Lost Figment

Tag: Knight-Commander Meredith

  • Chapter 50 – Belief Without Question

    12 – 13 Cloudreach 9:37

    Hawke’s voice echoed through the courtyard, sharp and determined as she tried, in vain, to reason with both Meredith and Orsino. Cullen stood silently behind Meredith, his gaze flickering between the Champion and the First Enchanter. His jaw was tight, his hands gripping the pommel of his sword more out of habit than need. Every word spoken between the two leaders only deepened the sense of foreboding he’d felt since the Chantry exploded.

    You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late. Ariana’s words from hours ago rang in his mind, her voice carrying both conviction and frustration. She had begged him to step forward, to defy Meredith, to do what he knew in his heart was right. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. His duty to the Order, to the structure that had defined his entire life, kept him tethered to his role, even as doubt gnawed at him.

    “I suppose I should have expected no less from you, Champion,” Meredith said icily, her tone cutting through his thoughts. She turned toward Hawke, her expression hard and unyielding. “So be it. You will share the Circle’s fate.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened. His gaze flicked to the Champion, then back to Meredith. Was this truly what justice looked like? The question churned in his gut, but he remained silent. What else could he do? What choice did he have?

    And then they arrived.

    The White Wolf and the Silver Rangers swept into the courtyard, their presence undeniable as they moved swiftly to stand behind Hawke. Cullen’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell on the hooded figure at their head. The White Wolf. He had read countless reports about their exploits, their interference, their defiance of the Templars, their aid of the mages just now—and now they were here, standing against Meredith.

    Meredith turned toward the newcomers, her expression darkening. Cullen could see the tension in her frame, the irritation in her clenched jaw. “So,” she said, her tone venomous, “this is the infamous White Wolf. How fitting you would align yourself with these traitors.”

    “It’s about time, Wolf,” Hawke said, glancing over her shoulder at the figure. “I was beginning to worry a Templar might have taken you down.”

    The White Wolf gave a small shrug, their body language casual but purposeful. Cullen couldn’t take his eyes off them, a strange unease creeping into his chest. There was something about the way they moved, the way they stood.

    Riley stepped forward, her stance bold as she addressed Meredith directly. “Are we late, or do we still need to kick this bitch into the Waking Sea?” she said, her voice dripping with defiance.

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her hand twitching near her sword. “You will regret those words,” she said, her tone cold enough to chill the air.

    Cullen’s eyes flicked to Riley, recognition sparking. If Riley was here, who was protecting Ariana? He had never pressed Ariana much on the Rangers, hoping that they would be the ones to protect her when he couldn’t, but if they were here, who was watching over her?

    Orsino’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “So, you stand with the mages? With the Champion?” His words were laden with a mixture of hope and skepticism.

    The Rangers’ nods were unhesitating, their resolve clear.

    “No matter,” Meredith said sharply, her lips thinning as she turned back to Orsino. “Go. Prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor.”

    “This isn’t over,” Orsino said, his voice steady but weary. He turned toward the Tower, signaling the mages to follow. Hawke, the White Wolf, and the Rangers began moving with them, the tension in the courtyard thick enough to cut with a blade.

    Riley lingered, her sharp eyes scanning the Templars before her. She locked eyes with Cullen as he took a hesitant step forward. “Riley,” he called, his voice tight with urgency. Questions churned in his mind, but only one escaped his lips. “Have you heard from Ariana? Is she safe?”

    Riley tilted her head, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “She’s fine,” she said pointedly, her words a deliberate jab. “Though I imagine she’ll be heartbroken to see you siding with Meredith…”

    The words hit Cullen like a physical blow. His breath caught in his chest, his mind replaying Ariana’s voice. You cannot let this happen. He had failed her.

    “Wait,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

    The White Wolf, just ahead, paused slightly, their masked face hidden beneath the hood. Their body tensed, but they didn’t turn fully toward him.

    Cullen’s gaze snapped back to Riley, his voice dropping to a low, insistent tone. “Who is the White Wolf?” he demanded. “You’re with them, aren’t you? The Silver Rangers?”

    Riley shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Wolf doesn’t owe you any answers,” she said simply, her tone deliberately vague. “But you probably owe them some.” Without another word, she turned and followed the others into the shadows.

    Cullen stood frozen, his mind racing. His eyes shifted back to the hooded figure disappearing with the group. The way they moved, the way Riley had spoken—it was a cruel puzzle just out of reach.

    Stand with me, please

    A suspicion formed, sharp and undeniable. A suspicion he wasn’t ready to confront, because if it were true, it would change everything he thought he knew. If the White Wolf was who he now believed them to be, then the foundation of his world wasn’t just cracked—it was shattering.

    ~~~

    Once inside the Circle courtyard, Ariana pulled down her mask and hood, allowing the cool night air to brush against her face. Her heart was racing, but her expression remained steady. She turned to Hawke and Orsino, her gaze sharp but calm, masking the storm raging within her.

    “So,” she said, her voice cutting through the tense silence. “Does anyone have any bright ideas here, or is this just… a ‘fight to the death’ kind of thing?”

    “There are worse plans,” Varric chimed in, his grin wry but forced, his usual levity tinged with unease.

    “No, there really aren’t,” Riley shot back, giving him a look that clearly said,

    Orsino straightened, his tone resolute but hurried. “You give your people orders, and I’ll arrange mine. We need to move quickly.”

    “That’s also an unsurprisingly bad plan,” Ariana interjected, her tone dry but controlled, cutting through the escalating panic. “If we’re not coordinated, this ends in disaster.” Her voice softened slightly as she added, “Let me help.”

    Orsino frowned but nodded reluctantly. His desperation was clear, and Ariana seized the moment.

    “Hawke,” she said, her voice firm as she turned to her. “We need Aveline, Isabela, and Fenris in the lower courtyard. Their combat skills will hold the Templars where the mages are most vulnerable. All mages should be stationed along the walkways above, taking shots from a distance. The Rangers will fill gaps where needed and bear the brunt of the initial assault. We’ll focus on incapacitation, giving you time to deal with Meredith directly.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got my vote,” she said, her tone attempting to inject some levity into the moment.

    “Very well,” Orsino said, though his tone carried begrudging acceptance. “I’ll inform the mages.”

    Ariana nodded, already stepping back into motion. She paused as Varric called out to her, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “Hey, pup. Be careful out there.”

    She glanced at him, her expression softening briefly before the mask slid back into place. “Always,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual. With a sharp motion, she pulled her hood up and her mask into place, signaling the Rangers to follow her.

    The group moved swiftly to the far gate, the tension thick enough to choke the air around them. Ariana led them into position at a narrow passage, a natural bottleneck where they could force the Templars to engage in smaller numbers. The sound of boots echoed faintly in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment.

    As the Rangers crouched into position, Ariana scanned the area, her mind racing through every possibility. She clenched and unclenched her hands, the leather of her gloves creaking softly as her fingers flexed. Beneath the glove on her left hand, the ring Cullen had given her pressed against her skin. The thought of him sent a sharp pang through her chest, a mixture of heartbreak, anger, and longing.

