn for you in the meantime,” she assured her, motioning to a nearby servant to make the arrangements.

    Ariana relented with a grateful smile and followed them into the kitchen. The familiar scent of herbs and freshly baked goods filled the air as they settled at the table. Isabel began asking gentle questions about Ariana’s travels, careful not to press too hard with Cullen present.

    “Was the journey taxing?” Isabel asked, her sharp green eyes studying Ariana’s face.

    “It was… long,” Ariana replied, offering a half-smile. “But I managed.”

    Cullen, however, was less subtle. “Was all your time spent in Val Royeaux?” he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes searching hers. “The journey between Kirkwall and Orlais shouldn’t have taken this long.”

    Ariana paused, meeting his gaze. She knew this question was inevitable and had prepared her answer. “I stopped by Ferelden,” she said carefully, setting her teacup down. “To let some friends know I was alright. I had left without word when I came to Kirkwall. It felt right to let them know I was safe.”

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Would that be the Silver Rangers?” he asked pointedly, a faint edge of frustration creeping into his voice.

    Ariana sighed, her patience waning. “Some of them, yes,” she admitted, her tone firm but calm. “They are friends, and they were worried.” Her answer was deliberately brief, signaling that the topic was closed.

    She rose from her seat, intending to leave, but Cullen’s next words froze her in place.

    “Does that include the White Wolf?” Cullen pressed.

    Ariana turned back to him, feigning surprise. “What?”

    “Do you know who he is? Or why he’s here?” Cullen leaned forward, his voice insistent.

    “What are you talking about?” Ariana snapped, anger flickering beneath her calm exterior. But guilt gnawed at her as well. She hated lying to him, but she couldn’t let him connect the dots.

    “Answer me, Ariana,” Cullen said, rising to meet her gaze, his frustration palpable.

    Ariana’s voice was taut as she forced herself to remain calm. “Cullen… I’m going to take a bath.” Her tone was restrained but carried a sharp edge. “Maybe when I come back, you can calm down enough to tell me what this is about.”

    Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the room, her steps measured but quick.

    As the door closed behind her, Cullen sank back into his chair, tension creeping back into his shoulders. Isabel, who had remained quiet until now, gave him a pointed look, crossing her arms.

    “What did I say before?” Isabel said, her tone gentle but firm, as though addressing one of her own children. “A conversation, not an argument.”

    Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I need answers.”

    “And you will get them,” Isabel replied, her voice softening. “But not by pushing her. You care for her, Cullen, and if you want her to trust you, you must show her that.”

    He looked up at Isabel, his brow furrowed. “You know I do,” he admitted quietly, the words slipping out unguarded.

    Isabel’s expression softened, her knowing look filled with warmth. “Then show her, Cullen,” she said simply. “Show her you can meet her on her terms. Trust me, it will make all the difference.”

    She paused, a faint but teasing smile tugging at her lips. “And remember, Cullen, Ariana is, for better or worse, a very strong-willed woman. Maker help you if you think you can win an argument with her. She will wear you down, one way or another.”

    Cullen chuckled softly despite himself, shaking his head. “I think I already knew that.”

    “Good,” Isabel said with a grin. “Because it’s the truth. But that strong will? It’s also why she has survived everything she has. And why she will always fight for the people she loves. You included.”

    Her words settled over him, a mixture of humor and wisdom that made his chest tighten. Cullen nodded slowly, letting the conversation sink in as he resolved to approach things differently. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Ariana was worth it. Every challenge, every moment of doubt—she was worth all of it.

    ~~~

    As Ariana came back downstairs, her entrance was nothing short of captivating. She wore a flowing house robe, its intricate embroidery tracing delicate patterns along the hem and sleeves. The uneven length, shorter in the front and cascading down at the back, added an almost ethereal quality to her movements. One side of the robe had slipped off her shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her collarbone. She was barefoot, each step light and purposeful, exuding a confidence that was both effortless and commanding.

    Cullen, seated at the kitchen table, looked up as she entered, and his breath caught. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He had never seen her like this—not armored and not in travel gear. She seemed more herself, and yet somehow more breathtaking than ever. If he had thought her beautiful before, now he was certain the word was insufficient.

    Isabel, who had been tending to something at the counter, turned and immediately raised an eyebrow. Even she hadn’t expected Ariana to return looking like this, especially given their guest. “Well,” Isabel said, her tone full of dry humor as she gave Ariana a pointed look, “I see you made yourself… comfortable.”

    “What can I say?” Ariana replied breezily, brushing past Isabel’s subtle judgment with a casual wave of her hand. “It has been a long journey. I am tired, and I did not feel like fussing over buckles and straps. Certainly not with dresses.” She moved toward the table with an air of nonchalance, though the glint in her eye betrayed her true intent.

    “Hmm,” Isabel murmured, her gaze flicking between Ariana and Cullen, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Very well. Dinner is ready. I’ll go fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar,” she added, her voice laced with meaning as she left them alone.

    Ariana took the seat across from Cullen, leaning forward slightly as she rested her arms on the table. Her smile was soft and warm, yet her eyes sparkled with mischief. “That is better,” she said, exhaling in a way that seemed to let the weight of the road fall away. “I will not be missing life on the road for a while, if I am honest.”

    Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but no coherent words formed. His mind was thoroughly distracted, trying to reconcile the composed and formidable Ariana he had always known with the relaxed and radiant woman sitting before him. She was so at ease, so confident, that it was utterly disarming.

    “I’m… sure,” he finally managed to stammer out, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain some semblance of composure.

    Ariana’s grin widened, clearly delighted by his flustered reaction. She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head slightly as if studying him. “Are you all right, Knight-Captain? You seem a bit… distracted.”

    Cullen ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short, almost nervous laugh. His golden eyes locked onto hers, narrowing slightly as he leaned forward just a touch. “What are you trying to do, Ariana? What do you want?” His tone carried a mix of curiosity and exasperation, though the warmth in his voice betrayed the deeper affection behind his words.

    Ariana’s smile deepened, a soft, almost secretive expression spreading across her face. “Everything.” The playful lilt in her tone made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

    The charged air between them lingered, her words amplifying the tension. Ariana was reveling in the moment, while Cullen found himself walking the fine line between being completely disarmed and entirely captivated. The challenge in her eyes brought back the earlier thoughts he had tried—and failed—to control.

    As Isabel returned with the wine, the moment broke, though Ariana’s triumphant grin lingered. Isabel’s sharp green eyes flicked between them, and she smirked knowingly. “Well,” she said lightly, setting the bottle down on the table, “I see I missed all the fun.”

    “Hardly,” Cullen muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation as he straightened in his seat.

    Ariana chuckled softly, her gaze still dancing with mischief as she turned her attention to the wine. Isabel poured the drinks with a knowing look, her humor evident even as she remained silent. Cullen, still trying to steady his thoughts, resolved then and there that he needed to tread carefully with Ariana tonight.

    ~~~

    After dinner, Ariana led Cullen out to the courtyard. The cool night air greeted them, the faint scent of the sea drifting through Kirkwall’s Hightown. Isabel had been right; the courtyard was peaceful, lit by the soft glow of lanterns and the moon above. She walked ahead of him, her steps slower than usual. The weight of the Divine’s request hung heavy on her shoulders, mingling with the tangled web of secrets she already carried. The space felt private, almost sacred, a quiet reprieve from the chaos of her thoughts.

    “You know,” she said, tilting her head to the sky, her eyes tracing the stars, “while I’m not eager to be back on the road, there’s something… different about watching the stars at sea. Depending on them as your sole point of reference to guide you… home.”

    As she spoke, her hand slid into his, her fingers intertwining with his as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her grip tightened slightly as she said the word ‘home’, and Cullen couldn’t help but glance down at their joined hands.

    Her grip and the weight of her words didn’t escape him. “Ari…” Cullen began, his voice low and steady, searching for the right words. But before he could continue, she interrupted him.

    “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the ground as she let go of his hand and stepped forward, hugging her arms across her chest.

    “For what?” Cullen asked, stepping closer, his worry deepening.

    “For being difficult,” she replied after a brief pause, her lips curving into a faint, self-deprecating smile. But inside, her thoughts were a storm. I’m sorry for everything. For the lies. For the things I can never tell you. For what’s coming. “I’ve probably just been on the road too long with only my thoughts for company” she continued taking a deep breath.

    He studied her carefully, his head tilting slightly. “Did something happen during your trip?” he asked gently, his tone steady but probing.

    She hesitated, her gaze dropping for just a moment. “No,” she said finally, the lie slipping out far too easily. But in her mind, the answer was anything but simple. Yes. Everything happened. I made a choice—a choice that might one day force me to stand against you “Nothing important just… the game. It was just Orlais.” she said sounding defeated.

    He stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm. “Ari,” he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring, “talk to me. Please.”

    She shook her head, a small, forced laugh escaping her lips. “It’s nothing,” she said, her tone carefully controlled. But inside, her thoughts screamed the truth. And it’s everything. It’s the Divine’s request, it’s Meredith, the White Wolf, it’s the fact that I might one day be your enemy.

    The tears came before she could stop them, welling up in her eyes despite her best efforts. She blinked rapidly, trying to hide them, but Cullen wasn’t fooled. His heart twisted at the sight of her pain, at the resilience she was struggling to uphold.

    “Something’s wrong,” he said quietly, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away the first tear that escaped. “You don’t have to tell me right now. I’ll wait. For as long as you need.”

    Ariana’s breath caught at his words, at the unshakable steadiness in his voice. She wanted to tell him everything, wanted to let him shoulder the weight she carried. But she couldn’t. Not when she knew what her choices might cost them both.

    Cullen, sensing her hesitation, made a decision of his own. He didn’t ask again. Instead, he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist as he leaned in. His lips found hers with an intensity that left no room for doubt. The kiss wasn’t tentative or gentle—it was a declaration, a silent promise that whatever storm she faced, he would face it with her.

    Ariana’s hands found his shoulders, gripping tightly as though afraid to let go. She melted into him, letting the kiss consume her, letting it drown out the weight of her thoughts, if only for a moment. He held her as if she were his entire world, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

    When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingling in the cool night air, Cullen rested his forehead against hers, his hand still cradling her face.

    “What was that for?” Ariana asked softly, her voice unsteady but laced with warmth.

    “To remind you,” he said simply, his golden eyes searching hers, “that you’ll never be alone.”

    Her heart ached at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered, her fingers brushing lightly against his jaw.

    He kissed her forehead, his touch lingering as if trying to reassure her without words. “I mean it, Ari,” he said softly. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

    Ariana nodded, leaning into him, letting herself believe it for just a moment. But deep down, she knew the truth: she wasn’t sure she’d ever have the courage to let him face it with her. And as they stood there in the quiet glow of the courtyard, she felt the first cracks in her resolve—the slow but inevitable beginning of the lies she would carry between them.

  • Chapter 23 – A Web of Lies

    17-19 Firstfall 9:33

    Cullen paced his quarters that night, the quiet hum of the Gallows doing little to settle the restlessness in his chest. The conversation with Ariana replayed in his mind like a broken refrain, her words carrying a weight he hadn’t fully anticipated. 

    Her defense of the Silver Rangers had been fierce—almost personal. He had expected some disagreement, given her independent streak, but this went deeper. There was conviction in her voice, a fire that hinted at something beyond mere opinion. Was it really just based on one encounter? Or had those mercenaries meant far more to her than she let on? 

    He ran a hand over his face, his thoughts drifting back to the night outside The Hanged Man. That had been the first time he’d seen her truly tested in Kirkwall, and she had surprised him. No, shocked him. When her mother had arrived with mercenaries in tow, Cullen had expected panic, the kind of fear he’d seen from her before—like the day Michael had found her in Ferelden. Then, she had run, her instincts clearly shaped by fear. 

    But outside the Hanged Man, there had been no panic. No hesitation. She had stood her ground, her expression a mask of cold defiance. Her gaze wasn’t fearful; it was calculating. He recognized that look—it was the same one he wore in battle. She had assessed the mercenaries with precision, noting their positions, their weapons, their weaknesses. 

    Cullen shuddered slightly at the memory. Where had she learned that? He had taught her some of it, sure, back when they trained together near Lake Calenhad, but this… This was something else. This was someone who had survived the unthinkable. 

    The Blight. 

    Seventeen years old, alone, in the middle of Ferelden, with darkspawn crawling over the land. He had heard stories of hardened soldiers who hadn’t made it through the Fifth Blight, men and women who had fallen to despair or worse. And yet, she had survived. By all rights, it should have been impossible. 

    Cullen stopped pacing, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. He knew better than to press her for details—whatever memories she carried from those years were likely dark and painful. Still, he felt a gnawing need to understand. Who was she now? What had those years carved into her? 

    Did she even need his protection anymore? 

    The thought unsettled him, though he quickly brushed it aside. Whether she needed him or not wasn’t the point. He wanted to be there for her, to protect her, even if she didn’t ask for it. But how could he protect someone whose strength he couldn’t fully comprehend? 

    Maybe she could use a sparring partner again… 

    The idea came suddenly but settled quickly. Sparring had been their connection once, a way to prepare her for the dangers of the traveling alone, yes, but also something that brought them closer. Training her had been a privilege, and those mornings near Lake Calenhad had been some of the brightest moments during the darkest times. 

    It would also ease his mind to see how she fought now. If she was still as fast as she had been, she’d provide a challenge unlike any of the recruits or Templars he trained. And perhaps, selfishly, he wanted to see her in that element again—to remind himself of how far they had come since those days. 

    Yes, he decided, that would be his way in. He would offer to train with her again. Not to undermine her strength but to honor it, to learn more about the person she had become. And, if he was honest, it was as much for him as it was for her. 

    Cullen glanced at the pendant resting against his chest, the one Ariana had given him all those years ago. It had been his anchor through so many trials, a reminder of her resilience, her light. 

    Tomorrow, he would ask her. Whether it was for her sake or his, he wasn’t entirely sure. But he would ask. And maybe, just maybe, it would bring them closer to understanding each other.

    ~~~

    Ariana sat in the kitchen that morning, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her tea cup. The warmth of the mug did little to ease the lingering ache in her chest. She couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation from the night before, the sting of Cullen’s words still fresh in her mind. She had known he wouldn’t fully understand the Rangers, but the depth of his distrust had caught her off guard. And the way he had spoken of the White Wolf… 

    She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. 

    “So, it didn’t go well, then?” Isabel’s voice broke through her thoughts, calm but perceptive. 

    Ariana glanced up, startled by the interruption, but the concern in Isabel’s gaze softened her. “No,” she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. “Not really. He seems to dislike mercenaries in general, but the White Wolf… He made it clear he doesn’t trust them. He thinks I’m hiding something. That I can’t be trusted.” 

    Isabel set down the loaf of bread she’d been slicing and leaned against the counter, her expression thoughtful. “Well, to be fair, you are hiding something,” she said gently. “You’re hiding yourself.” 

