Tag: Isabela

13 Cloudreach – 24 Solace 9:37

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question landed like a stone in the stillness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll send word when we know where we’re going,” she promised, her tone warm but tinged with uncertainty. “And… if you need us, we’ll be there for you.”

Ariana clasped Hawke’s hand briefly, her grip firm despite the exhaustion that still weighed on her. “And if you need us, you know you’re always welcome here.”

As Hawke lingered at the gates, her hand brushed against Fenris’s arm. Ariana caught the small gesture, and it struck her how much had changed between them. Fenris, who once couldn’t bring himself to trust mages, had stood by Hawke’s side in the Gallows, defying everything he once believed. Ariana’s gaze lingered on their intertwined shadows, her chest tightening.

“Take care, Ari,” Hawke said, her tone firm yet warm. “And keep him out of trouble,” she added with a nod toward Varric.

Ariana’s smile was faint but genuine. “Impossible,” she replied, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at Fenris, the silent strength in his presence undeniable. He fought for her, she thought, a flicker of bittersweet realization passing through her.

Hawke’s grip on Fenris’s arm tightened as they turned to leave, and Ariana couldn’t help but wonder if Cullen could ever make that same choice—if he could overcome the weight of his oaths and fears to stand with her, as Fenris had with Hawke. Ariana watched them disappear down the path, side by side, until they were nothing more than shadows on the horizon.

Ariana lingered at the gates long after Hawke and Fenris had vanished into the distance. The ache in her chest was a familiar one, the same she’d felt each time another of Hawke’s companions had left. Relief that they were alive warred with the sharp sting of their absence, a reminder of how fragile their unity had been amidst the chaos of Kirkwall.

She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as the cool evening wind swept across the manor grounds. She had fought to keep them all alive, to give them a chance at something beyond the horrors of the Gallows. But survival had come at a cost—fragmented connections, unspoken regrets, and lingering scars.

Watching Hawke and Fenris together stirred something deeper, a quiet longing. Fenris had stood beside Hawke, even when her choices challenged everything he believed. It was a bond forged in fire and tempered by trust—a trust Cullen had withheld when it mattered most. She swallowed hard, the weight of her own choices pressing against her like the cold iron of her daggers.

“Think they’ll find peace out there?” she murmured, more to herself than to Varric.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze distant as he followed the line of the horizon. “They’ll find what they’re looking for,” he said at last, his voice calm but thoughtful. “And so will you, pup. Maybe not today, but someday.”

Ariana nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She turned back toward the manor, her steps slow but resolute. For now, she would carry the weight of their shared journey, even as the threads of their fates unraveled. Because Varric was right—their story wasn’t over. It was simply moving to the next chapter.