    She couldn’t stop replaying the look in his eyes when he had stood beside Meredith, silent and immovable. You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late. Her own voice echoed in her mind, a desperate plea that had gone unanswered. Had he even tried? Had he ever really considered it? Or had he chosen Meredith—and the Order—over her all along?

    “Wolf,” Riley’s voice broke through her thoughts, quiet but insistent. She was standing close, her concern evident. “Are you alright?”

    Ariana turned her head to meet Riley’s gaze. For a brief moment, the cracks in her façade were visible, her eyes betraying the weight pressing down on her. She looked away, her hand instinctively rubbing the spot where her ring rested beneath the glove. The cool metal was a constant reminder of what she stood to lose, of what she might have already lost.

    “I’m fine,” she replied curtly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. The mask was back in place, her tone leaving no room for further questions.

    Riley studied her for a moment but didn’t press. “Alright,” she said, gripping her weapon tighter. “Let’s make sure this doesn’t turn into a death march.”

    Ariana nodded faintly, her focus shifting forward as the sound of approaching Templars grew louder. She raised a hand, signaling the Rangers to hold their positions. The first glint of armor appeared at the edge of the passage, and her breath caught in her throat. The battle was imminent.

    As she drew her blades, a fierce determination settled over her. She couldn’t afford hesitation or doubt. Not now. There were lives to save, and the legend of the White Wolf wouldn’t falter—not tonight. Her blades felt heavier than usual, as though the weight of her choices had seeped into the steel. Each step brought her closer to a confrontation she wished she could avoid, but Cullen’s face lingered in her thoughts like a shadow. She could almost hear his voice, calm and resolute, delivering orders from behind Meredith’s veil of authority. Her hand brushed the ring again, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay present.

    The air in the passage was thick with anticipation, the distant shouts of Templars cutting through the night. Each step they took echoed like a countdown, each moment tightening the knot in Ariana’s chest. The time for doubt had passed. Now, there was only action.

    The sounds of the advancing Templars grew louder, their formation coming into view as they prepared to breach the passage. Ariana’s grip tightened on her weapons, and for a fleeting moment, her thoughts returned to Cullen.

    You could have stopped this. You could have stood with me.

    The ache in her chest turned to steel. She pushed the thought away, focusing on the task ahead. There was no time for heartbreak, no room for anger. She would deal with those later—if there was a later.

    “Hold steady,” she said, her voice like flint striking steel. The Rangers shifted into position, their eyes fixed ahead, waiting for her signal. The clink of Templar armor grew louder, and Ariana tightened her grip on her daggers. There would be no retreat. No surrender.

    The battle for Kirkwall was about to begin in earnest, and Ariana had no choice but to meet it head-on.

    ~~~

    It wasn’t long before the battle began in full force. Templars charged into the courtyard with relentless precision, their battle cries mingling with the shouts of the Rangers as they clashed. Ariana moved like a shadow among them, her dual-bladed daggers glinting as she struck with precision. The Rangers worked tirelessly to disable as many Templars as possible, knocking them unconscious or disarming them whenever they could.

    Ariana was locked in combat with two Templars, her movements fluid yet calculated. She ducked and spun, her daggers deflecting their strikes with deadly efficiency. But then she felt it—another sword coming from behind her. She twisted, dodging out of the way just in time, and turned to face her new attacker.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    Her heart plummeted as recognition hit her like a physical blow. Cullen. She hadn’t wanted this. She had hoped to avoid this exact confrontation. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Maker, not like this. She’d pictured so many outcomes, so many ways the night could spiral, but none had included crossing blades with him. But now, as he raised his sword and met her gaze beneath the shadow of her hood, resignation settled over her. There was no escaping this.

    “You saved me once,” Cullen said, his voice cutting through the noise. “From the Qunari. Why are you here now, White Wolf? Why fight against us?”

    Ariana’s fingers tightened around her daggers, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. Her silence hung heavy between them, her hood shielding her expression.

    “Will you kill me now?” Cullen asked, his tone quieter, almost pleading.

    She shook her head—a small, deliberate motion. No.

    Cullen exhaled sharply, lowering his sword slightly. “Then I’ll do my best not to kill you,” he said, his voice heavy with something deeper—resignation, perhaps. “But I won’t let you destroy this city.”

    Without waiting for a response, he attacked. Ariana deflected the blow, their weapons clashing in a flurry of sparks. The fight began in earnest, and it was brutal. Steel met steel with a screeching clash. Cullen’s strikes were measured, relentless, while Ariana danced around him, her daggers a blur of motion. Sparks flew as their blades connected, the sound sharp and unforgiving over the roar of battle.

    First rule: speed over strength. You’re not going to overpower anyone. You’re fast. Use that.

    Ariana moved with precision, relying on her speed to counter Cullen’s strength. She knew his fighting style well, his strikes powerful and deliberate, but she had an edge—her agility, her ability to read his movements. Yet even as she fought, her heart ached. Every clash of their blades felt like a betrayal, widening the space between them.

    “Why won’t you speak?” Cullen demanded, his frustration bleeding into his voice as their blades locked.

    Their movements were swift and dynamic, a flurry of strikes and counters that seemed almost choreographed. Cullen’s blade met Ariana’s daggers with sharp precision, it was a familiar rhythm. They’d done this exact dance many mornings before. Ariana could predict his moves almost better than she could predict her own.

    Ariana darted to the side, using her agility to her advantage. She avoided his heavier blows, striking when she could to keep him on his heels, though always aiming for his armor—not to harm him. Cullen, for his part, was unyielding, his years of training and leadership evident in every move. But there was hesitation in his strikes, as though he couldn’t fully commit to the fight.

    The battle was interrupted by the arrival of two more Templars, rushing up behind Ariana. She sensed them just in time, twisting her body to avoid their blades. In the maneuver, she managed to sweep one Templar’s legs out from under him and knock the other’s sword away. But the effort left her open.

    Cullen seized the moment, his sword striking with precision. It wasn’t a killing blow—he aimed carefully—but it was enough. The blade slashed across her side, and she stumbled, her breathing sharp as pain radiated from the wound. Blood seeped through her cloak as she staggered back, clutching her side.

    “What’s the point of speed if you can’t predict your enemy’s next move?”

    Ariana gritted her teeth, steadying herself. She couldn’t stop now. The mages still needed her. She gripped her dagger tighter, forcing herself to stand tall despite the fire in her side. The world spun for a moment, and Cullen’s voice seemed distant. But she wouldn’t fall. Not here, not yet. Too many lives depended on her. But as Cullen stepped forward, sword still raised, her vision blurred slightly, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she could continue.

    ~~~

    The fight was relentless. Cullen couldn’t shake the familiarity of her rhythm and precision, though now every move she made screamed of the truth he didn’t want to accept. She dodged and deflected, using her speed to stay ahead of his strikes. She seemed to know his strengths well and exploited them, staying one step ahead. But he could see fatigue was setting in. Blood seeped from the wound on her side—a shallow but telling blow across her torso, and now it was slowing her down.

    “You’re injured, stand down,” Cullen asked. He genuinely had no interest in killing the White Wolf. He owed them a debt.