    Ariana winced at the truth in her words. “I never meant to hide,” she began, the sadness in her tone betraying her defenses. “The White Wolf became more than just a name. It became a symbol, and symbols… they matter.” She paused, her thoughts drifting. “A lot of people in Ferelden know that Ariana Trevelyan leads the Rangers. The White Wolf didn’t always exist.” 

    Isabel nodded, her tone soft as she asked, “So, what are you going to do?” 

    Before Ariana could answer, a knock echoed from the front door, followed by the sound of it opening. She and Isabel exchanged a glance of confusion—Ariana hadn’t been expecting anyone. 

    Moments later, Cullen appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t in his usual armor; instead, he wore a simple training outfit, a pack slung over his shoulder. 

    “Cullen,” Ariana said, standing as a smile formed on her lips. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him, her heart lifting despite her earlier frustration. “I wasn’t expecting you. What are you doing here?” 

    “I hope I’m not intruding,” Cullen began, stepping into the room. His tone was hesitant, almost uncertain, and Ariana tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued. 

    “You’re not,” she replied, her voice warm. “Is something wrong?” 

    “Not wrong, exactly,” Cullen said, shifting his weight as if unsure how to proceed. “I came to ask a favor.” 

    “A favor?” Ariana’s brows knit together, her curiosity deepening. “Of course, anything.” 

    “I was wondering if you’d consider…” Cullen hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “Becoming my sparring partner again.” 

    Ariana blinked, surprised by the request. Of all the things she’d expected, this hadn’t even crossed her mind. She studied him for a moment, noting the slight awkwardness in his posture, the way he scratched the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous. 

    Her smile widened, her brow arching playfully. “You want me to train with you?” 

    Cullen nodded, though he still looked unsure of himself. “Since becoming Knight-Captain, I’ve had little time—and no suitable partners—to keep my own skills sharp. My duties keep me behind a desk more than I’d like, and it wouldn’t exactly be proper to spar with the Templars under my command.” 

    The corner of Ariana’s mouth quirked upward as a familiar memory surfaced. “So, you need me to keep you sharp?” she teased, echoing the words she had once said to him during their training days near Lake Calenhad. 

    Cullen chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “Something like that,” he admitted. “So… what do you say?” 

    Ariana hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Very well,” she said, standing. “Let me get changed, and I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” 

    As she left the kitchen, she felt a flicker of excitement stir within her. She hadn’t sparred with Cullen in years, but the prospect of it brought a rush of fond memories—their early mornings by the lake, the sound of blades clashing, the quiet camaraderie they had shared. Perhaps this was a chance to reconnect with those moments, to remind themselves of who they had been before the world grew heavier. 

    ~~~

    When Ariana came down a few minutes later, she was a sight Cullen couldn’t have prepared for. Her outfit was strikingly simple yet undeniably commanding—a fitted leather bodice, sleeveless, with intricate stitching that hinted at Elven craftsmanship. The trousers she wore hugged her form, accentuating the clear definition of her muscles, honed and sculpted through years of rigorous training. Her dual belts held an array of pouches and sheaths, though today she carried only the wooden training sword Cullen had handed her. She rolled her neck casually, the faint crack audible in the quiet courtyard, before fixing him with a teasing smirk.

    “Well, Knight-Captain, what is it you need from me? What did you have in mind for today?” Ariana’s voice was light, playful, but her eyes held a glimmer of challenge.

    Cullen cleared his throat, still somewhat taken aback by her appearance. She was beautiful, of course, but it was the strength in her presence that struck him most. This wasn’t the same girl he’d trained by Lake Calenhad all those years ago. Her athletic build had always been evident, but now… now her movements spoke of refined skill, each motion controlled and purposeful.

    “I was thinking we could start with some basics,” he said, handing her the training sword. “It’s been a long time, after all.”

    Ariana nodded, taking the sword and giving it a few experimental swings. “Very well,” she said, her smirk growing wider. “But I won’t go easy on you.”

    The sparring began simply enough. Cullen tested her defenses with basic strikes, and she responded with swift parries, her movements fluid and precise. At first, he held back, his strikes measured to reacquaint her with the rhythm of combat. But as the minutes passed, it became clear that she didn’t need to reacquaint herself with anything. Her footwork was impeccable, her dodges almost too fluid, and her counters sharp and deliberate.

    Cullen increased the pace, his strikes coming faster, heavier. But Ariana adapted effortlessly, her speed outmatching his strength. She ducked under a sweeping blow, her movements like water flowing around him, and retaliated with a quick jab that would have caught him had he not blocked just in time.

    “You’ve improved,” he said, breathless but impressed. His tone held no small measure of respect.

    “You’re stronger than I remember,” Ariana replied, her voice steady despite the exertion. “But strength alone won’t win this.”

    Their sparring intensified. Cullen’s strength drove her back several steps, but she used the momentum to spin out of his reach, her agility allowing her to regain the advantage. Her strikes were quick, calculated, and always aimed to exploit an opening. Cullen found himself wondering who had trained her to this level. Her skills were far beyond what he had taught her. It was clear her time surviving the Blight had forged her into a formidable fighter, but this… this level of precision and strategy couldn’t be self-taught.

    She moved like a shadow, her attacks swift and unpredictable. It was almost as if she could read his intentions before he acted. Each time he pressed forward, she slipped past his defenses, her wooden blade tapping his side or wrist with disconcerting ease. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder, determined to break through her defenses.

    Then, something shifted. Her movements faltered for the briefest of moments, her stance loosening as she hesitated mid-step. It was subtle, but Cullen’s trained eye caught it immediately. He didn’t waste the opportunity. With a quick, decisive strike, he knocked her sword from her hand and used his momentum to sweep her legs out from under her.

    Ariana hit the ground with a soft thud, and before she could recover, Cullen pinned her down, his forearm resting firmly but gently across her collarbone. Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily from the exertion.

    “Got you,” Cullen said, a small, triumphant smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

    Ariana laughed, her voice rich and unrestrained. “Alright, you win this round,” she admitted, though her grin betrayed no real defeat. She lay there for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and Cullen found himself caught in the intensity of her gaze. There was something there—something unspoken yet undeniable.

    Before he could dwell on it, Ariana reached up, her hands curling around the back of his neck. Without warning, she pulled him down and kissed him, her lips warm and insistent against his. For a moment, Cullen froze, his mind blanking under the weight of the sudden, electrifying contact. But then he responded, his lips moving against hers with a fervor that surprised even him.

    When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their eyes locked in a silent exchange. Cullen helped her to her feet, his hand lingering on hers for just a moment longer than necessary.

    “Breakfast is ready,” Isabel’s voice called from the doorway, her tone laced with amusement. Cullen and Ariana turned to see her standing there, one eyebrow raised in a knowing expression.

    Ariana’s cheeks flushed, but she quickly composed herself, brushing the dust off her trousers. “Perfect timing, as always,” she quipped, shooting Isabel a playful glare.

    Cullen chuckled, his own face slightly red as he grabbed their training swords and followed Ariana back into the house. As they walked, his thoughts lingered on the match, on the way she had moved, on the moment she had hesitated. There was so much he still didn’t know about her, so many questions left unanswered. But one thing was clear—he wanted to know more. About her past, her present, and perhaps, their future.

    ~~~

    The next day, Ariana found herself in The Hanged Man. Frustrated. She leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples as she tried to process the situation. “I need a valid reason to go to Ferelden, Varric. I need a job,” she said, her tone clipped with frustration. The conversation with Cullen still weighed on her. His reaction to the mere idea of mercenaries made it clear—he wasn’t ready to hear the truth. And if she wasn’t ready to tell him, she had to find another way to justify her trip.

    Varric leaned back, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “And you think Cullen’s going to buy that I, of all people, specifically need you to go to Ferelden for… my business dealings? Come on, pup, you’ve heard yourself, right?”

    “Varric, I’m not here for your commentary; I need solutions,” she snapped, though there was no real heat in her voice. “There has to be something.”

    He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There is something: just tell him the truth. It’s a novel concept.”

    Ariana shot him a glare, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “You didn’t see his reaction the other night, Varric. I can’t. At least not yet. Maybe… eventually. If I can show him the Rangers aren’t just any mercenary group.”

    “And by the time you do, he’ll be upset because you lied to him,” Varric pointed out, his voice level but firm. “Ever think about that, pup?”

    “Ugh!” Ariana groaned, letting her head fall dramatically onto the table.

    The moment was interrupted by a hesitant voice from the doorway. “Excuse me, Ser Varric Tethras?”

    Varric’s expression darkened, his tone wary. “Who’s asking?”

    The young man in the doorway shifted awkwardly, barely older than seventeen. “I… I have a message for the White Wolf, Ser. My orders were to deliver it here.”

    Ariana froze, her mind racing. The words sounded louder than they should have, echoing in her ears. She turned to glance at the open door, her heart sinking at the potential exposure. “Come in and close the door,” she said firmly, gesturing for him to hurry. She couldn’t afford for anyone else at the Hanged Man to overhear. The door creaked shut behind him as the messenger stepped inside.

    “Whose ‘orders’ are you under?” Ariana asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

    The boy shifted nervously, unsure whether he should answer. “Uh… my lieutenant, m’lady,” he stammered.

    Ariana sighed, dragging a hand over her face. “Maker… I told her to send a message, not a person,” she muttered to herself, irritation flickering across her features.

    “You mean Lieutenant Riley?” she asked, watching his reaction.

    The boy blinked, surprise flashing across his face before he nodded quickly.

    “What’s your name, kid?” Varric cut in, his tone more casual but no less curious.

    “Elliot, sir,” the boy replied.

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “Tell me, Elliot… are you a messenger, or a new recruit?” She already had a strong suspicion but needed him to confirm it.

    Elliot’s mouth opened and closed, his words tumbling out in an incoherent mess as he tried to find the right answer. Ariana sighed and held up a hand to stop him. The realization hit her—he didn’t even know who she was.

    “Elliot,” she said, her voice gentler now, “you can give me the message first, then answer my question. I’m Wolf. And judging by the fact you’re here, I’m guessing you work for me, right?”

    The boy’s eyes widened, and he straightened immediately, his right fist flying to his chest in a salute. “I apologize, my l—”

    “Take a breath and sit down,” Ariana interrupted, cutting off the formalities before they could spiral further. She gestured to the chair across from her, trying to ease the nervous tension radiating off him.

    Elliot hesitated but eventually obeyed, sitting stiffly at the table. Varric leaned back, watching the exchange with interest, while Ariana reached for her glass of water, taking a long sip to steady herself.

    “Alright, Elliot,” she said, her tone calm and measured. “Let’s hear it.”

    ~~~

    Ariana leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as Elliot nervously fumbled with a folded piece of parchment. Finally, he placed it on the table in front of her. She glanced at Varric, who gave her a small nod of encouragement, then unfolded the message.

    Elliot cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Riley said to tell you… uh… we need you back, my lady. There’s been… complications.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed as she read the parchment, Riley’s familiar scrawl jumping out at her. “Complications?” she echoed, her tone sharper than she intended. She quickly softened it, glancing up at Elliot. “Go on.”

    “Um… the nobles in Orlais,” Elliot continued, visibly relieved she wasn’t angry. “They’re refusing to work with us unless they meet with… the White Wolf directly. Lieutenant Riley says they won’t listen to anyone else.”

    Ariana sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. Of course, Orlesian nobles would make things difficult.

    “That’s not all,” Elliot added hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable. “We… we also got a message from the Chantry. They’re asking to meet with you as well.”

    Ariana froze, her eyes snapping up to meet his. “The Chantry?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief.

    “Yes, my lady,” Elliot confirmed, nodding quickly. “Lieutenant Riley said it seemed… important.”

    Varric, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward. “The Chantry, huh? That’s not the kind of request you ignore, pup. Any idea what they want?”

    Ariana shook her head, her mind racing. “No, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good. The Chantry doesn’t usually reach out to mercenary companies unless they’re looking for something… or someone.”

    She sat back in her chair, running a hand through her hair as she mulled over the situation. The nobles in Orlais were one thing, but the Chantry? That was a completely different level of complication.

    “So, what’s the plan?” Varric asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

    Ariana let out a slow breath, folding the parchment back up and setting it aside. “I’ll go back. I don’t have much of a choice, do I? If the nobles won’t cooperate and the Chantry is involved, I need to know what’s happening.”

    “Any idea what you’ll tell Cullen?” Varric pressed, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

    Ariana hesitated, glancing at Elliot, who was still sitting stiffly across from her. “I’ll figure it out,” she said finally, her voice firm. “One step at a time.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned to Elliot. “Alright, kid. You’ve done your part. Go grab yourself something to eat. Tell Corff it’s on me.”

    Elliot blinked in surprise, then nodded quickly. “Thank you, Ser Tethras. My lady.” He stood, saluting Ariana once more before scurrying out of the room.

    As the door clicked shut behind him, Varric turned back to Ariana. “You know this is only going to get messier, right?”

    “I know,” she said, her voice heavy with resignation. Ariana leaned back in her chair, staring at the folded parchment as though it carried the weight of the entire world. “Varric, now I really need those reliable methods of communication.”

    Varric, arms crossed, leaned against the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful. “I figured as much, pup. I’ll start asking around.”

    “Find me someone who trains messenger birds,” Ariana continued, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off the incoming headache. “The kind that can handle long distances—Ferelden to Orlais, Orlais to Kirkwall. I’ll…” She trailed off, exhaling a sharp breath. “I’ll sort out the rest… hopefully without piling on too many lies.”

    Varric gave her a pointed look, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. “Pup, you already have enough to coordinate, adding a pile of lies to that mix might make even the best messenger birds quit.”

    She managed a weak smile, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “Noted. But the truth… it’s just not something I’m ready to share. Not yet.”

    “Fair enough,” Varric conceded, straightening up. “I’ll get on it. But pup,” he added, his tone softening, “don’t wait too long to figure out how much of yourself you’re willing to keep hidden. Lies have a way of catching up with you.”

    Ariana nodded, her eyes drifting back to the letter. “I know,” she whispered.

    ~~~

    Ariana headed back to the estate, her thoughts swirling as she began pulling together what she needed for the journey. The act of packing should have been a distraction, but it only deepened her anxiety. What would she say to Cullen? She knew she couldn’t avoid the truth forever, but she wasn’t ready for him to know everything yet—not after the tense exchange they’d had about mercenaries just the other night.

    Isabel appeared in the doorway, her calm presence immediately grounding Ariana. “I’m sorry I have to leave you handling everything so soon, Isabel,” Ariana said, glancing up briefly. Her voice held a note of guilt. “But I need to go. I cannot ignore this message from the Chantry.”

    “It’s alright, child,” Isabel replied, stepping further into the room and leaning lightly against the bedpost. “I can handle things here, do not worry about that. But…” Her green eyes studied Ariana intently. “What are you going to tell Cullen?”