    The White Wolf rushed Cullen but her injury slowed her just enough. Cullen deflected her strike with precision, his sword glancing off her wounded side. The force of the blow drove her down to one knee, her hand instinctively clutching her side as she gasped for breath.

    Cullen stepped forward, his blade raised for another strike. But before he could bring it down, Riley appeared, her massive two-handed sword colliding with his in a deafening clash. Sparks flew as Riley pushed him back, her strength forcing him to break his stance.

    “Stay on your feet, Wolf!” Riley barked, sparing only a quick glance at Ariana before turning back to the chaos, rejoining the fray to cover the mages.

    Cullen staggered, his grip on his sword tightening as he met Riley’s fierce gaze.“It was in that moment that all the puzzle pieces came together. The way she moved, the way she fought, the hesitation in her strikes, Riley’s words—‘This one dragged me all over Ferelden and Orlais looking for ‘someone.’ It all fell into place with a clarity that left him breathless.

    Cullen staggered back, the world tilting around him. It wasn’t just her face he recognized—it was the truth of every unanswered question, every doubt he had pushed aside. The weight of it hit like a hammer, shattering the fragile framework of his loyalty and love.

    ‘Ariana…’ he whispered, his voice barely audible, the name leaving his lips like a plea.”

    The White Wolf froze, her hand briefly twitching toward her hood before pulling it back. Time seemed to stop as she revealed her face, her gaze locking with his. With a single practiced motion, she unhooked the clasp at her shoulder, letting the cloak fall to the ground in a heap. With deliberate care, she pulled her mask down from her face, revealing herself fully.

    Time seemed to stop as the hood fell back, and the mask slid from her face. The world around them blurred into insignificance, the shouts of battle fading into the distance. Her face—so achingly familiar—was etched with pain, determination, and something deeper. His breath caught, his grip on his sword faltering. How had he not seen it? The truth had been in front of him all along, but he had refused to look.”

    “No,” Cullen breathed, the truth slamming into him like a physical blow. “Maker… no.”

    His chest tightened. Confusion, anger, and betrayal warred within him, all threatening to boil over. “Why? Why this?” His voice cracked with emotion, but he raised his sword again, his duty warring with his disbelief. “Why are you here? Why are you—”

    “Because someone has to be,” she interrupted sharply, her voice cutting through his. “Someone has to do what you won’t.” She stood, sheathing her daggers. Then she raised her empty hands, daring Cullen to come at her again.

    Without her weapons, her movements became even more fluid, untethered by the hesitation she showed before. She darted around him, leveraging the walls and railings of the narrow space to stay one step ahead. Twice, she managed to sweep his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. The second time, his shield fell from his grasp, and she kicked it away into the chaos, her breath ragged but determined.

    Cullen rose to his feet, his face a mix of anger and disbelief. Before he could attack again, her voice rang out, cutting through the noise of battle. “Do you agree with this, Cullen?” she demanded, her tone sharp and unrelenting. “Do you believe every mage in this tower deserves to die?”

    He froze, her words halting him for a moment. His grip on his sword tightened as he met her gaze. “You think I want this?” he shot back, his voice brimming with frustration. “You think I wanted any of this?”

    “You could have stopped this!” she shouted, her movements growing more aggressive as her anger overtook her exhaustion. “You could have stopped her! Instead, you chose Meredith. You chose this war over me.”

    Her voice cracked, but she pressed forward, her words cutting deeper. “I’ve seen you question her orders before. I’ve seen you hesitate, even when it cost you. So why now? Why is this the one time you can’t see past her lies?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his frustration spilling over as he countered, “You think I wanted this?” His voice rose, trembling with emotion. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? To believe you knew someone, only to find out they’ve chosen to stand against you?”

    Ariana’s eyes blazed with defiance. “The Divine chose me for this path—not Meredith, not me. I didn’t ask for this war. I didn’t want it.”

    “The Divine?” her words stopping him for a moment. If the Divine stood with her, then who was he fighting for? He shook the thought from his mind he couldn’t let himself believe that. “So that’s the real reason you met with the Divine?,” Cullen snapped, his voice thick with pain and betrayal. “So you chose that path over us? And now we’re here. Fighting each other, because you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

    Her steps slowed as his words cut through her. She stopped, her hands still raised in a defensive stance, her chest heaving from exertion. “I did trust you,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, though her resolve remained intact. “I trusted you to do the right thing. I begged you to take control, Cullen.”

    “It wasn’t that simple” he countered, stepping toward her, his anger barely contained.

    “Does telling yourself that make it easier?” Ariana shot back. Her jaw tightened, and she took a step back, her fingers twitching as though readying for another fight. “You think I wanted this, Cullen? That I wanted to lie to you? To live in the shadows while the man I loved stood on the opposite side of this war? I didn’t have a choice.”

    “You did,” Cullen shouted, his composure finally cracking. “You could have told me! Maker, Ariana, I would have fought for you. With you. But you didn’t even give me the chance.”

    Cullen’s voice cracked, raw and heavy with emotion. The betrayal clawed at him, but beneath the anger was a grief he couldn’t contain. He had imagined standing beside her, fighting for the same cause, but now they were on opposing sides, and the weight of her silence felt like a wound he couldn’t heal.


    Her breath hitched, and for a moment she seemed to consider his words, her gaze locked with his. “I begged you to stand with me. Would knowing who I was have changed your mind?” she asked quietly, the anger in her tone replaced by heartbreak. “Would you have stood with me against Meredith? Against the Order? If you had known it was the White Wolf asking, would that have changed this?”

    Stand with me, please. Her words cut deep, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. The truth was written in his hesitation, in the way his sword fell limply at his side. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been lying to me for years.”

    Ariana’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of their argument, their betrayal, hanging between them. Her voice was softer now but no less resolute. “I never wanted this, Cullen. But I couldn’t stand by and watch innocent people suffer. How could you?”

    “Dammit it all. Do you know I never investigated the transports or the escaped mages that thoroughly. Because you were right.” Cullen sighed “Someone was saving the people I couldn’t.”

    “And yet, none of it mattered.” Ariana’s voice was tinged with pain and resignation “Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment. And you stood by her. Enforced it. Do you really believe this is right?”

    For a moment, he faltered, the conflict in his eyes unmistakable. But his duty-bound resolve pushed him forward. “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. “The order demands the Right be carried out once it’s invoked, and she has the authority to do so.”

    Ariana’s laugh was bitter and hollow, the sound slicing through the chaos around them. “And you call me a liar,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you remember what I told you? Belief without question is dangerous. You are no better than her, Cullen.”

    Their fight wasn’t over, but for now, they could only stare at each other—two people on opposite sides of a war they never wanted to fight.

    Cullen swung his sword again, his movements sharp and unrelenting, but she slipped past him with practiced ease. Her foot caught the back of his leg, forcing him to his knees. She didn’t press the advantage, stepping back instead to give herself space to breathe, her chest heaving from exertion. Her hand pressing her side trying to stem bleeding.