    Ariana hesitated, a tunic held tightly in her hands. She exhaled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I do not know,” she admitted, her voice low. “I have been trying to figure that out since I got the letter. I cannot tell him the truth, not yet. Not after the other night.”

    Isabel considered this for a moment before speaking carefully. “You cannot lie to him either, not outright. That would only make things worse.”

    Ariana’s brows furrowed in frustration. “Then what should I say? I need an explanation that will make sense.”

    “The Chantry did send for you,” Isabel pointed out gently, her tone pragmatic. “That part is true. And you are a Trevelyan—one of the most prominent noble families in Ostwick. The connection is clear enough for him to believe.”

    Ariana blinked, the idea taking shape in her mind. “So… I tell him that the Chantry in Orlais sent for me because of my family?”

    Isabel nodded. “Precisely. The Trevelyans have ties to the Chantry, do they not? If he asks why they want you specifically, it is a logical explanation. He does not need to know everything right now.”

    Ariana gave her a thoughtful look, her tension easing slightly. “That could work,” she said slowly. “It is not a lie, and it explains why I need to leave.”

    Isabel placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression firm but kind. “He cares for you, Ariana. Be honest where you can, but you are not wrong to hold back for now. Timing matters, especially with men like him.”

    Ariana smiled faintly. “Thank you, Isabel. You are right.” She turned her attention back to her trunk, her resolve firming. “This will have to do.”

    Isabel gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before stepping back toward the door. “You’ll handle it, child. And when you do, you’ll see it is not as frightening as you think.”

    Ariana watched her leave, the weight on her chest lifting just enough. She still had until tonight to fully gather her thoughts, but Isabel’s suggestion felt like a lifeline. It was not the full truth, but it was close enough for now—and that was something she could work with.

    ~~~

    The walk to the ruins was quiet, the faint hum of Kirkwall in the distance blending with the steady crash of waves below the cliffs. Ariana and Cullen walked side by side, the tension between them subtle but undeniable. It was as though the argument from the other night still lingered, a specter they were both trying to leave behind but hadn’t entirely banished. Yet, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt more like unspoken words waiting for the right moment.

    When they reached the ruins, they found a spot along the cliffs, a ledge with a clear view of the ships gliding into the harbor. Ariana settled herself down, folding her arms around her knees as she watched the sea. Cullen sat beside her, his gaze flickering between her and the horizon.

    “Did you know these ruins predate the Tevinter Imperium?” Ariana began, her tone light, as though testing the waters. “There are hints they might have been Elvhen once, though most of the markings are too faded to tell.”

    Cullen gave her a small smile, recognizing the attempt to steer the conversation away from anything too serious. “You and your ruins,” he teased softly. “Do you ever stop trying to uncover every secret buried beneath the stone?”

    Ariana shrugged, the corners of her lips lifting slightly. “There is always something to learn if you look closely enough,” she said. Her tone was easy, but Cullen could see her fingers toying with the edge of her cloak, a nervous gesture he’d come to recognize.

    They sat in silence for a while, watching the ships drifting in and out of the harbor. Ariana spoke intermittently, pointing out small details about the ruins or the ships, her voice carrying an almost forced cheerfulness. Cullen listened, offering the occasional nod or hum of acknowledgment, but his gaze remained fixed on her. He knew her well enough to tell when she was stalling.

    “Ari,” he said eventually, his voice low but insistent. “What is it?”

    Ariana stiffened slightly, her fingers pausing their restless motion. She let out a slow breath, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. “I… need to travel to Orlais,” she said at last, the words carefully measured.

    Cullen tilted his head, studying her. “To Orlais?” he repeated. “Why?”

    “The Chantry sent for me,” she explained, her voice steady despite the unease she felt. “I received a letter. It seems… they want to speak with me.”

    “About what?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing. There was no suspicion in his tone, only curiosity and concern.

    Ariana hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing on her. “I am not entirely sure,” she admitted honestly. “They did not provide many details in the letter.”

    Cullen’s frown deepened. “That seems strange. Why would they summon you without telling you why?”

    She shrugged lightly, as if to brush off the concern. “The Trevelyans have always had ties to the Chantry,” she said. “It might have something to do with that. I… I do not have enough details yet to say for certain.”

    It wasn’t a lie, and that gave her some relief. Cullen seemed to consider her words carefully, his expression softening slightly. “How long will you be gone?” he asked after a pause.

    “Not long,” Ariana replied, though she wasn’t entirely sure herself. “Just long enough to find out what they want and address it.”

    Cullen nodded slowly, his gaze shifting back to the sea. “If the Chantry summoned you, it must be important. But Ari…” He turned back to her, his eyes meeting hers. “Be careful. Orlais is… complicated. If you need anything, you’ll let me know?”

    Ariana felt a pang of guilt but managed a small smile. “Of course,” she said. “Thank you, Cullen.”

    The conversation lapsed into quiet again, the sound of the waves filling the space between them. Ariana felt a flicker of relief that he hadn’t pressed further, though the lingering weight of the unspoken truths tugged at her. For now, she told herself, this was enough.

    A new thought tugged at Ariana’s mind. She would need to speak with Varric before she left. If Cullen saw him while she was away—and given their proximity in Kirkwall, it was inevitable—she couldn’t risk him accidentally mentioning anything that didn’t align with what she’d just told Cullen. She made a mental note to remind Varric of the Chantry story, ensuring they stayed on the same page. It was exhausting, keeping her lives separate like this, and the web of half-truths was only growing more complicated, but for now, it felt like the only option.

  • 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.

  • Chapter 20 – A New Freedom

    9 Firstfall 9:33

    Ariana’s gaze wandered, distant as they walked the docks that morning, her thoughts lost in the events of the previous day. The feel of Cullen’s arms around her, the warmth of his touch, and the kiss—Maker, the kisses—played on a loop in her mind. She had always known she cared for him deeply, even from the earliest days they had spent together. There had always been something unspoken between them, something more than friendship, even if she hadn’t known how to name it back then.

    “So… we’re still going with ‘just friends,’ then?” Varric’s teasing tone broke through her reverie.

    Ariana turned, giving him a mock glare, though a smile tugged at her lips. “We’re going with… we’re just us, whatever that is.” Her voice softened as her thoughts drifted again, her smile fading into something more thoughtful.

    Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d tell you this is trouble, but…” He sighed, his expression softening. “The person he is with you isn’t the same Knight-Captain I’ve seen or heard about the past few years. Not that I’d admit that to anyone, mind you.”

    Ariana’s smile brightened as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Varric.”

    Before he could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, one that made her heart leap. “Ari!”

    She turned to find Cullen striding toward her, a smile breaking across his face. She couldn’t help but smile back, her thoughts scattering as he approached. “Cullen? What are you doing here? I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

    As he reached her, Cullen wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. “I needed to check on something,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “But then I saw you.” Ariana returned the embrace, her arms looping around his neck as her heart swelled.

    “You know… I’m pretty sure most of Lowtown and the docks can see us right now,” she said, her tone amused but tinged with embarrassment.

    “I don’t care,” he replied simply, pulling her closer before pressing a kiss to her lips.

    Varric sighed dramatically from a few paces away, shaking his head like a father who didn’t need to see his daughter’s love life unfold in front of him—but the small, fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings.

    “Ariana! What is the meaning of this?” The sharp, angry voice cut through the moment, freezing them both mid-embrace.

    “Maker… not again,” Ariana muttered under her breath as Cullen lowered her to the ground but kept one arm protectively around her.

    Turning, Ariana found her mother, Lady Elara Trevelyan, storming toward them, flanked by the same guards who had escorted her the day before. Her expression was a storm of fury, though Ariana could see cracks of frustration and desperation beneath it.

    “Mother,” Ariana said flatly, her voice exasperated but steady. “I assume you’re leaving for Ostwick?”

    Elara’s gaze flickered to Cullen, and her expression soured further. “What is the meaning of this? It’s disgraceful for you to associate with such… commoners.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but laugh at Varric’s whispered, “Oh, this should end well.”

    Shaking her head, Ariana turned back to her mother. “Well, mother, I was raised by a ‘commoner’ as you would say” she began, her tone calm but edged with unyielding defiance. “We both know Isabel was more of a mother to me than you ever were, so maybe we don’t see things the same way.” Ariana’s tone hardened. “Also, did you forget you’re a Trevelyan mother? You know, the same Trevelyans that take their ties to the Chantry very seriously. I’m not sure father would approve of you treating the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall with such disrespect.”

    Cullen stiffened slightly at the mention, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he tightened his arm around Ariana’s waist, silently supporting her.

    Elara’s expression twisted with fury, but before she could retort, Ariana raised her hand to silence her. “I’m not done. Do you even care that I’m alive for any reason other than to make Duchess Evelyn feel better? Do you even want to know what it was like to survive the Blight… alone?”

    Elara faltered, her defiant mask cracking for the first time, but she didn’t concede. “You are a child,” she said coldly, “and you don’t understand the burden of responsibility.”

    Ariana scoffed, her voice low and laced with pain. “I wish I could understand why you cared for me the least out of all your children. Was I just a trophy to trade away? Would you have been happier if I had been the one to manifest magic—if I could have been sent away?”

    Before Elara could respond, Ariana motioned to the guards. “Escort her to the docks. I’m done with this conversation.”

    Turning fully into Cullen, she laid her head against his chest, his hand moving instinctively to cradle the back of her head. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice steady and full of concern.

    Ariana took a deep breath, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes. “I will be,” she said with a faint smile.

    She glanced at Varric, offering a weak shrug. “It’s not really news that my mother has never cared for me. I just… I guess I thought she cared enough to want me alive.”

    Varric’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, pup.”

    Cullen leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m here if you need me.”

    Ariana waved a dismissive hand, forcing a brighter smile. “Really, both of you. I’m fine,” she insisted. Looking up at Cullen, she added, “Go. I’m sure you have duties to attend to. I’m going to see my father.”

    “Are you sure?” Cullen asked, his hand lingering in hers.

    She nodded, her smile growing more genuine. “I’ll see you later.”

    He stepped back slowly, his fingers brushing hers one last time before he turned toward the Gallows.

    Varric tilted his head, watching her carefully. “You sure you’re alright, Pup?” he asked, his fatherly tone unmistakable.

    Ariana sighed, her voice quieter now. “I am. She never really was much of a mother to me. Isabel was.” Her eyes glistened briefly with unshed tears, which she quickly blinked away. “I wish I could see her now. I miss her.”

    Varric, sensing her need for distraction, clapped his hands together. “Well then, let’s get this over with. Information doesn’t pick itself up, you know.”

    Ariana laughed softly, grateful for his timing. “Let’s go.”

    ~~~

    After finishing her rounds with Varric, Ariana made her way to Hightown, her thoughts swirling with the events of the past two days. Cullen’s steadfast presence at her side, standing between her and her mother’s hired mercenaries, had been a calming force in a storm she hadn’t realized was still raging. Though she knew she could have handled the situation herself, it had been a relief not to, to feel for once like someone was standing with her rather than against her.

    And then there was her father—the man she had grown up seeing as reserved and composed, suddenly blending seamlessly into the Hanged Man’s rough-and-tumble charm. The memory of his banter with Isabela and Hawke brought a small smile to her face as curiosity bubbled up unbidden. She had so many questions now, questions she’d never thought to ask before. Perhaps he wasn’t as simple as she had always thought.

    When she reached the Trevelyan estate, she paused briefly at the door, taking in the sight of the stately yet modest building. Unlike her previous visit, she didn’t sneak through servant passages or keep to the shadows. Today, she walked through the front door, her steps confident.

    The air inside felt different—lighter, perhaps, or maybe it was just her. The sunlight streaming through the windows gave the house an unfamiliar warmth, a far cry from the tension-filled halls she had once crept through. She followed the faint sound of voices to the kitchen, where she found her father seated at the table, a cup of tea in his hands.

    But he wasn’t alone.

    At the sound of her footsteps, both heads turned toward her. Ariana froze, her heart leaping as she recognized the familiar figure sitting across from her father. Her breath caught in her throat, tears springing to her eyes before she could stop them.

    “Isabel?” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as a smile broke across her face.

    Isabel’s face lit up, and in an instant, she was on her feet, crossing the room to pull Ariana into a warm embrace. “Oh, my dear girl!” Isabel exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s good to see you safe and sound. I knew you had to be alive—I prayed for you every day.”

    Ariana clung to her, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “Maker, I’ve missed you,” she managed, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry I worried you…”

    “Shhh, my child,” Isabel murmured, holding her close. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” She pulled back just enough to cradle Ariana’s face in her hands, wiping away her tears with gentle fingers. “I’m just so happy to see you safe, my dear. That’s all that matters.”

    Watching the exchange, Charles rose from his seat, his brow furrowing as he took in Ariana’s expression. Though she looked relieved, he could see the deeper pain lingering just beneath the surface.

    “My darling, whatever is the matter?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

    Isabel gave Ariana’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping aside, allowing her to turn toward her father. Without hesitation, Ariana wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his chest as if seeking refuge.

    “I was at the docks when Mother was leaving…” Ariana began, her voice unsteady. “I always knew she didn’t care much for me, but…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “She doesn’t even care that I’m alive. Was she ever truly concerned, or was I just an embarrassment to her?”

    Charles let out a heavy sigh, holding her tightly as he rested his chin against the top of her head. “Oh, my darling girl,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “In truth, I believe your mother was concerned. I think she may even care for you. But…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if she knows how to be your mother.”

    Ariana pulled back slightly, looking up at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quiet.

    Charles cupped her cheek gently, his expression filled with a mix of sorrow and understanding. “Your mother has always been so focused on responsibility and decorum, on upholding the image of the Trevelyan name, that I fear she has forgotten how to show her love. She… she has buried herself in duty for so long that I think she doesn’t know how to let herself feel, let alone express it.”

    Ariana’s eyes glistened, her heart aching at his words. She wanted to be angry, to hold on to the resentment that had fueled her for so long. But now, hearing this, all she felt was a deep sadness—for her mother, for herself, for the relationship they would never have.

    Isabel, sensing the moment’s heaviness, stepped forward and rested a comforting hand on Ariana’s arm. “Come now, my dear,” she said gently. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make you some tea and fetch some fresh hearth cakes.”

    Ariana managed a small smile, nodding as Isabel guided her to the table. Charles sat beside her, his hand resting lightly on hers as Isabel busied herself preparing the tea. The familiar sounds of the kitchen—the clink of dishes, the hiss of the kettle—were soothing, grounding her in the present.

    When Isabel returned, she placed a steaming cup of tea and a plate of golden hearth cakes in front of Ariana, the scent instantly bringing back memories of simpler times. Ariana took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through her, and for the first time that morning, she felt a sense of calm settle over her.

    “Thank you,” she murmured, looking up at Isabel with gratitude.

    “You’re welcome, my child,” Isabel said softly, her voice filled with a love that needed no words.

    Charles reached for her hand with a warm smile, and, with Isabel bustling around the kitchen, it felt like those mornings of her childhood, only now there was something deeper—an understanding, a hard-won bond between them that only time and distance had revealed. This was the most “normal” a morning had felt in a very long time.

    ~~~

    As they ate, the conversation settled comfortably between them, the air filled with the warmth of shared laughter and familiar voices. Isabel moved about the kitchen with her usual graceful efficiency, preparing what seemed like a feast. Her father, Charles, leaned back in his chair, casting Ariana a gentle look. Away from the bustling crowd of the Hanged Man, his expression was softer, more open. After a pause, he hesitated, then ventured the question he had clearly been carrying.

    “And… the Blight, Ariana. How did you… manage to get through it all?”

    Ariana held his gaze for a moment, a slight hesitation in her own eyes before she answered. She had no intention of sharing the darker parts of her journey. Her father would never know about Krieger. That was a burden she refused to place on his shoulders, something she would carry alone. He would never forgive himself if he thought he had, even indirectly, been part of the reason for her suffering. So, she skirted around the worst parts, carefully shaping the story as she went.

    “I was lucky,” she said, offering a slight smile. “A group of mercenaries found me, and I stayed with them for nearly a year, mostly keeping to the roads and dodging darkspawn. They were… good people.”

    While Ariana told her story, Isabel watched, her perceptive gaze catching every nuance of Ariana’s tone and expression. It was her job to see the unspoken, to catch what others might miss. And she knew that Ariana was holding something back, something dark. She made a mental note to ask her someday when the moment was right, knowing that bottling up memories like that rarely ended well.

    Suddenly, a sharp, plaintive cry rang out from another room, breaking through their conversation. Ariana looked around, momentarily bewildered. She hadn’t expected anyone else here, much less…a child?

    Isabel paused, glancing over at Charles with a subtle question in her eyes. “By your leave, my lord?” she asked, her tone gentle but firm.

    Charles nodded, waving a hand in acknowledgment. “Of course,” he replied, a small smile hinting at something unspoken.

    Ariana watched Isabel disappear down the hall, eyebrows raised as she turned to her father, silently asking the question he had already anticipated.

    Charles chuckled softly. “Before you get carried away with any wild theories,” he began, his voice low and warm, “it’s Isabel’s daughter. A little girl of about two years.”

    Ariana’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. “Isabel… has a daughter?” She shook her head in mild amazement. After all these years, Isabel, the ever-reliable and devoted servant she had known since childhood, had a whole new life of her own—a daughter. She smiled, more to herself than to him, feeling an unexpected joy for her friend.

    “Yes,” her father replied with an unnerving calmness, as though he were merely discussing household matters. “Probably your niece.” He said it as a matter of fact, though his certainty left only the slightest possibility of doubt.

    Ariana choked on her tea, her mind stumbling over the implication. “What?” Her voice held a sharp edge. She knew exactly what that meant. Her oldest brother—her arrogant, entitled brother—was likely responsible, and worse still, she would probably never know if his so-called advances had been wanted.

    Charles’s gaze softened, and he spoke as though prepared for her reaction. “Isabel will be staying here in Kirkwall to manage the estate.”

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard, still processing the fact that Isabel might be family. “She…she will?”

    “She will handle anything you need,” her father continued, his tone comforting but resolute. “Manage the household, oversee any necessities, and support you however you require. She has been fully entrusted with the management of your affairs here—including financial matters. All the paperwork is complete.”

    Ariana sat there in stunned silence, struggling to fully absorb what he was saying. “The Kirkwall estate is now yours, Ariana,” he added, a smile spreading across his face. “The family will only visit if you want them to. This house is yours alone.”

    Her father’s words filled her with a quiet astonishment. She had fought so hard for this freedom, but she hadn’t expected it to come with such finality and certainty.

    “Mother will not disturb you again,” he assured her. “And the Duke and Duchess of Markham—consider that engagement dissolved. I had to call in a few favors, but it’s done. The Duke and Duchess will bother you no longer.”

    Ariana could hardly breathe, let alone speak. The magnitude of her father’s efforts left her overwhelmed with gratitude. He had given her more than just an estate; he had given her back her life, her own future.

    She finally managed to find her voice, her eyes meeting his, brimming with unspoken thanks. “Father… I don’t even know how to…thank you.”

    He reached across the table, resting his hand gently over hers. “You don’t have to. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to live freely, Ariana.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, a hint of emotion filling his usually steady gaze.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s heart felt lighter as she sat across from her father at the kitchen table, the scent of tea and hearth cakes filling the warm, sunlit space. The day had started with the sting of old wounds reopened, but here, with Charles and Isabel, the pain felt distant, soothed by the love and reassurance she hadn’t realized she still craved. Her father’s steady presence grounded her, a reminder of a life she had cherished and hadn’t wanted to lose.

    Charles leaned back in his chair, his expression soft but tinged with a mischievous glint. “Actually,” he began, his tone turning playful, “there is a way you can thank me.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking up in curiosity. “Oh?”

    “Why don’t you tell me a bit more about these… rumors I’ve been hearing?” His smirk widened slightly, and there was a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Something about a marriage proposal, perhaps?”

    Ariana groaned, letting her head drop onto the table in mock surrender. “Ugh,” she muttered. Her voice muffled against the wood, she added, “I told him kneeling was a terrible idea…”

    Charles’s laughter was warm and unrestrained. “Ah, so there was kneeling involved?” he teased, leaning forward, clearly enjoying himself. “And here I thought the rumors were exaggerating.”

    Ariana sat up abruptly, her cheeks flushed, glaring at him. “Father…” she began, exasperated, but he was already speaking again.

    “He seems like a good man,” Charles said, his tone turning reassuring. “And if the two of you found your way back to each other after all you’ve been through, then… that’s something worth holding on to.”

    His words caught her off guard, a warmth spreading through her chest. She smiled softly, the weight of his approval settling over her like a comforting blanket. Whatever this was between her and Cullen, it felt like a step toward something unspoken but undeniable, and knowing her father saw it too made it feel even more real.

    “And,” Charles added, his smirk returning, “you could do worse than marrying a Templar. A Knight-Captain at that. Probably Knight-Commander soon enough…”

    Ariana groaned again, burying her face in her hands this time. “Maker help me…”

    Charles laughed, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster her. After a moment, Ariana lifted her head, determined to change the subject. “Father… is Frederick truly still not married? Was there really an engagement to return to after all these years?”

    Charles sighed, his smile fading slightly. “There was not… mostly,” he admitted. “You’d be correct in assuming Frederick remains unmarried.” His tone held a note of resignation, though there was also a hint of concern. “I know not the content of your letter to him when you left, but whatever you told him seems to have shifted his stance. He has refused every arrangement his mother has attempted since.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, recalling the letter she’d written before fleeing Ostwick. “I simply told him he deserved to find someone who loved him, someone to share his burdens and lighten them…”

    Charles’s expression softened, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. “Well, it seems he took your advice to heart,” he said, though his tone carried a note of caution. “Or… he’s still in love with you and hasn’t looked elsewhere.”

    Ariana blinked, startled. “You knew?”

    “Everyone knew, my dear,” Charles replied, his voice gentle but matter-of-fact. “Just as everyone knew you didn’t feel the same.”

    Ariana’s smile turned wistful, tinged with sadness. “There are times I wish I could have cared for him that way. He was my best friend.” She paused, her gaze distant. “It certainly would have made things easier for everyone…” She trailed off, her thoughts drifting to Cullen. The idea of a life without him felt unthinkable now, and she realized with certainty that whatever she’d felt for Frederick, it had never come close to the depth of what she felt for Cullen. He filled a part of her she hadn’t even known was missing.

    Charles seemed to read her thoughts, his own smile turning knowing. “But then you wouldn’t have met your Knight-Captain,” he said softly. “I know it wasn’t an easy path, Ariana, but I do believe it was yours to walk.”

    Ariana nodded, her smile growing. “Would you take a letter back to Frederick for me?” she asked tentatively. A part of her hoped there was still a friendship to rekindle.

    “Of course,” Charles said with a nod, his voice steady. “I think he’d be glad to hear from you.”

    “Come now,” Charles said, standing and offering her his arm, his tone light but tinged with affection. “Let’s go see if we left this library sufficiently stocked. And if not, what do you say to a little shopping, hmm?”

    Ariana smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for him. “Shopping for books?” she asked, her tone mockingly reluctant. “I suppose I can endure that,” she teased, slipping her arm through his.

    “Endure it?” Charles scoffed, his eyebrow raising as they strolled toward the library. “I’ve never known you to ‘endure’ a bookstore. You practically take up residence.”

    She laughed, the weight of the morning lifting with each step. “That sounds like a dangerous invitation. You might regret this when I fill the entire estate.”

    Charles gave her an amused glance. “And why not? Fill the shelves, the walls if you like. Let’s make sure this place feels just as it should for you.”

    The thought filled her with a simple joy. “Well then, let’s make sure we have room for every story worth telling,” she said, her smile softening. “And if we don’t…”

    Charles chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Then I say we do something about it.”

    ~~~

    Charles couldn’t help but marvel at how much his daughter had grown. Walking arm in arm with her through Hightown, he felt a mix of pride and quiet sadness. She’d faced trials he could only imagine, surviving a Blight, forging her own path, and returning to Kirkwall not as the young girl he remembered but as a woman of remarkable strength and independence. Yet, as she excitedly pointed out a small bookshop she wanted to visit, there was a lightness to her, a trace of the curious and adventurous child she’d once been.

    They spent the morning moving from one shop to another, Ariana’s enthusiasm contagious as she scanned the shelves, thumbing through worn pages and exclaiming over rare finds. Charles watched her with an indulgent smile, silently marveling at her resilience. She had faced more in her young life than most ever would, yet here she was, filled with curiosity and a renewed sense of joy. She had always been strong, he realized, but he doubted anyone—including himself—had ever truly appreciated the depth of it.

    Their aide, laden with a cart of books, trailed behind them. Charles chuckled to himself, realizing Ariana had already collected enough to fill a small library. Yet he didn’t mind. These simple moments were what he’d missed most in her absence—the ease of their conversations, the way she brightened at the smallest discoveries, the quiet bond they shared.

    As they neared the Chantry, the familiar figure of Cullen emerged from the heavy doors. Ariana’s hand tightened ever so slightly on his arm, and Charles glanced down to see the warm smile spreading across her face. It wasn’t the kind of smile she gave anyone else. It was softer, unguarded, filled with a happiness that made her glow.

    Cullen, clad in full armor that gleamed in the fading light, looked every bit the knight of noble tales. Charles noted Ariana’s expression. He could see now at least in some small part the reason this man had captured his daughter’s heart.

    “Knight-Captain,” Charles greeted him warmly as Cullen approached. “We were just on our way to Café d’Or. I’d be glad if you’d join us for dinner.”

    Cullen hesitated, glancing at Ariana as though seeking her approval. “I wouldn’t want to intrude…” he began, but Charles waved the concern away with a smile.

    “Nonsense. I insist.” His tone left no room for refusal, and Cullen nodded, his expression softening as he looked back at Ariana.

    “Then I would be honored to join you,” Cullen said, his voice steady but warm.

    Charles turned to their aide, giving a small wave of dismissal. “Please see to it that these books are taken to Isabel. She’ll know what to do with them,” he instructed.

    As they strolled down the cobblestone street, Charles kept a close eye on the interaction between Cullen and his daughter. He noted the way Cullen’s gaze lingered on Ariana when she wasn’t looking, how he seemed attuned to her every movement. It was clear to Charles that Cullen cared deeply for her—just as she did for him.

    “So… some light shopping today, then?” Cullen teased, glancing at the aide trailing behind them with a cart full of books.

    Ariana laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Just ensuring the library of my estate is properly stocked,” she said with mock seriousness, though her pride was evident.

    As they continued, something seemed to strike her, and she suddenly dashed toward the aide. “Oh, Branar, wait!” she called, rifling through the stack of books until she pulled one free. She hurried back, holding it out to Cullen with an almost childlike excitement.

    “I found this on Tevinter ruins,” she said, her words tumbling out as she flipped through the pages. “I think some of these markings match the ones near the cliffs. We have to go back and take a closer look!”

    Cullen accepted the book, his smile growing as he watched her animatedly point to various illustrations. He didn’t even glance at the pages; his focus was entirely on her. Charles noticed it too, the way Cullen’s expression softened, full of warmth and admiration. It wasn’t hard to see why the whispers had started. She’s found her knight, Charles thought with quiet satisfaction. And the night before he had witnessed Cullen standing with her. Protecting her. He couldn’t ask for anything else.

    Once they reached Café d’Or and settled at a table, Ariana launched into an enthusiastic recounting of the ruins they’d explored. She turned to her father, her eyes bright with excitement as she shared her theories, weaving connections between the Tevinter markings she’d just read about and the elven ruins Cullen had shown her near Lake Calenhad.

    Charles leaned back in his chair, a fond smile on his face as he listened. It had been years since he had been able to spend an afternoon like this with his daughter. The weight she had carried for so long seemed lighter now, and he couldn’t help but marvel at her resilience. She had endured so much—far more than he ever should have allowed—and yet here she was, stronger and happier than he’d ever imagined.

    Cullen, for his part, seemed captivated by her words, nodding thoughtfully and asking questions that encouraged her to continue. Charles noted how easily they complemented each other, their conversation flowing effortlessly. It was a comfort to him, knowing Ariana had found someone who not only supported her but celebrated her for exactly who she was.

    As the evening went on, Charles found himself at peace for the first time in years. His daughter was home, happy, and surrounded by people who truly cared for her. And though he would always carry the guilt of the years she’d been forced to fend for herself, he couldn’t help but feel a quiet pride. Ariana had not only survived—she had thrived. She was stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for, and she had found her own path, one he was proud to walk alongside her.

    ~~~

    After dinner, the three of them made their way back to the Trevelyan estate, strolling through Hightown under the soft glow of the street lanterns. Though the house loomed elegantly in the evening light, not all of it was ready to be lived in. Much of the furniture remained covered, and several rooms were still bare or in need of care, lending the grand estate an oddly incomplete feeling.

    Wishing goodnight to her father, Ariana hesitated briefly, taking in the half-prepared halls. She wasn’t quite ready to make this place her home—not yet. Turning back to Cullen, she fell into step beside him, and together they continued down toward the Docks and the Hanged Man. She still had to gather her belongings from the tavern, though part of her wondered if she would miss the comfort of its noise and simplicity.

    “So,” Cullen broke the quiet with a teasing lilt in his voice, his gaze flicking toward her as they strolled through the softly lit streets. “An estate, in Hightown?” His eyebrows raised, amusement dancing in his expression. “Care to tell me how that came to be?”

    Ariana chuckled lightly, feigning a casual shrug. “Oh, you know… my father thought I needed a place to stay.”

    Cullen tilted his head, clearly not buying her nonchalance. “Sounds more like he thought you needed a castle of your own.”