    “Are you really going to kill me, Cullen?” she asked, her voice soft but with an edge he couldn’t ignore. “For her? To simply carry out her orders?”

    In truth, Cullen wasn’t sure why he had pressed the attack. He was angry but he couldn’t kill her. The wound he inflicted earlier was taking its toll. He could see it in her eyes that she was struggling to focus and yet, she kept fighting. In that moment, despite everything, the betrayal, the lies, the secrets… Not only could he not kill her, he needed to save her. He needed her to stop fighting if only long enough to treat her wound. “Ari, please stop this. You’re hurt. You’re bleeding, let me look at it.”

    Ariana was clearly spent, her body trembling from the effort of holding herself together. She dropped to one knee, her hand pressed firmly to her side, staunching the blood that seeped through her fingers. Her other hand rested on her knee, bracing her, keeping her from collapsing entirely. “I guess this is your chance, then,” she said, her tone resigned. “You can be the one to bring down the White Wolf…”

    Cullen crossed the distance between them, kneeling beside her. His hands moved instinctively to put pressure on her injury, and she winced at the added force. The sight of her blood seeping through his fingers was like a punch to the gut. He had done this. He had inflicted this wound. His mind churned with a storm of emotions—guilt, anger, confusion—all swirling around the unshakable truth that he had failed her in every way that mattered.

    She trusts me now? After everything? After I stood by Meredith, after I struck this blow myself? How can she still trust me? The weight of her trust was unbearable, suffocating. She had begged him to stand with her, to do the right thing, and he had failed. Yet here she was, letting him piece her back together.

    “Why couldn’t you trust me enough to tell me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. His words came out harsher than intended, but the ache in his chest demanded answers. Why didn’t you let me fight for you?

    Ariana’s gaze softened, her tears glistening in the dim light. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold them at bay, but one slipped free, tracing a path down her cheek. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the pain. “It was that I loved you too much to force the choices I had made on you, knowing they would go against everything you believed in. But I’m asking you now, again, do the right thing. Protect those who can’t protect themselves. We saved as many as we could.”

    Her words were a blade, cutting deep into the fragile remains of his composure. He removed his hand briefly from her wound, untying the sash around her waist with practiced ease. His hands trembled slightly as he tightened the makeshift bandage around her. “You need a healer, Ari,” he said, his voice softer now, the name slipping out like a quiet prayer.

    Ariana chuckled bitterly, though it was laced with pain. “And where would you suggest I find one right now?” Her tone was dry, almost sardonic, and it stung in its truth. Cullen had no answer—how could he, he had just stood by Meredith.

    Before he could respond, Michael appeared seemingly out of nowhere, crouching next to Ariana. “Get up, Ari,” he said, his voice firm but gentle as he slipped an arm around her to help her to her feet. “We’re done here. The courtyard is almost clear.”

    Cullen’s breath caught. The realization hit him like a hammer blow. Michael… His mind raced as he watched them. He knew. Did he always know?. Every moment, every interaction, every quiet deflection suddenly made sense. Michael had been lying to him for years—hiding Ariana, hiding the truth. The betrayal was staggering, but it paled in comparison to the ache in his chest as he saw how naturally Michael steadied her. Michael had earned her trust despite their history. How blind had he been?

    Ariana’s tears finally spilled over as Michael grabbed her arm to lead her away. She hesitated, breaking free of his grasp. Cullen stood frozen, his thoughts a cacophony of anger, guilt, and heartbreak. Then, without warning, she turned back to him, closed the distance, and wrapped her arms around him. Her lips met his in a kiss that was soft but desperate, her tears mingling with his skin.

    Cullen froze, his breath stolen, but soon he responded in kind. His arms encircled her waist, holding her as though it might anchor them both against the chaos of the world crashing down around them.

    When she pulled away, her eyes met his, raw with pain and longing. “Goodbye, Cullen,” she whispered, her voice breaking, barely audible over the din of the battlefield.

    Before he could speak, before he could stop her, she turned and walked away, Michael by her side. Their figures disappeared into the smoke and shadows, swallowed by the chaos.

    Cullen stood there, his sword lying forgotten on the ground. His heart pounded in his chest, her final words echoing in his mind, relentless and unyielding. He couldn’t stop replaying the look in her eyes, the trust that lingered there even now. She still loved him. Despite everything, she still cared. That thought was a balm and a torment all at once, igniting a fresh wave of guilt and sorrow.

    For the first time in years, Cullen wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing—or if he had just lost everything that truly mattered.

  • Chapter 48 – Not Our Future

    10 – 30 Drakonis – 9:37

    Cullen stood outside Knight-Commander Meredith’s office, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. His thoughts churned as he stared at the worn wooden door, his mind replaying the countless moments that had led him to this point. Each memory brought a fresh wave of doubt and resolve, a battle waged within as he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead. The stakes were clear: his future with Ariana. His breath hitched as he fought to calm the storm raging within, knowing there was no turning back now. The formal request to marry Ariana had been delivered weeks ago, and he knew the conversation awaiting him would be far from pleasant. Still, he was unprepared for the cold fury that awaited him when he stepped inside.

    Meredith set the parchment down on her desk with a deliberate motion, her expression carved from stone. The document bore the formal seal of his office, its contents clearly outlining Cullen’s intentions. “This is… unexpected,” she began, her tone clipped. “Though perhaps I should not be surprised, given your increasing lack of focus in recent years.”

    Cullen clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “Knight-Commander,” he said evenly, “my request is made with full acknowledgment of my duties and the Order’s expectations.”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “A formal request to marry? I had hoped this ‘casual distraction,’ as I generously described it, would have run its course by now. But it seems I have indulged you far too long.”

    “It is not a distraction,” Cullen said, his voice tightening. “Lady Trevelyan—Ariana—is—”

    Meredith cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Enough. Do not delude yourself into believing this is anything more than a lapse in judgment. You know what we are, Knight-Captain. What we sacrifice. This… indulgence… is an affront to everything the Order stands for.”

    Her words struck like a whip, but Cullen kept his expression controlled. “Lady Trevelyan is not a distraction,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a faint edge. “She is—”

    “She is a complication,” Meredith cut in sharply. “One that you have allowed to cloud your judgment and divide your loyalties. This has gone far enough.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching briefly before he forced himself to relax. “With respect, Knight-Commander, my loyalty to the Order has never wavered.”

    “Has it not?” Meredith’s eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why these intercepted mage transports and escapes have become so frequent under your watch. You think I don’t see the connection? Your attention divided, your focus elsewhere—it is no coincidence.”

    The accusation stung, but Cullen stood his ground. “We have investigated all these incidents thouroughly. My relationship with Lady Trevelyan has nothing to do with this. Nor has my focus been elsewhere during these investigations. There’s no eviden–”

    Meredith slammed her hand down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. Cullen’s shoulders tensed involuntarily, the sharp crack a blow against his carefully maintained composure. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenched into fists as he drew in a steadying breath, forcing himself to remain still despite the impulse to react. “Do not speak to me of evidence, Knight-Captain. These mercenaries grow bolder because they sense weakness in the Order. Your weakness.”

    Cullen took a sharp breath, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. He had come here prepared for resistance, but this—this was something else entirely.