    “Castle might be pushing it,” she replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s small compared to our manor in Ostwick. That’ll go to my idiot eldest brother as the ‘future head of the family.’” Her tone soured slightly, her annoyance slipping through as her thoughts briefly turned darker. She frowned, her mind snagging on the likelihood of what Mark might have done. No… she shouldn’t think about it now. She would need to talk to Isabel at some point, but not yet.

    “Want to tell me about it?” Cullen asked gently, his concern genuine. Seemingly noticing the way her smile faded and her steps slowed ever so slightly.

    Ariana sighed heavily, the weight of her thoughts clear in the sound. “Yes,” she admitted, though her voice was quieter now. “But not quite yet… not until I’m sure. Wouldn’t want to go starting rumors myself…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if to physically dismiss the lingering unease.

    Deciding to shift the mood, she glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in her eye, a teasing grin replacing her earlier frown. “Speaking of rumors…”

    Cullen laughed softly “Yes…?”

    “My father heard an… interesting rumor…” she said, her grin widening as she let the sentence hang in the air, her eyes searching his for a reaction.

    Cullen’s amusement flickered into something more guarded, though he chuckled “Is that so?” he asked, his voice calm but betraying a hint of hesitation

    Ariana’s smiled, noticing that despite trying to hide it she had managed to make Cullen slightly uncomfortable.

    “There was apparently a marriage proposal in the middle of Hightown yesterday…” Ariana said, her tone laced with mock indignation. Her feigned annoyance was betrayed by the faint smirk tugging at her lips, amused by how right she had been about the rumors.

    Cullen chuckled softly, shaking his head as they continued walking. “Someone is always watching,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of resigned humor. He shrugged, the motion casual, but the smile he gave her was warm and unbothered. “Let them.”

  • Chapter 15 – Back to Kirkwall

    21 Solace – 15 Harvestmere 9:33

    Over the following months, the Rangers threw themselves into a new rhythm of work and restoration. Whenever they weren’t out on jobs, they could be found at the manor, steadily transforming the once-neglected estate into something livable, even grand. The once-overgrown grounds began to take shape, the stables hummed with activity as they were repurposed into a smithy, and the training grounds, marked with fresh footprints and battle-scars, became a lively hub of camaraderie and skill-building.

    But for Ariana, the heart of the manor lay not in the stables or the training yard—it was the library. From the moment she discovered it, tucked away behind a pair of heavy wooden doors, she knew it would be her sanctuary.

    The room was a treasure trove, though time had left its mark. Shelves sagged under the weight of dusty tomes, some warped with age and damp. Cobwebs adorned the corners like lace, and scattered debris hinted at years of neglect. But despite its condition, the library was astonishingly well-stocked, and Ariana’s heart quickened at the sight of so much knowledge preserved. She resolved, then and there, to restore it to its former glory.

    Every moment she spent at the manor became an opportunity to breathe life back into the library. By day, she worked alongside the others, helping where needed, but by evening, she slipped away to the quiet solitude of her project. She started small, carefully removing books from the most damaged shelves, dusting their covers, and gently cleaning the pages. Some were beyond repair, but others revealed treasures—histories of Ferelden, tales of Orlais, maps of lands she’d never seen, and even rare volumes on magic and the Fade.

    She enlisted the help of Riley and a few others to repair the shelves themselves. Riley, naturally, teased her about her obsession. “You know, Wolf, the training yard could use a little of your attention, too. Unless you plan to defend yourself with books now?”

    Ariana smirked, brushing a streak of dust from her cheek. “A sharp mind is as important as a sharp blade, Riley. You should try it sometime.”

    Riley laughed, shaking her head. “If you say so. Just don’t get buried under there, alright?”

    Whenever Ariana left the manor for a job, she made a point to visit markets and bookshops along the way, searching for anything to expand the collection. Over time, she began to develop a reputation among merchants in the area as a voracious collector of rare texts, and word of her interest spread. Rangers returning from jobs started bringing books as gifts—some practical, some sentimental, and some purely for amusement.

    “You might like this one, Wolf,” Aldor said once, handing her a book on the flora and fauna of the Frostbacks. “Figured it’d help if we get lost up there again.”

    “Or this one,” Floriana offered with a sly grin, passing her a collection of exaggerated romance tales. “Thought it might be your taste. You know, for inspiration.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, but she kept them all. Every book, regardless of subject, was a step closer to building something lasting, something greater than herself.

    Little by little, the library took shape. Shelves stood sturdy again, their wood polished and shining. The room itself, once dim and neglected, now felt alive, bathed in the soft light of restored windows and warmed by the crackling fireplace. A table in the center became a gathering place for planning, studying, or simply sharing stories over a drink.

    For Ariana, the library was more than just a project; it was a symbol of hope, a testament to what they were building together. It wasn’t just about rebuilding walls and shelves—it was about rebuilding lives, creating a space where knowledge and community could thrive. Each book on those shelves told a story, and together, they were weaving their own.

    ~~~

    The night air was cool, the fire crackling softly as the Rangers gathered around, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. A cask of ale sat open, mugs being filled and refilled as laughter and tales of triumph flowed freely. Ariana sat slightly apart from the others, leaning against a log with her arms draped over her knees. Her gaze was fixed on the fire, her fingers absently playing with the leather choker around her neck, the pendant of the Visus constellation glinting in the firelight.

    Noticing her silence, Riley smirked and leaned forward. “Alright, Wolf. That necklace you’re always fiddling with—does it actually mean something, or are you just trying to hypnotize us?”

    Ariana looked up, caught off guard by the question, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “It does,” she said softly. “A friend gave it to me.”

    Riley snorted. “Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that kind of answer. Spill.”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “He gave it to me because the Visus constellation… it meant something to me. It was its stars that set me on this path.”

    Linnea, sitting cross-legged across the fire, tilted her head. “What path? You can’t just drop that and expect us to move on.”

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers still on the pendant. “You’re all going to think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

    Lamberto leaned back with an exaggerated groan. “Well, now you have to tell us. Crazy or not, we’re listening.”

    The group began cheering in unison, “Story! Story! Story!” Their mugs clinked against each other in encouragement.

    Ariana laughed, raising her hands to quiet them. “Fine, fine. But if you all mutiny because you don’t like the story, remember I can probably take you. All.”

    “There’s always a chance of that,” Valentina quipped, her voice dry as she took another sip of ale.

    Shaking her head in mock exasperation, Ariana let out a sigh. “Alright. It was Summerday 9:29…” She paused, letting her voice soften as the memories spilled out. She spoke of the ball, Frederick, the engagement she wanted no part of, and finally sitting on her balcony, looking up at the night sky, desperate for a sign. “The star in the center of the Visus constellation flickered,” she said, her voice quiet with emotion, “as if answering me. ‘Run,’ it seemed to say. So I did. I packed whatever I thought I’d need and left that night.”

    “Wait, that’s how you ended up with us?” Riley asked incredulously.

    Ariana shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips. “Partly. I found passage on a ship headed to Kirkwall. That was my first stop.”

    Her smile grew warmer as she described meeting the ship’s captain, Berthold, and the voyage that brought her to Kirkwall. “When we arrived, Berthold told me to seek out a man by the name of Varric Tethras.”

    Malcolm’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward. “Varric Tethras? The dwarf with all the connections? I’ve heard tales of him.”

    Ariana chuckled, shaking her head. “If you ever meet him, don’t tell him I told you his name was getting around. He hates that.” Her grin turned fond. “But yes, Varric. He took me under his wing, taught me how to survive, how to navigate the world. He became like a second father to me.”

    “So how did you end up in Ferelden?” Lamberto asked, clearly trying to piece it together.

    Ariana tilted her head. “Ah, well, my father actually found me in Kirkwall. It was a coincidence, but he warned me I wasn’t safe there. Too close to Ostwick, too obvious with mercenaries out looking for me. So Varric and I came up with a plan. Ferelden was far enough away.”

    “I still don’t see how the necklace fits into all this,” Eshara said, her curiosity piqued.

    Ariana smiled, the memory bittersweet. “Before I left, I wanted to give him something to thank him for everything. I found a leather bracelet engraved with the Visus constellation and gave it to him.” Her fingers brushed over the pendant. “The day I left, he gave me this. He said it might help our journeys bring us back together someday.”

    Her voice faltered for a moment as tears welled up in her eyes. She took a deep breath, clearing her throat. “I really should have been a better ‘adopted’ daughter and let him know I survived the Blight.”

    “Yeah, you should,” Riley said with mock seriousness, though her tone softened when Ariana glanced her way. “But, hey. Now that you’re here Wolf, maybe Visus will make good on that promise.”

    The group raised their mugs again, this time in silent acknowledgment of the story—and of Varric, the man who had been there at the start of it all. The fire crackled, its warmth seeping into the cool night as the stars above twinkled, the Visus constellation watching over them.

    ~~~

    The crisp autumn air carried a cool breeze, ruffling the leaves that still clung stubbornly to the trees along the road.The Rangers had made their way to Orlais, looking into a potential contract they’d been vetting for weeks. With their foothold in the region growing stronger, jobs like this were becoming more frequent—a merchant caravan headed from Lydes to Val Royeaux, its wares valuable enough to warrant additional protection.

    “Low risk, easy coin,” Riley had declared when the job was finalized, though Ariana had merely raised a skeptical brow at the proclamation. Now, with the caravan trundling along the dirt road, the wagons creaked under their heavy loads, and the horses snorted in the cool air. Ariana walked near the lead wagon, her steps light and casual, while Riley trudged alongside her, her sword strapped across her back.

    “See?” Riley said, gesturing at the peaceful road ahead. “I told you. This is the kind of job we need more of. Nice and boring. No surprises.”

    Ariana shot her a sidelong glance, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You just cursed the whole thing. You know that, right?”

    Before Riley could retort, a sharp whistle cut through the air. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of arrows zipping past. One thunked into the side of the lead wagon, sending the horses into a brief panic.

    “Right,” Riley muttered, drawing her massive two-handed sword with a resigned sigh. “Of course. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

    The attackers emerged from the surrounding hills—another mercenary company, heavily armed and clearly confident. They charged the caravan from both sides, shouting war cries and waving weapons.

    Ariana’s daggers flashed into her hands as she gave a quick shout to the Rangers. “Form up! Protect the wagons!”

    The Rangers moved with precision, falling into formation. Riley planted herself near the lead wagon, her sword resting on her shoulder as she surveyed the attackers with an exasperated expression.

    “This was supposed to be easy,” Riley grumbled as she stepped forward, cleaving through the first enemy to reach her with a single swing. “You said, ‘It’s just a caravan job, Riley.’ You didn’t say, ‘Oh, by the way, we’ll probably get ambushed.’”

    Ariana darted past her, spinning low to hamstring an attacker before driving a dagger upward into their side. She grinned over her shoulder. “It is a caravan job. And technically, this is what we’re getting paid for.”

    “Technically, you’re insufferable,” Riley shot back, parrying a blow from another attacker and shoving him back with brute force. She followed up with a crushing overhead swing that sent the man sprawling.

    Ariana chuckled, flipping over a low strike and using the momentum to drive her boot into an attacker’s chest. “You love me.”

    “Debatable,” Riley replied, stepping into the fray to intercept another group of mercenaries heading for the wagons. Her blade carved a wide arc, scattering them like leaves in a storm. “You owe me a drink for this.”

    “I’m paying you for this,” Ariana said, slipping past an attacker and slitting his throat in one fluid motion. She scanned the battlefield, spotting the remaining assailants faltering as the Rangers gained the upper hand. “You’re doing great, by the way.”

    “Shut up,” Riley muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched in a faint smile as she swung her sword again, the blade cleaving cleanly through the last opponent in her path.

    When the final attacker fell, the dust settled, leaving the Rangers standing victorious. The wagons were untouched, the merchants safe, and the attackers thoroughly routed. Ariana sheathed her daggers, brushing dirt off her hands as a nervous-looking noble stepped out from one of the wagons.

    “Oh, thank the Maker!” the noble exclaimed, his face a mixture of relief and awe. “You saved us! Everyone will hear of the skill and reliability of the White Wolf and her Rangers. I’ll see to it personally!”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression neutral. “We’re just doing our job.”

    Riley snorted. “Our easy job,” she muttered under her breath, resting her sword on her shoulder again.

    Ariana glanced at her with a grin. “I’ll buy you that drink.”

    “You’d better,” Riley replied, shaking her head. “If this is what an easy job looks like, I’m scared to see what a hard one is.”

    The Rangers broke into laughter as they regrouped, the camaraderie and banter carrying them back to the road with the merchant caravan safely in tow.

    ~~~

    The library was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire burning low in the hearth. Ariana sat curled up on a worn, comfortable couch, a drink in hand and an untouched book resting on her lap. The soft glow of the fire danced across her face as she stared into the flames, lost in thought.

    The years had slipped by, each one folding into the next. Today, though, the familiar date carried an ache she couldn’t ignore. 5 Harvestmere, she thought, allowing herself a moment to remember a distant birthday spent in the warmth of Cullen’s company. That memory had been a balm during darker times, keeping her going through years of searching. Even so, her focus had shifted—building the Silver Rangers had consumed her, overshadowing the mission she had started with.

    “Copper for your thoughts?” Riley’s voice broke the stillness, light and teasing, though her gaze was anything but casual. Riley had a knack for reading Ariana’s moods, especially when they turned heavy.

    Ariana looked up, managing a small smile. “I need to go to Kirkwall,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with the resolve that had carried her through so many hard choices. “It’s been years since I sent word to anyone. My family likely believes I’m dead by now, and… so do the few friends I have outside of here.”

    And I need to find him, she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

    Riley leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. Her brow lifted in curiosity and faint skepticism. “To see Varric? Do you really have to go in person? Couldn’t you just send a letter?” Her voice softened as she continued, “Besides, Orlais isn’t slowing down. There are a few jobs lined up that could use your touch.”

    Ariana shook her head, her gaze unwavering as she stared into the fire. “I’ve already done my part. The contracts are secured, and the coffers are more than full.” She turned to meet Riley’s eyes, her expression steady but warm. “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t believe you could handle this without me, Riley. And while you’re in Orlais, I need you to start finding fresh recruits. We’ve been stretched thin between Ferelden and Orlais.”

    Riley’s teasing demeanor gave way to something more serious. “Is there another reason for going to Kirkwall?”

    Riley had known Ariana was searching for someone—a Templar, maybe, given her insistence on visiting Lake Calenhad years ago after escaping the Crimson Blades. But Ariana guarded the details of her past like a fortress, and Riley had never pushed. Still, worry edged her voice now.

    Ariana met Riley’s gaze, her eyes glassy as if the weight of her thoughts were finally surfacing. “One last try,” she admitted quietly. “If Varric can’t find him, then…” Her voice faltered, unable to finish the thought that if Varric failed, she’d have to assume the worst.

    Riley let the words settle for a moment before nodding. “A few weeks, then?” she asked, though her tone hinted at her doubts. “And if we don’t hear from you by then?”

    Ariana’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “If I’m delayed, send word to The Hanged Man in Kirkwall. They’ll know how to reach me.”

    Riley hesitated, then said quietly, “You know… you never had to do this alone. We would’ve helped you.”

    Ariana’s smile deepened, touched by the sentiment but tempered with a quiet understanding. “I know. But we had more important things to do than chase ghosts.”

    Riley let out a resigned sigh, though a grin tugged at her lips as she brought her right fist to her chest in a salute. “By your order, Wolf.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, lifting her drink in a small toast. “By my order,” she echoed, her voice carrying the bittersweet weight of hope and determination.

    ~~~

    Ariana made her way to West Hill, the steady rhythm of her horse’s hooves an oddly comforting sound as she traveled. These days, at least, she could afford to travel on horseback—a significant improvement over the slow and exhausting journeys she had made by foot in those early days. The difference in speed was undeniable, but it also left her with more time to think as the miles flew by, something she wasn’t sure was entirely a blessing.

    If only I’d had a horse back then, she thought for what felt like the hundredth time. Maybe I would have reached Lake Calenhad in time, seen Cullen before the Circle was sealed. The familiar sting of regret pierced her thoughts. Would it have changed anything? Could I have stopped them from taking him away? The same questions had echoed through her mind for years, a constant undercurrent no matter how far she traveled or what she did to distract herself. The last words she had spoken to him felt hazy, distant. She remembered the note she’d left, her vows written in those lines, but still… she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, she had failed him.

    In West Hill, she approached the dockmaster, a burly man who now remembered her more for being the leader of the Silver Rangers than for the girl who once sent messages back and forth through Berthold. “Mistress Ariana, it’s good to see you! What brings you here?”

    “It’s good to see you too. How’s everything?” she asked politely, the memories of their past work together making her smile. The Rangers had helped rebuild West Hill after the Blight, and many nights had been spent in the local tavern celebrating their successes.

    “As good as you and yours left it!” the dockmaster replied proudly.

    “Do you know of any ships headed for Kirkwall?” she asked, but before the dockmaster could respond, a familiar voice interrupted from behind.

    “Aye, lass, I’m heading there now. Five gold—”

    Ariana turned sharply, immediately recognizing the voice. The speaker, seeing her face, froze mid-sentence, his expression shifting from confusion to shock.

    “Berthold?” Ariana asked, her voice almost a whisper, as if confirming it for herself. In the next moment, she closed the distance and threw her arms around him in a warm hug.

    Berthold, startled for a moment, quickly returned the embrace with a hearty laugh. “We thought you gone, lass. For you, the cabin is free.”

    ~~~

    As they set sail for Kirkwall, the tide of memories began to rise in Ariana’s mind. The familiar black walls of the city would be in view within three days, but for now, the journey was quiet. The weather was fair, and Ariana fell into her old routine with Berthold, sitting on the deck and swapping stories. Berthold, as always, had a knack for spinning tales—some wild, some ridiculous, and some surprisingly poignant.

    “There was this one time,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I had this noble from Val Chevin. All prim and proper, ‘Oh, Captain Berthold, we must make haste! My cargo is of utmost importance.’” He puffed out his chest in mockery, drawing a chuckle from Ariana. “Turns out his ‘precious cargo’ was three crates of Orlesian wigs. Wigs! I nearly lost the lot of them in a storm, too.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. “Did you tell him?”

    “Of course not,” Berthold replied with mock indignation. “The man would’ve fainted dead away. No, I handed them over like a true professional, even threw in a bow for flair. He paid double for the ‘safe delivery.’”

    She shook her head, a genuine smile breaking through the weight of her thoughts. “You’ve always had a way with people, Berthold.”

    He grinned, leaning back against the railing. “And you’ve always had a way of turning up when I least expect it.”

    Within three days, the familiar black walls of Kirkwall came into view, looming over the harbor like dark sentinels. The towering statues, the massive chains clinging to the cliffs like iron webs—it was all just as she remembered. Ariana shook her head, half-smiling to herself. I’ve just come from a country still recovering from a Blight, and yet Kirkwall… Kirkwall somehow still looks darker.

    She only hoped her instincts were right and that Varric would still be at The Hanged Man.

    As they docked, Ariana thanked Berthold again, handing him a coin pouch. He tried to refuse, but she pressed it into his hands. “For everything you did for me back then. And because I might need you again soon—if you’re willing to travel to Ferelden more often. The Rangers could use you.”

    “For you, lass, I can do that. Just send word when you need me,” Berthold said, tipping his hat before setting about unloading his cargo.

    The weight of the city settled over her like a thick cloak as she stepped onto the dock. She only hoped she still remembered the twisting streets; it had been so long. Pulling her own cloak up over her face, she avoided making eye contact with anyone, though she could feel the occasional lingering glance as she walked by. Maybe I should’ve picked a different cloak, she thought, but the familiar white fur-trimmed cloak had become a part of her. Her armor.

    She moved through the streets with purpose, her stride filled with the determination that had become second nature. Her feet carried her unconsciously through the winding alleys and narrow passages of Lowtown, leading her exactly where she needed to go. I guess some things you don’t forget, she thought, half in disbelief and half in relief.

    As she approached The Hanged Man, her heart beat a little faster. An unexpected wave of nerves settled over her as she pushed the door open. Her last letter to Varric echoed in her mind—telling him she couldn’t leave Ferelden just yet. She could almost imagine his reaction: gruff, worried, and undoubtedly frustrated that she had stayed in the middle of a Blight.

    Four years, she thought, guilt twisting in her stomach.

    She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. Maker, please let him forgive me.

    ~~~

    Seeing Corff behind the bar brought Ariana a little comfort. The place hadn’t changed much, and neither had he. She approached him quietly, and as he glanced up, recognition flickered in his eyes.

    “Looking for Varric, are you?” Corff asked, a knowing smile softening his gruff tone. “Or maybe something to eat? Been a long journey, I’d wager.”

    Ariana hadn’t realized how hungry she was until he mentioned it. Nodding, she tried to pull out a few coins, but Corff held up his hand. “Nah, not for you, miss. Varric would have my head on a platter if I took your coin.”

    She managed a small chuckle, nodding her thanks, and Corff went to work on what he called “Varric’s special.” She moved towards Varric’s suite, each step heavier with anticipation. Four years. Would he even recognize her? And what would he think of her after all this time? After a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door and stepped in.

    She kept her hood low, eyes fixed on the floor, her nerves on edge. Varric was seated at his usual spot, a hand absently resting on the familiar shape of Bianca.

    “Can I help you?” he began, his voice casual but guarded. His hand shifted slightly, ready to grab Bianca if needed.

    Ariana swallowed, then slowly reached up, pulling her hood back. She gave him a tentative smile, searching his expression for any hint of anger—or maybe disappointment. “Hello, Varric.”

    His expression froze, then softened as realization dawned. It had been years, and he’d held onto hope, but seeing her standing here in front of him felt like a dream he couldn’t trust. His hand dropped from Bianca, his voice quiet with disbelief. “Welcome back…Pup.”

    Relief flooded Ariana at the familiar nickname, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She walked to him slowly, but as she reached him, her composure broke. She dropped to her knees beside him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug, letting the weight of the last few years sink in.

    Varric’s hand rested on her back, patting her gently. “I thought… I’d hoped… well, Maker’s breath, you really know how to keep a dwarf waiting,” he murmured, the gruffness in his tone belied by the warmth in his voice.

    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice tight. “I… I didn’t come back, but I couldn’t. I had to stay.” She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, struggling to keep herself together. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. You deserved better than silence.”

    Varric shook his head, dismissing her apology. “You did what you had to, Pup. The world was a dark place… still is. But you made it back.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s all that matters.”

    They sat there in comfortable silence, the weight of the unspoken pressing on them both. She didn’t need to say it, and he didn’t need to ask, but Varric could see it—the exhaustion, the shadows of everything she’d been through.

    “Well,” he said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood as best he could. “Now, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I expect you’ll start from the beginning. With all the details.” He offered a half-smile. “And don’t think I’m letting you disappear again anytime soon.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile, the relief finally settling in. “Don’t worry, Varric. I don’t plan on going anywhere. Rather, if I do, you’ll know how to find me.”

    ~~~

    Corff brought in a plate of bread and cheese, and some wine. Dropped it off on the table as Varric and and Ariana made their way back to the table.

    As Corff entered, he set a plate of bread and cheese alongside a bottle of wine on the table, offering them a nod before slipping back out with the quiet efficiency of someone who understood when company needed privacy. Ariana hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until the scent of fresh bread filled the room, stirring her appetite.

    Varric gestured toward the table with a welcoming grin. “Sit, Pup. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in ages. What, was the fare in Ferelden that bleak?”

    Ariana laughed, settling into the chair opposite him and reaching for a piece of bread. “For a while there…sometimes. I do alright these days, but I also have been on the road a little over a week now, I don’t exactly travel with fine meals.”

    As she nibbled on the cheese, savoring the simple comfort, she could feel Varric’s eyes on her, studying her in that way only he could—seeing past her words, past the faint smile she wore. It was as if the years had melted away, and once again, she felt like the young girl he’d once sheltered in the Lowtown streets.

    He raised his glass, eyeing her over the rim. “To surviving the blight, the road, and whatever else life’s thrown at you since,” he said, his voice a bit softer, a warmth in his eyes that made the moment feel real. “You’re back, Pup.”

    Ariana clinked her glass against his, trying to steady her heart. “To being back,” she echoed, though a flicker of sadness lingered in her gaze. She sipped the wine, gathering herself, feeling the comfort of this familiar place begin to chip away at the hard shell she’d built over the years.

    Ariana set her glass down and leaned back, offering Varric a tentative smile, though a shadow touched her eyes. She’d been holding parts of her story close for a long time, but if anyone deserved to hear it, it was him. She’d begin with what happened after she’d read his letter years ago, and how she and Cullen had tried to warn people about the impending Blight, hoping to save just a few lives.

    But when she finally mentioned Cullen’s name aloud, Varric paused, his expression somewhere between shock and disbelief. “Hold on,” he interrupted, brows furrowing as he looked her over. “You’re telling me this whole time, your infamous ‘handsome Templar’ was Cullen Rutherford? Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford?”

    The title made her heart flutter, a mix of pride and hurt. “He’s here? He got a promotion?” she questioned softly, the realization dawning with a mixture of excitement and disappointment. He was here in Kirkwall all along. Relief and something like betrayal mingled, tightening her throat. How many times had she searched, scoured letters and asked for news, only to find nothing? And all the while, he’d left without a word, without a hint, without her.

    Varric watched her reaction carefully. “Yeah, Knight-Captain now,” he confirmed, with a touch of reservation in his voice. But he gave a huff, leaning back and rubbing his forehead as if pained. “Pup, I’ll be honest—maybe for your sake more than his. He might be the Cullen you remember, but from what I’ve seen, he’s practically become the left hand of Meredith. You know, that woman who makes ogres look like sunshine?”

    Ariana’s face darkened, her hands tightening around her glass. She held Varric’s gaze, determined to explain what he couldn’t possibly understand. “I know the rumors.” she said, voice steady. “I know what happened at the Circle Tower in Ferelden. The place was sealed, overrun by abominations. Most of the mages—and Templars—were killed. They only made it out because the Hero of Ferelden came through and helped end it.”

    Varric’s skeptical look softened a bit.

    “And Cullen…,” she continued, swallowing the emotions that threatened to rise. “If he survived that… well, Maker only knows what he had to endure.” She looked away, gathering herself. She hadn’t intended to open this wound, but it was already bleeding, and it was too late to stop now.

    Ariana took a steadying breath, meeting Varric’s gaze. “I came here in large part to ask for your help,” she admitted, voice tight with the conflict churning inside her. “I thought I’d be searching half of Thedas to find him. I never expected to hear he was… right here, right in this city.”

    Memories drifted up, unbidden and bittersweet—the warmth of his embrace in the tavern after Ostagar, the quiet promise they’d face the darkness together. But they hadn’t. They’d been pulled apart, swept by different currents, separated before the real storm had even begun. The realization weighed heavy on her chest, and she hadn’t noticed how silent she’d grown, lost in the remnants of something they’d never had the chance to finish.

    Varric’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, gentle but probing. “So… what do you want to do now, pup?” He searched her face, noting the hurt lingering in her eyes. He hadn’t imagined he could dislike Cullen any more than he already did, but seeing her like this… well, it didn’t exactly raise his opinion.

    Ariana looked away, jaw set in a determined line. “How do I find him?” she asked, almost in a whisper. She wasn’t sure what she’d do once she did. Old instincts told her to observe first, get a sense of who he was now. Four years was a long time, and the Cullen she remembered might not be the Cullen she’d find.

    “The Gallows is where he’s stationed,” Varric replied cautiously. “But… if you’d prefer not to risk that, I can ask around, find out his usual haunts. Everyone’s got their own version of a hideaway.”

    She gave a quick nod, relief and anxiety both flickering in her eyes. “The Gallows… it won’t exactly be easy to observe him there. And if Meredith’s around, I doubt I’ll get far.” She huffed a quiet sigh, rubbing her hands together as if warding off the lingering chill of uncertainty. “But yes. Anything you can find about his routines—some place he might let his guard down, if he has one here.”

    “Got it, pup,” Varric said, nodding. His gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “Just… take it slow, alright? And remember, you don’t have to do this alone.”

    She managed a faint smile, the hint of a warmth in her eyes. “I know, Varric. Thank you.” She turned back to her glass, the weight of all that lay ahead still heavy but not quite as crushing as before.

    ~~~

    Varric leaned back, folding his arms and giving her a look that was more knowing than anything else. “So… I’m guessing you’re planning to stay in Kirkwall for a while, then?”

    Ariana sighed. “For a few weeks, yes. That was my original plan. But I have business in Ferelden and Orlais—if I’m gone too long, my lieutenant will send a search party, or a small contingent…

    Varric’s eyebrow quirked up. “Lieutenant, you say? Of what, exactly?”

    Ariana paused, realizing that she hadn’t quite finished telling him her story. She took a breath, skipping over the darker turns of her journey for now. “After the Blight… I spent some time with the Crimson Blades.” She said it lightly, keeping her voice calm. “It wasn’t long before I decided to leave them behind and start something of my own—a company called the Silver Rangers.”

    A flash of recognition sparked in Varric’s eyes. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a gleam of interest. “The Silver Rangers, huh? I’ve been hearing things about them. Word is there’s a mercenary group out there doing good for a change. Protecting people who can’t pay, keeping the roads safe. Some say they’re led by a mysterious figure. They call him the White Wolf…”

    He let his words trail off, watching her with that sharp, assessing gaze, waiting for her reaction.

    Ariana tried to stifle a smile but couldn’t help it. “Rumors do have a way of growing legs,” she said, the ghost of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Not as grand as the tales, I assure you.”