    Meredith’s voice turned cold, almost mocking. “You are not the first Templar to seek solace outside the Order, Knight-Captain. But this… romantic delusion you cling to? It is unbecoming of your station. If you have needs, I suggest you do as others do and frequent the Blooming Rose. At least then you would not disgrace yourself with such frivolity.”

    Cullen’s stomach tightened, the venom in her tone cutting deeper than he anticipated. Her words twisted in his mind, igniting a familiar conflict: the relentless duty to the Order and the undeniable pull of his love for Ariana. He could feel the heat rise to his face, not from shame but from a searing anger he struggled to keep in check. How dare she reduce something so profound to a mere indulgence? “Ariana is not some fleeting desire. She is the woman I love, and I will not debase her—or myself—with such comparisons.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her voice lowering to a chilling tone. “Careful, Knight-Captain. Your emotions are showing.”

    For a moment, silence hung between them, the tension so thick it seemed to suffocate the room. Cullen took a deep breath, forcing himself to step back. He couldn’t afford to lose control—not here, not now.

    Meredith rose from her chair, her presence as imposing as the cold steel of her blade. Cullen felt his breath catch, his body stiffening as a wave of unease rippled through him. The weight of her gaze bore down on him, a silent reminder of the power she wielded—and the danger of opposing her. “You need to decide, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice quiet but cutting. “The Order or Lady Trevelyan. Your future cannot include both. She is a weakness.”

    Cullen met her gaze, despite the storm raging within him. The fury and frustration that burned in his chest, clashing with the ache of loyalty he could not shake. Every fiber of his being demanded he push back, but the weight of his oaths and the love he refused to relinquish pulled him in opposing directions, forcing him to maintain a fragile, defiant calm. “That is not a choice you can demand of me,” he said slowly, his voice trembling with suppressed anger, “I will not abandon her.”

    Meredith’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “You mistake my meaning. Consider this your final warning, Knight-Captain. Let go of this foolishness, or I will do it for you.”

    The words hit Cullen like a blow, and for a moment, he stood rooted to the spot. His mind churned with a whirlwind of emotions: fury, dread, and a fierce determination that eclipsed them both. The very thought of Meredith threatening Ariana sent a cold shiver down his spine, but it also stoked the embers of his defiance. His fists clenched at his sides as he forced himself to breathe steadily, knowing that any outward reaction would only give her more ammunition. Yet, beneath the surface, his resolve hardened—he would find a way to protect Ariana, no matter the cost.

    Without another word, Meredith sat back down, dismissing him with a pointed glance at the door. Cullen stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before turning sharply on his heel and walking out.

    As the heavy doors closed behind him, his mind raced. Meredith’s ultimatum loomed over him like a sword poised to fall. But even in the face of her threats, one thought burned brighter than all the rest: I will not let her take this from me. Not Ariana. Not our future.

    For the first time in years, Cullen felt a flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in the Gallows: defiance. It surged through him like a spark in dry tinder, igniting a resolve that hinted at the choices he might soon have to make—choices that could risk everything he held dear.

    ~~~

    The evening air was cool, the fading light casting long shadows along the cobblestone streets of Hightown. Cullen walked beside Ariana, his steps slow and deliberate, his usual measured gait somehow heavier. Ariana stole a glance at him, noting the furrow in his brow and the way his hands occasionally clenched into fists before relaxing again. He was troubled, and while he hadn’t said as much, his silence spoke volumes.

    “Cullen,” Ariana said softly, breaking the silence as they approached the estate. “You’ve been quiet since we left the Gallows. What’s wrong?”

    “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he replied, his voice steady but distant.

    “Don’t do that,” she said, her tone tinged with gentle insistence. “If you’re worried, then I do need to worry. Talk to me.”

    He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he stared at the path ahead. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his voice quieter when he spoke. “As we expected, Meredith has denied my request to marry you.”

    Ariana nodded, unsurprised. They had anticipated as much. “And?” she pressed, sensing there was more.

    Cullen stopped walking, turning to face her. His expression was a mix of frustration and unease, emotions he rarely let show so openly. “It wasn’t just a denial, Ariana. Her tone… it was more than that. It felt like a threat. As if she’s… considering taking action against you.”

    Ariana’s heart tightened, though she kept her expression calm. She wasn’t afraid of Meredith—she had faced worse threats in her life. But the thought of Meredith turning her focus more directly on her was troubling. If Meredith came for her, it would be impossible to hide who she truly was.

    Cullen’s voice softened, his concern evident. “I don’t know what she’s planning, but I won’t let her hurt you. I’ll find a way to stop this, I swear.”

    Ariana placed a hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile despite the turmoil inside her. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy, Cullen. But we’ll face it together. She doesn’t scare me.”

    “You should be scared,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “She’s more dangerous than you realize.”

    “I know exactly how dangerous she is,” Ariana replied firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Besides, I’ve got the Champion of Kirkwall on my side. What’s Meredith got? A shiny sword and an attitude?”

    Cullen’s mouth twitched, his half-hearted chuckle breaking through the tension. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though his voice carried a hint of fondness.

    “And yet, you’re still here,” Ariana quipped, her smirk softening into a reassuring smile.

    He held her gaze for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Let’s just get inside,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the estate.

    They reached the estate doors, the familiar warmth of home beckoning them inside. However, as they stepped into the kitchen, the scene that greeted them stopped Ariana in her tracks.

    Her father, Charles, was seated at the table, his usual calm and dignified presence filling the room. But it was the woman sitting beside him that caught Ariana completely off guard.

    “Mother…” Ariana whispered, instinctively stepping back, pressing herself closer to Cullen. His arm shifted protectively around her, grounding her as her mind raced. The last time she had seen her mother, Elara had tried to take her from Kirkwall by force, barely acknowledging her as more than a disobedient daughter. And yet, here Elara sat, her posture calm, her gaze filled with something Ariana couldn’t quite place.

    Her mother stood there, looking nothing like the woman Ariana had always known. Elara’s elegant posture and noble bearing were still present, but her attire was simpler, more practical—a modest blue gown with soft embroidery at the cuffs, its fabric free of the intricate embellishments Ariana had come to associate with her. It was as if she had shed the armor of formality, allowing a gentler version of herself to emerge. There was a quiet humility about her that Ariana had never seen before. She seemed… human.

    Ariana’s gaze flickered to Isabel, who was standing at the counter with a faint smile. The sight was nearly as unsettling as seeing Elara herself. Were they… chatting? How could these two women, who seemed as different as fire and ice, look so at ease with one another?

    A knot tightened in Ariana’s chest, suspicion prickling at the edges of her thoughts. Her father’s calm smile, Elara’s softened demeanor, and Isabel’s serenity—it all felt wrong. This wasn’t just a casual visit; it couldn’t be. She knew her father would never risk bringing Elara here without good reason. Yet, for the life of her, Ariana couldn’t imagine what that reason could be.

    “Ariana,” Charles said, his voice breaking the silence. He rose from his seat, a warm smile spreading across his face. “You’re home.”