    Varric chuckled, clearly impressed. “Not as grand? Kid, you’ve done what most mercenary companies can’t even dream of—people are talking about the Silver Rangers as if you’re some kind of heroes out of the story books.”

    Ariana’s smile softened. “It wasn’t easy, but I realized that helping people… well, it’s what keeps me going. Gives me something real to hold onto, even if the world can be so unforgiving.”

    Varric tilted his head, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Pup, you’ve made quite a name for yourself. I’d say your father would be proud of what you’re doing—though, knowing him, he’d probably want you to settle somewhere safe.”

    She gave a soft laugh, looking away. “Or he’d ask for stories of my ‘adventures’.” Her gaze returned to Varric, this time filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Varric. For letting me tell you all of this… and for not judging me.”

    Varric raised his glass in her direction, a warm, encouraging smile on his face. “You don’t need to thank me, kid. But I’ll drink to the White Wolf, to Cullen, and to whatever you plan on doing next.”

    “Yeah, to whoever the White Wolf is,” Ariana agreed, clinking her glass with his, her voice carrying a hint of finality. She’d built a careful wall around that identity, keeping it somewhat separate from herself, from Ariana Trevelyan. The White Wolf had the freedom to make enemies, to be feared or respected on the road, but she? She was still the runaway noble, a survivor of the Blight. And for now, that was exactly how she wanted to keep it.

    Pausing for a moment, she softened her tone. “Speaking of my father…” Her voice held a note of hesitancy. “Could you… send word? Just to let him know I’m here, alive and well. He’s probably given up on getting news by now, but it would mean the world to me.”

    Varric gave a firm nod, understanding immediately. “I’ll get my fastest people on it. Still sending word through that servant girl of his, Isabel?”

    Ariana nodded, the faintest smile touching her lips. “Yes, through Isabel. And maybe see if he could make the journey to Kirkwall if he’s able. It’s been so long… I’d just like to see him again.”

    Varric offered her a reassuring smile. “Consider it done, kid. I’ll make sure he knows you’re safe and that you’d like to see him, if he’s up for the trip.”

    She released a breath, feeling the weight of those years away from her family lighten, if only by a little. “Thank you, Varric. Really. I think… I think I’ll turn in for the night. It’s been a long enough journey getting back here.”

    He chuckled, the glint of his familiar mischief returning. “Four years? Yeah, I’d say that qualifies as a long trip. And don’t worry, Pup—your old room’s just as you left it. Always ready for you.”

    Ariana’s smile brightened at his words, feeling the warmth of the familiarity, the comfort of returning somewhere that still felt like hers. She gave Varric a grateful nod, and with that, she made her way out of his suite, down the hallway, and back to her room, where memories, hopes, and the unknown future waited to meet her.

    Tonight, she would rest—and tomorrow, she’d find out what new stories awaited.

  • Chapter 2 – A Sleepless Night

    2 Bloomingtide 9:29

    Ariana sat on the cool stone floor of her balcony, her legs drawn close to her chest, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars. The stillness of the night should have been comforting, but instead, it magnified the storm within her. Hours had passed since the announcement, since her world had shifted irrevocably, yet the ache in her chest remained as raw as ever.

    Her mind wandered to the weight of her name, Ariana Ryss Trevelyan, youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan Ostwick. She had always known that being born into nobility came with expectations, obligations that couldn’t be ignored. As the youngest child, her role had been defined early—she was the backup plan, the insurance for her family’s alliances. With her siblings forging their own paths, her destiny had become one of duty above all else.

    Her older siblings had found their escapes, she realized bitterly. Mark, as the eldest, had inherited the title and the responsibilities that came with it, yet his marriage had been one of his own choosing—a rarity and a privilege she could only envy. Kira, the second oldest, had manifested magic, and though it had been a shock to the family, it had ultimately granted her freedom from this life. Freedom wasn’t the right word. It was an escape from the politics of all this but not freedom. But Michael, he had chosen his own path. He had wanted to escape this life as much as she did. It had been his choice to join the Templar Order, finding comfort in that life, at least she hoped.

    But for Ariana, there had been no escape. No magic to change her fate, no predetermined role to shield her from these burdens. Instead, she was left to bear the weight of her family’s remaining expectations, a pawn in the game of alliances and influence. She was the youngest, she should have joined the Chantry, however, Michael joining the Templars met their family’s obligation to the Chantry..

    And now this. A life she didn’t want, a marriage to a friend she cared for but could never love the way a husband should be loved. She wanted adventure, freedom—the chance to forge her own destiny, not one dictated by bloodlines and treaties.

    The Visus constellation caught her eye, a pattern she knew by heart, one of her favorites. Its sweeping lines and luminous arrangement had always held a special place in her heart, a celestial symbol that someone watched over her. Tonight, as the weight of the evening pressed on her, she clung to the familiar sight like a lifeline, searching its depths for solace.

    She stared at it, hoping against reason that the stars might offer her guidance, might show her a way to accept this fate. And then, as if in answer, the single star at the center of the constellation seemed to blink. Ariana froze, her breath catching as the tiny light flickered briefly, winking at her before glowing steady once more. It was subtle, so fleeting that she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her.

    Yet the moment didn’t pass unnoticed—a sudden inexplicable certainty settled over her. It was a faint whisper, a barely perceptible pull, but it was there. Run, it seemed to say. Find your own path. She did not understand how or why, but she knew, deep in her soul, that this was what she needed to do. She needed to leave.

    Her heart pounded, the sheer impossibility of it striking her first. But as she sat there, the sensation rooted itself, growing stronger with every breath. This was her sign.

    Am I mad? she wondered, her mind racing as she considered the enormity of what she was contemplating. The very idea of running—leaving her family, her life, everything she had ever known—was absurd. Noble daughters didn’t flee into the night; they stayed. They obeyed. They fulfilled their duties.

    But the thought wouldn’t let her go. That faint whisper became louder, drowning out her doubts. Run.

    The more she thought about it, the clearer the pull became. Her entire life, she had played her part, followed the rules, smiled when required. She had accepted her place, even when it stifled her. But now? Now the chains felt unbearable. Is this desperation, she wondered, or am I truly seeing a sign?

    She glanced back at the Visus constellation, her hazel-green eyes lingering on the star that had flickered. The idea of running terrified her, but another part of her—a part she hadn’t allowed herself to listen to before—stirred, whispering of freedom. Of choice. Of a life that was hers, untethered by duty and expectation.

    Perhaps this is my only chance.

    The thought settled over her, bittersweet but resolute. She knew it wasn’t just about rebellion. It was survival—the survival of who she was, of who she could become. If she stayed, she would be smothered, consumed by a role she could never fully inhabit. But if she ran…

    Her hand tightened on the cool stone of the balcony. If I run, I have a chance.

    Her eyes lifted to the stars again, as if to seek reassurance. This time, the stars didn’t blink, but they didn’t need to. The Visus constellation stood steady in the sky, a guidepost for the path she had to take.

    Ariana stepped back into her room, her eyes scanning its familiar corners. Her gaze fell on a small box tucked beneath her bed, where she kept her modest savings and a few valuables. She pulled it out, her hands steady as she gathered what she needed: a small pouch of coins, a simple traveling cloak, and the daggers her father had gifted her. The blades, though ornamental, held weight in her hands—a reminder of the lessons he had taught her, the hours they had spent together in the practice yard. She traced the intricate patterns on the hilts, her chest tightening with the thought of leaving him behind.

    Sitting at her desk, she began to write. The first letter was for her father, the words coming quickly but not easily. She explained her decision as best she could, promising to be careful, to survive. She asked for his understanding, though she wasn’t sure he could give it. The second letter was for Frederick. She hesitated over this one, unsure how to put her feelings into words. Eventually, she told him the truth—that she was sorry, but she couldn’t go through with this. That she needed to find her own path. She folded the letters, sealing them carefully, and placed them on her desk.

    The room felt heavier now, as if aware of her intentions. She stood, taking one last look at the life she was about to leave behind. Her heart ached for the father who had done his best to protect her, for Frederick, who she hoped would understand someday. But she knew this was the only way.

    Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Ariana stepped out onto the balcony and climbed down, her movements silent and purposeful. The courtyard silent, bathed in moonlight, and for the first time, she felt the pull of something larger than herself.

    She glanced back once, her gaze lingering on the window of the room she had spent her whole life in. Then, with a deep breath, she turned and walked toward gate, leaving behind the only world she had ever known.

    ~~~

    Ariana moved quietly through the darkened hallways of the manor, her pack slung over her shoulder, her heart racing with a mix of fear and determination. Every step felt heavier than the last, the walls that had once offered her safety now looming like barriers she was desperate to escape. As she approached the kitchen, the faint glow of a lantern spilled into the hallway, and the sound of quiet rustling made her pause. She had hoped the household staff would be asleep, but as she peered inside, she saw Isabel stepping out of the pantry, clutching a sack of flour.

    “Ariana?” Isabel’s voice was soft, tinged with surprise. She set the sack on the counter, brushing the flour off her apron. Her green eyes fell to Ariana’s pack, then back to her face, the faint panic in Ariana’s expression giving her pause. “What are you doing?” she asked gently.

    For a moment, Ariana froze, caught like a child sneaking sweets from the kitchens. But this was Isabel—Isabel, who had dried her tears after countless scoldings, who had bandaged her scraped knees and cheered her victories in the practice yard. Lying to her felt impossible. Taking a deep breath, Ariana lowered her voice and began to explain.

    She told Isabel about the engagement announcement, the weight of her parents’ expectations, and her father’s quiet resignation. Her words tumbled out in a rush, her voice shaking as she described her decision to leave, to forge her own path rather than submit to a future she could not bear. Isabel listened in silence, her expression calm but her eyes full of understanding. When Ariana finished, Isabel nodded, her gaze softening.

    “Come here, child,” Isabel said, her voice firm but kind. “Sit down. Let me get you something to eat before you go.”

    Ariana hesitated, blinking back the sting of tears. She hadn’t expected anyone to help her, let alone Isabel. But the young woman’s steady presence was like a balm to her frayed nerves. She sat down at the counter, watching as Isabel moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.

    The kitchen smelled of warmth and comfort as Isabel pulled out a small loaf of bread, some cheese, and dried fruit, arranging them on a plate for Ariana. “You’ve always had fire in you, Ariana,” she said as she worked, her back turned. “You don’t belong in a cage, no matter how gilded it is.”

    Ariana looked down at her hands, her fingers curling into the fabric of her cloak. “I’m scared,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t even know if I can do this.”

    Isabel turned to face her, her green eyes steady. “Of course you’re scared. Anyone would be. But you’ve always been stronger than you think. And smarter than most give you credit for.” She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “If anyone can do this, it’s you, my child.”

    As Ariana ate, Isabel began gathering supplies for her journey, wrapping Dalish hearthcakes in cloth and tucking them into her pack. The warm, spiced aroma filled the room, and Ariana felt a lump rise in her throat. Isabel wasn’t just helping her; she was sending her off with love and care, something her own mother had rarely given.

    Once the food was packed, Isabel led her through the quiet servant hallways, guiding her past shadowed corridors and back entrances. The weight of what she was doing pressed down on Ariana, but Isabel’s presence made it bearable. When they reached the manor gates, Isabel stopped, her hands resting gently on Ariana’s shoulders.

    “Listen to me,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “You are stronger than you know. And no matter where you go, no matter what happens, you always have a home here.” She pulled Ariana into a tight hug, her arms warm and protective, and Ariana felt the tears she’d been holding back finally spill over.

    “Thank you,” Ariana whispered, her voice breaking. “For everything.”

    Isabel released her, her eyes glistening but her expression steady. “Go now,” she said, her voice soft. “Before anyone notices. And don’t look back unless you mean to come home.”

    With a nod, Ariana turned, her heart heavy yet filled with a fragile hope. The breeze felt cool against her face as she stepped through the gates, the darkness swallowing her as she left the only home she had ever known. She looked back once, catching a glimpse of Isabel framed by the gate, her figure a silhouette against the faint glow of the manor. Then she turned away, her steps quickening as she disappeared into the night, carrying nothing but her pack, her courage, and the faint glimmer of the Visus constellation to guide her.

    ~~~

    As Ariana wandered the darkened streets of Ostwick, the enormity of her decision began to weigh on her. It wasn’t just the act of leaving—it was the question of where to go. The world was vast, and for all her dreams of freedom, she hadn’t planned this far ahead. She slowed her pace, her boots echoing softly against the cobblestones, her mind racing with possibilities.

    Ferelden? She had read much about the rugged land to the south, but most of what she knew painted it as a place of sprawling wilderness. Ariana had always loved stories of adventure and survival, but the thought of being alone in the untamed countryside, with no allies and no clear destination, gave her pause. Ferelden was full of villages and townships, but she knew little about navigating them—or their customs. What if she stood out too much? What if she wasn’t prepared for the dangers of such isolation?

    She considered Orlais next. The grand, glittering empire was renowned for its culture, its opulence, its intrigue. Too many nobles, she thought with a grimace. Her face would be scrutinized at every ball, every market. Even if no one recognized her as a Trevelyan, her bearing and accent might betray her as someone of noble birth. Orlais was a place of masks and subtlety, and Ariana doubted she could disappear into the shadows there. She’d heard enough stories of courtly games to know she wouldn’t last long before being swept into someone else’s schemes.

    Her thoughts turned to Kirkwall, a name she had come across in books and overheard in conversations between merchants and sailors. A Free Marcher city carved from ancient stone, it was described as chaotic, a place where power shifted as easily as the tides. Its reputation wasn’t flattering—it was a city of smugglers, slaves, and criminals, but it was also known as a haven for those who wanted to disappear. People got lost in Kirkwall all the time, or so the stories said. Ariana frowned, trying to recall more details, but her knowledge of the city was frustratingly vague.

    Kirkwall is a gamble, she thought. But it’s far enough from Ostwick that no one would think to look for me there immediately. And in a city like that, a person can become whoever they want to be.

    She exhaled slowly, her decision still uncertain but beginning to take shape. She didn’t need to know everything yet—she just needed a starting point. Kirkwall might be dangerous, but it was a place where she could find anonymity. And in the end, wasn’t that what she was running toward?

    By the time she reached the docks, her mind was made up. It wasn’t certainty, but it was a choice, and right now, that was enough. She moved purposefully among the ships, her gaze scanning the vessels and their crews. If she could find passage to Kirkwall, she would begin her new life there, free from the obligations that had bound her.

    She approached a ship where the crew was already bustling, hauling crates of goods aboard. The trader, a lean man with a sharp gaze and a well-worn coat, glanced up at her. “Lookin’ for passage, lass?” he asked, his tone more curious than suspicious.

    “Yes,” Ariana replied, her voice steady. “I need to get to Kirkwall. Are you headed that way?”