    Ariana’s gaze flickered between her parents, her confusion and frustration swirling. “What’s going on here?” Her voice wavered, her usual sharp edge dulled by the uncertainty pressing against her chest. Was her mother here to undermine her engagement, to weave some scheme that would force her back into a life she had fought so hard to escape?

    Charles glanced at Elara, his smile faltering slightly. “I know I promised no one would visit without your approval, but… I thought this might be an exception.”

    Elara turned to face Ariana fully, her expression soft and hesitant—an almost foreign look on her once-imperious face. “Ariana,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “may I speak with you?”

    Ariana blinked, the words catching her off guard. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had asked her for anything, let alone permission to speak.

    Elara’s gaze softened further, and for the first time in years, there was no trace of judgment or disappointment in her eyes. Only something that looked startlingly like regret. “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but… please.”

    Ariana’s eyes darted back to Isabel, who regarded Elara with an almost serene understanding. Isabel crossed the room, her movements deliberate and calm. She placed a hand on Ariana’s arm, her touch steadying. “It’s alright, my child,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. “You should let her speak. I believe you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

    Ariana hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. Isabel’s reassurance meant everything, but the knot of uncertainty remained. She turned to Cullen, seeking his face, his approval, his guidance.

    Cullen’s hand moved to her cheek, his touch gentle. “Go,” he said softly, his golden eyes filled with quiet understanding. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

    Ariana swallowed hard, her emotions a swirling mix of fear, anger, and fragile hope. She took a tentative step forward, her eyes never leaving her mother’s. Elara extended a hand, her movements slow and unassuming.

    “May I?” Elara asked, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

    Ariana hesitated, her mind racing with memories of a colder, harsher woman. Yet now, the person before her seemed entirely different. Cautiously, she placed her hand in her mother’s, feeling the warmth of her touch. Elara’s fingers closed gently around hers, and for the first time in years, Ariana didn’t pull away.

    Elara led her toward the courtyard, the soft rustle of their footsteps the only sound in the quiet house. Ariana’s mind churned with a storm of emotions. Fear lingered at the edges, a reflexive response to the uncertainty of her mother’s intentions, but it was overshadowed by a cautious curiosity. She struggled to untangle the conflicting feelings of resentment and fragile hope—could her mother truly be different now? Her thoughts flickered to Cullen and Isabel behind her, their quiet encouragement grounding her. Whatever her mother had to say, she resolved to face it with strength, but the question of what lay ahead still sent a chill through her.

    ~~~

    The evening air had taken on a chill as Ariana followed Elara into the courtyard. The soft glow of lanterns lit the garden paths, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Ariana’s hand rested in her mother’s, the gesture foreign and tentative, as though neither woman truly knew what to do with it.

    Elara finally stopped by the fountain at the center of the courtyard, the gentle sound of water filling the silence between them. She released Ariana’s hand, turning to face her daughter fully. For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes searching Ariana’s face as though memorizing every feature.

    Ariana crossed her arms, her stance defensive. “Why are you here, Mother?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with uncertainty. The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring Elara to prove she deserved to be here.

    Elara’s sigh was soft, but it carried the weight of years. Her shoulders sagged, a crack in the facade Ariana had always known. “Because I needed to see you,” she said softly. “I needed to apologize.”

    Ariana blinked, the words striking her like a physical blow. Her mother never apologized. Not for anything.

    “When you were born… you were unexpected,” Elara began, her voice trembling. “But don’t misunderstand—unexpected, not unwanted. You were beautiful, a gift. I loved you more than words could say. But duty demanded I give you up to the Chantry. I thought… it would be easier to prepare myself for that heartbreak right away.” Her voice faltered, and she paused to steady herself. “As the years passed, I told myself it was best to keep my distance, to not let myself love you too deeply… because I knew I wouldn’t survive losing you.”

    “You loved me?” Ariana’s voice was barely a whisper, the disbelief plain in her tone.

    Elara’s eyes filled with pain, and she nodded. “Oh, Ariana… of course I loved you. I still do. I always have.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “I resented your father for building the relationship I had denied myself. It wasn’t fair. And the longer he delayed giving you to the Chantry, the harder it became for me to face you. I buried myself in duty, thinking it was the only way to endure it.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened as anger and sorrow warred within her. “Then why did you treat me like I was a burden?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “Why did it feel like I wasn’t enough?”

    Elara flinched but didn’t retreat. “Because I was wrong,” she said, her voice breaking. “I let my pain cloud everything. I let resentment fester until it was all I could feel. And I was so proud of you, but I never let myself show it. I thought… I thought it was too late.”

    Ariana looked away, her breath hitching as tears blurred her vision. “Why now?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “Why are you telling me this now?”

    Elara took a step closer, her voice raw. “Because I’ve had time to see how much I’ve lost. I’ve spent years pretending I was right, but I wasn’t. I see that now. And I don’t want to lose you again—not without trying to make it right.”

    The raw sincerity in Elara’s words cracked something deep within Ariana. The anger and hurt she had carried for years began to loosen, replaced by something fragile and unfamiliar: understanding. “You really were proud of me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

    Elara nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “So proud,” she said softly. “But I let my pride and my pain keep me from telling you. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

    Ariana’s defenses crumbled as her arms dropped to her sides. She searched her mother’s face, looking for any trace of insincerity but found none. Slowly, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Elara, holding her tightly.

    Elara’s breath hitched as she returned the embrace, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, my dear girl, I love you so much.”

    When they finally pulled apart, Elara guided Ariana to sit on the edge of the fountain. “Are you happy, Ariana?” she asked gently. “Is this the life you want?”

    Ariana swallowed hard, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Yes,” she said firmly. “This is what I want. Cullen is what I want. I love him.”

    Elara’s smile was small but genuine, her voice soft. “Then let me help you.” she said tentatively.

    Ariana stared at her mother, stunned. “Help me?”

    “With the wedding,” Elara repeated, her gaze dropping briefly to the ring on Ariana’s finger. “I would love nothing more than to help you make this everything you want it to be. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at the earnestness in her mother’s voice. Memories of the woman who had ruled her life with iron expectations surfaced, but they felt distant now, like shadows of another life. She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Whatever I want?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

    Elara nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Of course, my darling. It’s your wedding. It can be as simple or as grand as you wish. I’ll make it happen.”

    Ariana hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. Her eyes flickered to her mother, to the tears glistening in Elara’s eyes, and then back to the ring on her finger. She took a steadying breath and finally nodded.

    “Alright,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet determination. “Let’s plan a wedding.”

    ~~~

    As soon as Ariana and Elara disappeared into the courtyard, Cullen’s expression darkened. The weight he had been carrying since his conversation with Meredith seemed to press even heavier on his shoulders. Isabel, who had been watching him closely, leaned casually against the counter, her sharp eyes never leaving his face.

    “Alright, my boy,” Isabel said, her voice calm but pointed. “Out with it. What’s wrong?”

    “It’s nothing,” Cullen replied quickly, his tone too rehearsed, too dismissive.

    Isabel arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? What is it?”

    Cullen exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a moment, he considered deflecting again, but Isabel’s piercing gaze made it clear she wouldn’t let it go. Finally, he shook his head and relented.

    “Meredith,” he began, his voice strained, “has denied my request to marry Ariana.”

    Isabel nodded, unsurprised. “Of course, she did. We knew she would.”

    Cullen hesitated, his fists clenching briefly at his sides. “It’s more than that. Her tone was… threatening. She called Ariana a distraction and made it clear that if I didn’t put an end to this, she would.”

    The words had barely left his mouth when Charles stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His calm demeanor shattered, replaced by a sharp, protective fury that filled the room. “She what?” he demanded, his voice a dangerous low growl.

    Cullen blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “She—she implied she would take action if I didn’t break it off,” he said cautiously.

    Charles’ eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “No one threatens my daughter,” he said, each word deliberate, a quiet storm building beneath his measured tone. “Not your Knight-Commander, not anyone.”

    The weight of Charles’ words settled in the room like a heavy cloak. Isabel’s smirk vanished, her expression hardening as she crossed her arms. “Sounds like she’s finally overstepped,” Isabel remarked coldly. “She doesn’t get to make this personal.”

    Charles’ hands rested on the table, his knuckles whitening as he leaned forward. “Cullen,” he said, his voice still low but simmering with barely contained rage, “understand this: we will not let her harm Ariana. If Meredith so much as breathes a word of threat again, I will take it directly to the Grand Clerics. I will see her stripped of her authority if that’s what it takes.”

    Cullen hesitated, his instinct to bear the burden himself clashing with the fierce resolve in Charles’ voice. “Charles, I—”

    “No,” Charles interrupted, straightening and pointing a finger at Cullen, though his tone softened slightly. “You’ve already carried too much. Let us handle this. I’ll call in every favor, every connection our family has to the Chantry. This ends now.”

    Isabel nodded in agreement, her voice steady. “He’s right, Cullen. Meredith’s playing a dangerous game. Let Charles use his influence—you don’t have to do this alone.”

    Cullen’s initial instinct to protest faltered as the reality of their words sank in. For years, he had carried the weight of his responsibilities alone, but now, standing before Charles and Isabel, he felt the cracks in his armor begin to mend. Slowly, he nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If you think it will help…”

    “It will,” Charles said firmly. “And Cullen, know this: we’re not just fighting for Ariana. You’re part of this family now. Elara and I will do everything in our power to protect both of you. And trust me, Meredith will regret crossing Elara if she tries.”

    Cullen swallowed hard, the words settling heavily but warmly in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear them until that moment. For so long, he had carried the fear that Ariana’s noble lineage would forever cast a shadow over their future together. But here, now, the doubts began to fade, replaced by a quiet, steady belief that this was where he belonged.

    “Thank you,” he said softly, his gratitude genuine.

    Charles placed a reassuring hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “We’ll face this together.”

    Isabel, lightening the mood, smirked again. “And don’t forget to eat. You’ll need your strength if we’re going to put that Knight-Commander in her place.”

    Despite the tension, Cullen allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t standing on the edge of a cliff alone.

    ~~~

    As Ariana and Elara stepped back into the kitchen, the warmth of the room felt like a stark contrast to the cool courtyard. Yet, the somber expressions on Charles, Isabel, and Cullen’s faces quickly dispelled that comfort. The tension in the air was palpable, and Ariana’s brows furrowed as she glanced between them.

    “I see you must have heard about Meredith then?” she quipped, her tone lighter than the mood demanded.

    “You knew?” Charles asked, surprised.

    Ariana walked over to her father, giving him a quick hug, realizing she hadn’t greeted him yet. “Cullen just told me when we were walking back,” she explained.

    “Meredith? What happened with the Knight-Commander?” Elara interjected, the only one unaware of the situation.

    Before Cullen or Ariana could respond, Charles answered, his voice low and firm. “It appears the Knight-Commander believes it her place to threaten our daughter, Elara.”

    “She what?” Elara’s tone sharpened, her composure unyielding as her gaze flicked to Cullen.

    Charles, his smirk faint but deliberate, folded his arms. “The Knight-Commander has forgotten her place, and it’s time someone reminded her.”

    Ariana caught the flicker of satisfaction in her father’s eyes, and for the first time, she saw a partnership between her parents, a natural rhythm she hadn’t known existed.

    “Well, then,” Elara said calmly, her voice pointed. “It may be time someone reminded her of her station. I will send word to Lord Chancellor Orrick of Tantervale and Lord Vael of Starkhaven in the morning. For now, let’s forget this business and celebrate.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but smile. For once, her nobility didn’t feel like a curse or a weight to be borne, but a boon. She walked back to Cullen, wrapping her arms around him. He returned the gesture, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Are you alright, love?” he asked softly, his voice meant only for her.

    Ariana nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

    “Come, sit down, all of you,” Isabel interrupted, breaking the moment. “Dinner is almost ready.”

    As they all moved to the table, Isabel began setting it with a practiced ease, placing dishes of steaming food in the center. She was about to excuse herself when Elara’s voice stopped her.

    “You’re not staying for dinner, Isabel?” Elara asked, her tone surprisingly gentle.

    Isabel blinked, caught off guard. “My Lady?”

    Elara tilted her head slightly, a small smile gracing her lips. “Please. I would be grateful if you joined us.”

    Ariana’s shock was mirrored in Isabel’s hesitant glance toward her. “I should see to Emma,” Isabel began, her voice cautious.

    “Then bring Emma back with you,” Elara insisted, her sincerity disarming. “There’s room at this table for both of you.”

    Isabel hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. “As you wish, my Lady,” she said before disappearing into the hallway.

    “Emma is Isabel’s daughter, is that correct?” Elara asked, her tone curious, not condescending.

    “She is…” Ariana responded cautiously, debating whether this was the time to press the issue of Mark’s indiscretion.

    Elara’s expression shifted to one of pure joy, a wholly unexpected reaction as far as Ariana was concerned. “I have been looking forward to meeting my granddaughter,” Elara said warmly.

    “Elara?” Charles’ voice held a note of alarm, his own surprise barely masked.

    Elara smirked, though it lacked her usual edge. “Oh, Charles, don’t look so shocked. That fool of a son you raised won’t keep me from meeting her. And Maker knows, his wife will probably never give him an heir,” she said in the most noble tone Ariana could recall. “And even if she does, it likely won’t be a Trevelyan…”

    The table fell into stunned silence, everyone taken aback by Elara’s uncharacteristic warmth and the admission that followed.

    Before anyone could respond, Isabel returned, carrying Emma in her arms.

    Elara almost squealed in delight as she rose from her seat, rushing to meet Isabel. “Oh, is this my lovely granddaughter? She is precious! May I?” she asked, stretching her arms out.

    Isabel, still visibly stunned, nodded, handing Emma over.

    The look of joy on Elara’s face was almost too much for Ariana. She started laughing—whole-hearted, unrestrained laughter that echoed through the kitchen. Relief, joy, and something else she couldn’t quite name washed over her, and for the first time, the weight she always carried seemed lighter.