    The trader wiped his hands on his coat, squinting at Ariana with a shrewd, assessing gaze. He took in her travel pack and the quiet intensity of her hazel-green eyes. “Five gold for a cabin,” he said finally. “Food’s included.”

    Ariana nodded, relieved it wasn’t more. She didn’t know much about sea passage, but five gold didn’t sound unreasonable. Still, she was acutely aware of the pouch of coins hidden within her pack—more than enough to cover this trip and a few others. It’s fair, she thought, studying the trader. He looked like an honest sort, his face weathered by years of hard work, his movements efficient but without the sly edge of someone looking to cheat.

    Even so, she kept her expression neutral and her movements calm, making sure not to reveal how much money she carried. “Agreed,” she said, sliding the coins into his waiting hand without drawing unnecessary attention.

    The trader took the coins, weighing them briefly in his hand before pocketing them. He tipped his hat with a grin. “Berthold, captain of the Sea Gull, at your service,” he said, motioning toward the ship.

    Ariana hesitated, searching for a name to give. Her own was too risky—too recognizable. After a moment, she blurted out, “Ryss.” The name felt foreign on her tongue, but it would suffice.

    “Pleasure to meet you, Ryss,” Berthold said, not missing a beat. He gestured toward the gangplank. “Welcome aboard.”

    The Sea Gull wasn’t the largest ship in the harbor, nor the most pristine, but it had an air of reliability about it. Its deck was clean, the crew moving with practiced efficiency as they prepared for departure. Ariana stepped aboard, her heart racing. Each step felt like crossing an invisible threshold, further away from the life she was leaving behind.

    Berthold led her below deck to a modest cabin with a small cot, a wooden chest, and a porthole that looked out onto the sea. “You’ll be sharing the ship with a few other passengers,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. “Merchants mostly, but they’re a quiet lot. You’ll have your space.”

    “Thank you,” Ariana replied, her voice soft.

    Berthold nodded, lingering a moment before speaking again. “Kirkwall’s not a forgiving city,” he said, his tone shifting to something almost paternal. “You’ve got the look of someone runnin’ from something. Whatever it is, just make sure you’re ready for what’s ahead.”

    Ariana met his gaze, her expression firm. “I’ll manage.”

    Berthold studied her for a moment longer, then gave a slight shrug. “Fair enough. Get some rest, lass. We’ll be leaving with the tide.”

    As the Sea Gull pulled away from the docks, Ariana stood on the deck, the sea breeze brushing against her face. The lights of Ostwick grew smaller and dimmer, fading into the horizon as the ship moved into open waters. She wrapped her arms around herself, the weight of her decision settling over her.

    Her gaze lifted to the sky, and she found the Visus constellation once more, its faint twinkle a quiet reassurance. She let the stars guide her thoughts, grounding herself in the vastness of the sea and the promise of a new beginning.

    Whatever awaited her in Kirkwall, she would face it. For the first time in her life, the path ahead was hers to choose.

    ~~~

    The sun had barely risen over the Trevelyan estate, casting a golden glow across the courtyard as Charles released another arrow. The bowstring sang as the arrow flew, striking the center of the target with a satisfying thunk. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Archery had always been his refuge, a way to find clarity amid the endless demands of noble life. But today, even the steady rhythm of his practice couldn’t banish the unease lingering in his chest.

    He nocked another arrow, drawing the string back as he focused on the target. His thoughts wandered to Ariana—how quiet she had been after the announcement last night, how her usual spark had dimmed. He had wanted to speak with her again, to offer some reassurance, but he hadn’t been sure what to say. What comfort could he offer when he had failed to shield her from the path laid out for her?

    “Charles!” Elara’s sharp voice cut through the morning air, breaking his concentration. His arrow veered off course, embedding itself in the edge of the target. He turned to see his wife striding toward him, her expression a mixture of irritation and impatience.

    “Elara,” he greeted her, lowering his bow. “What is it now?”

    “Where is Ariana?” she demanded, her tone brisk. “I’ve been looking for her everywhere. The seamstress is waiting, and we haven’t the time for her usual wandering.”

    Charles frowned, confused. “I thought she was still in her room. Why would she be out here?”

    Elara threw up her hands. “Because she’s not in her room! I assumed she would be with you. Maker knows she’s always trailing after you when she should be preparing herself for her duties.”

    Charles set his bow down, his frown deepening. “Elara, she needs time. You could at least give her a few days to come to terms with this engagement before shoving her in front of a seamstress.”

    “Time?” Elara snapped. “We don’t have time, Charles. The Duchess is expecting her measurements this afternoon. And besides, this arrangement is what’s best for her. She needs to stop running from her responsibilities.”

    Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin. “You speak of responsibilities as though she is livestock being prepared for auction. She is our daughter, Elara. She deserves better than to be ambushed with this.”

    Elara crossed her arms, glaring at him. “And what would you have done differently, Charles? Let her run wild for another year, hoping she magically comes to her senses? No. It’s time she understands her place.”

    Before he could respond, a creeping sense of unease settled over him. Elara’s words struck a nerve—not because of their content, but because of the implication. “You said she wasn’t in her room?”

    “Yes, of course,” Elara huffed. “Why else would I come here looking for her?”

    Charles straightened, his unease solidifying into alarm. “You mean you assumed she was with me?”

    Elara’s face faltered, her confidence wavering as realization dawned. “She’s not…?” Her voice trailed off, the color draining from her cheeks.

    The two of them stared at each other, the weight of the unspoken truth crashing down between them. Charles turned abruptly, striding toward the nearest servant. “Have you seen Ariana this morning?” he asked, his voice sharp.

    The servant shook her head. “No, my lord. Not since last night.”

    Elara’s voice rose, her panic evident. “Check the grounds! Ask everyone—she must be somewhere!”

    As the staff scattered to search, Charles felt a sinking dread. He already knew what they would find—or rather, what they wouldn’t. He headed toward Ariana’s room, Elara following close behind, her protests and reassurances a meaningless buzz in his ears.

    When they entered the room, it was immaculate, as though untouched since the night before. But Charles’ eyes fell immediately on the desk, where two envelopes lay side by side. His heart clenched as he moved closer, picking them up with trembling hands.

    One was addressed to him, the other to Frederick. He turned the letter over, noting the seal, and a heavy weight settled in his chest. He didn’t need to open it to know what it contained. His daughter was gone.

    “She’s left,” he said quietly, the words like a blow. Elara froze, her face paling as she stared at the letters in his hands.

    “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t do something so foolish.”

    But Charles knew better. His daughter was many things—impulsive, headstrong, stubborn—but she was not foolish. She had been pushed too far, and now, she had done the only thing she believed she could. She had run.

    “Elara,” he said gravely, handing her the letter addressed to Frederick. “Send for him. He deserves to know.”

    Without another word, he turned and left the room, the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. He would read Ariana’s letter alone.

    ~~~

    Charles sat alone in the dim light of his study, the unopened letter from Ariana in his trembling hands. The wax seal felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of every choice he’d made—or failed to make—for his youngest daughter. He let out a slow, shuddering breath before carefully breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. The familiar handwriting brought a pang to his chest, and he began to read.

    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

    Charles read the letter twice, his eyes lingering on her parting words. I love you. The ache in his chest deepened. He sat back in his chair, staring at the parchment as if it would reveal where she had gone or how he could fix this. But the answers were not there. He felt a sharp pang of guilt, of helplessness. “What have I done?” he murmured aloud.

    The sound of hurried footsteps broke through his thoughts, and moments later, Elara burst into the room with Mark trailing behind her. Charles didn’t look up as Elara’s voice filled the space.

    “What’s going on, Father?” Mark asked, glancing between his parents. He had clearly noticed the commotion spreading through the household. “Servants are saying Ariana is missing.”

    Charles didn’t answer, still staring at the letter in his hand as if it might somehow bring his daughter back. Elara, her patience already thin, stepped forward and snatched the parchment from him. “What does it say?” she demanded, unfolding it without waiting for his permission.

    Charles didn’t move, his voice low and heavy with despair. “She’s gone,” he said, his tone almost too quiet to be heard. “What have I done?”

    Elara’s eyes skimmed the letter, her face blanching as she read the words. Before she could respond, Charles rose from his chair, his composure fracturing as his voice rose. “This is your fault!” he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. “You pushed her too far, just as I warned you would!”

    Elara looked up from the letter, her face pale but defiant. “My fault? You were the one who indulged her all these years, Charles! If you had raised her properly, she wouldn’t have run off like some commoner!”

    Charles took a step toward her, his voice cutting through her words like a blade. “Do not put this on me. I indulged her because she deserved to have a childhood, something you never allowed her to have. You pushed and prodded, treating her like a pawn on a chessboard. And now, Elara? Now she’s gone.”

    Elara opened her mouth to retort, but Charles silenced her with a sharp gesture. “Do not speak of obligations to me. Do you know why she felt so trapped? It was because of you—because of your endless demands. All of House Trevelyan’s obligations have already been met. Mark has secured an alliance through marriage as heir, and Michael’s decision to join the Templar Order already fulfills our commitment to the Chantry. Ariana, as the youngest, should never have borne such burdens. She has no obligations; this was merely your obsession.”

    Elara’s face reddened, her jaw tightening as Charles’s words landed with a weight that hung heavy in the room. “You think I’m blameless? I’m not,” he continued, his voice steady and firm. “I didn’t stand up for her when I should have. But don’t think for a moment that you can justify what you’ve done any more than I can justify my silence.”

    Elara bristled, lifting her chin. “And what of our reputation, Charles? What will the Duke and Duchess think when they learn that their son’s fiancée has run off ? Do you understand the position this puts us in? What position this puts you in?”

    Charles’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a barely restrained fury. “Reputation?” he spat. “You dare speak of our reputation now, Elara? Let me make something perfectly clear. Whatever imagined duties you cling to—whatever schemes you concocted to elevate yourself in the eyes of the Decken family—they end here.”

    Elara opened her mouth to interject, but Charles raised his hand sharply, silencing her before she could utter another word. “You care more about what the Duke and Duchess think than about the safety of our own daughter! This farce of an engagement you orchestrated was never about Ariana’s obligations. It was about you. Your ambition. Your pride.”

    His voice grew colder, sharper, with every word. “I am ordering you to call off this engagement. Do you hear me? It is over. There will be no wedding, no alliance. And you will tell the Decken family yourself.”

    Elara’s face flushed with indignation, but before she could argue, Charles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. “And do not forget your own obligations. Your role, your duty, is to support this family. Do not make me remind you of what happens to noblewomen who overstep their bounds.”

    Elara froze, her lips pressed into a thin line as her composure began to crack. Charles straightened, towering over her as he delivered his final words. “Our marriage is done, Elara. It has been for years, but now… you have gone too far. You have pushed our daughter away, and for what? I will not stay in this house with you, not as anything more than an appearance for the sake of the Trevelyan name.”

    Turning away from her, Charles addressed Mark with a softer tone. “Take care of your mother,” he said quietly, though the command in his voice was unmistakable. “She will need you now.”

    Without another word, Charles took Ariana’s letter and left the room, the weight of guilt and regret settling heavily on his shoulders. He couldn’t undo the damage that had been done, but one thing was clear: his daughter’s escape was not just a rebellion—it was the price they were now paying for years of misplaced priorities.

    ~~~

    Frederick and his mother, Duchess Evelyn, were walking briskly through the hall, the weight of the morning’s tension palpable. Servants moved quickly around them, their faces tight with unease, murmurs of Ariana’s disappearance circulating among the household.

    They turned a corner and nearly collided with Bann Trevelyan. Charles stood stiffly, his face a mask of exhaustion and restrained emotion. In his hand was a folded letter, its wax seal already broken.

    “She’s gone,” Charles said, his voice low but steady as he extended the letter to Frederick. His gaze softened as he placed a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. Truly.”

    Frederick froze, staring at the letter as though it might burn him. A part of him wanted to shove it away, to deny what Charles was saying. Gone? Where could she have gone? Why didn’t she tell me?

    Duchess Evelyn began to speak, her voice tinged with indignation. “Bann Trevelyan, how could you allow—”

    Charles raised a hand, silencing her mid-sentence. His eyes, cold and unyielding, locked with hers. “Take it up with Elara,” he said sharply before turning back to Frederick. His hand lingered briefly on Frederick’s shoulder, a fleeting gesture of comfort, before he walked away, leaving mother and son standing in the corridor.

    Frederick’s chest tightened as he stared at the letter in his hand, the paper trembling slightly. His mother’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Well? Open it,” she said impatiently, her tone lacking any sympathy.

    Frederick’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “This is your fault,” he said, his voice low but laced with venom. “You and Lady Elara. She should never have been put in this position. She was my best friend, and I failed her—because of you.”

    Evelyn’s mouth opened in shock, but Frederick didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel, storming through the hall until he reached the gardens. The fresh air hit him like a splash of cold water, calming his fury just enough to allow him to focus.

    He sank onto a stone bench beneath a blooming cherry tree, the petals scattering around him as he unfolded the letter with trembling hands. His heart ached as he read each line, her words striking deep.

     Frederick,

     I don’t even know how to begin this letter, but I feel I owe you an explanation—though I fear it will not be enough. First, I must apologize. Not for leaving, but for something I should have said long ago. I’ve always known how you feel about me, and I’m sorry for pretending otherwise. I thought that by ignoring it, I could spare your feelings, but in the end, I see now that I only made things worse. For that, I am truly sorry.

     You were my closest friend, someone I trusted above almost anyone else. That’s what makes this hurt all the more. I can’t forgive you for hiding this from me—for knowing what was coming and saying nothing. But… I think I can understand it. You are the future head of the Decken family, and your responsibilities are heavier than mine could ever be. I know you were trying to manage an impossible situation, but I can’t be the one to share that burden with you.

     You deserve someone who loves you, Frederick. Someone who looks at you and sees a future filled with joy and hope. Someone who will make the weight you carry feel lighter, not heavier. I’m not that person, and I will not let us both be trapped in something neither of us truly wants.

     I wish you all the luck in the world, Frederick, and I hope one day you find the happiness you deserve. I hope one day you understand why I had to leave.

     Take care of yourself.

     Ariana

    Frederick exhaled shakily, her words cutting deeper than he thought possible. Her apology for pretending not to notice his feelings made his stomach churn with guilt. She always knew… and she spared my pride anyway. Her kindness, even in a moment of betrayal, felt like a dagger in his chest.

    His fingers tightened on the parchment, but as he read the last lines, a small, bitter smile crept onto his face. “You still think I deserve happiness,” he murmured to the empty garden. “You always had more faith in me than I ever deserved.”

    He leaned back against the bench, staring up at the tree branches above him as sunlight filtered through the petals. His heart was heavy with regret, but one thought rose above the rest: I hope you find the adventure you’re searching for, Ari. And I hope you’ll be alright.

    For a long moment, he sat there, holding her letter like a lifeline. Then he folded it carefully, tucking it into his coat pocket, and rose. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. He only wished the stars would watch over her the way she had always believed they could.