    Ariana’s laughter drew everyone’s attention, their stunned faces now turned toward her. Cullen leaned in, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

    Before she could answer, a familiar voice called from the hallway. “I could hear Ari laughing all the way down the corridor, what’s goin—” Michael froze as he stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Charles and Elara. “Father… Mother?”

    Ariana met his wide-eyed stare and simply shrugged, motioning for him to sit. As he moved hesitantly toward the table, Ariana took a moment to take it all in. Her family, fragmented and broken for so long, now felt as whole as it ever could. There was a long road ahead, and many wounds still needed healing, but for the first time, Ariana felt hope that they could make it.

    ~~~

    Over the next few weeks, Ariana’s parents stayed in Kirkwall, their presence both comforting and surreal. Charles was relentless in his efforts, petitioning the White Spire with unwavering determination. His days were spent drafting letters and meeting with influential figures, leveraging every connection to challenge Meredith’s decree and expose her overreach. Elara, meanwhile, immersed herself in the wedding preparations. Her sharp edges seemed to have softened; she deferred to Ariana and Cullen’s wishes at every turn, determined that the event would reflect their vision, not her own ambitions.

    For Cullen, the details of the wedding seemed inconsequential compared to the promise they had made to each other. Yet, he indulged Ariana’s newfound joy in planning with her mother. The moments spent discussing dinner menus or debating music were a welcome relief to the weight they had both been carrying for years. Watching Elara open up, particularly to Isabel, was unexpected but comforting. The two women, once opposites in every sense, now shared stories over tea, their laughter filling the halls in a way Ariana had never imagined possible.

    Isabel regaled Elara with tales of Ariana’s childhood—scraped knees from climbing trees she wasn’t supposed to, or the time she had stolen away to watch a tournament, disguised as a page. These stories, met with Elara’s laughter and occasional tears, painted a portrait of a family Ariana had never fully believed could exist. For the first time, the fractures in their family seemed to mend, revealing something whole and unbroken beneath the surface.

    Yet, amidst the newfound warmth, Ariana couldn’t shake the restlessness that lingered in her soul. She adored Cullen, loved him in a way that felt woven into her very being. But the life of Ariana Trevelyan—the noblewoman, the soon-to-be wife, the daughter of a prominent Free Marches family—felt distant and unfamiliar. She was certain, now more than ever, that the White Wolf was who she truly was. Who she was meant to be. Her heart tugged by every report, every mage saved, every successful operation, or whisper of injustice brought to her by the Silver Rangers.

    Today, however, wasn’t about the White Wolf. It was Emma’s birthday—her sixth—and for the first time, they were hosting a proper party. The estate buzzed with life, the scent of sweet cakes and fresh bread wafting through the air as Isabel oversaw the preparations. Emma’s laughter echoed from the gardens, where Charles and Elara had organized a treasure hunt, their excitement mirrored by Cullen, who helped hide the clues.

    Ariana lingered in the doorway, her arms crossed as she leaned against the frame. She watched Isabel’s deft movements in the kitchen, her parents’ playful joy with Emma, and the quiet happiness that seemed to settle over the house like a warm blanket. A soft smile tugged at her lips, yet beneath it lay a faint ache she couldn’t quite name—a longing for something more, or perhaps a mourning for what she was slowly leaving behind.

    The sound of footsteps behind her brought her back to the present. Before she could turn, Cullen’s arms wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His presence was grounding, a steady reminder of the life they were building together.

    “Are you happy?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with hesitation.

    Ariana chuckled, leaning back against him. “Of course,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “Why do you ask?”

    Cullen hesitated, his gaze fixed on the lively scene before them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just want to be sure.”

    Ariana turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his. “Sure about what?”

    He exhaled, the question heavy on his tongue. “Have you found who you are? Did you find what was missing?”

    The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade. Her thoughts flashed to the conversation they had shared years ago, when she first began realizing she was losing herself. She forced a small smile, her voice steady but thoughtful.

    “What I’ve found,” she said carefully, “is that maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe it’s never just one thing you find; maybe it’s about the journey.”

    She turned fully in his arms, her hands resting on his chest as she searched his gaze. “Cullen, you are my life,” she said firmly, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over his tunic. “And I’m not missing anything.”

    The truth settled between them, fragile yet unshakable. Ariana felt the pull of the White Wolf, the endless call to protect and fight, but she also knew where her heart lay. If a choice ever had to be made, it would be Cullen. She could never walk away from him, not truly.

    Cullen studied her for a long moment, as if trying to glimpse the depths of her soul. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises and unwavering devotion. Ariana responded without hesitation, pouring every ounce of her love into the embrace.

    For now, the warmth of the estate wrapped around them, shielding them from the chaos that loomed beyond its walls. But even as laughter and celebration filled the air, the undercurrent of tension was undeniable. Whispers traveled swiftly in Kirkwall’s shadows, plans unfolding far beyond their control.

    Ariana didn’t see the storm brewing on the horizon, nor the challenges that would soon test everything they held dear. But in that moment, amidst the fleeting peace of their shared life, she held onto the hope that love and resilience could withstand even the fiercest trials.

  • Chapter 42 – Not Giving Up

    27 Justinian – 2 Solace 9:34

    The warm glow of candlelight filled Ariana’s bedroom, casting soft, flickering shadows on the stone walls. Beyond the open window, Kirkwall stirred restlessly, the distant hum of Lowtown’s bustling streets blending with the faint clatter of waves against the harbor. The city never truly slept; its unease was a living, breathing thing, threading its way into every corner of her mind.

    Ariana sat at her desk, her quill hovering above the parchment as her thoughts raced faster than she could capture them. The list before her felt more like a confession than a strategy: quiet plans to monitor Michael, to guide him toward the Rangers without him realizing her hand in it. Subtle ways to support Cullen’s efforts within the Gallows, shielding him from Meredith’s scrutiny while ensuring he didn’t bear the full weight of her wrath. It was all delicate and precarious, and each line on the page felt like another strand tightening around her throat.

    Her gaze flicked to the window, where the spires of Kirkwall loomed like silent sentinels, jagged against the night sky. The Gallows, in particular, stood out, its dark silhouette a constant reminder of the fight that still lay ahead. Meredith’s iron grip, Michael’s growing disillusionment, Cullen’s growing frustrations weighed on her like stones in her chest.

    Ariana sighed, leaning back in her chair as her fingers drummed softly against the desk. What would he think if he knew the truth? The thought gnawed at her, each scenario more damning than the last. She couldn’t bear the thought of him turning away, of his love turning to contempt.

    She rose, her movements slow and deliberate, as if carrying the weight of her secrets. She gathered the scattered papers, sliding them into the drawer before extinguishing the candles one by one. The room plunged into shadows, but the faint light from the window kept the darkness at bay. The bed beckoned, but as she slipped beneath the covers, she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily.

    It had been weeks since Cullen had stayed the night, his visits to the estate increasingly sporadic. The investigation into the intercepted transport had consumed much of his time, but she knew that wasn’t the only reason. Distance had crept between them, unspoken and heavy, and it was her doing. She had built the walls between them, brick by brick, with every half-truth and omission.

    She curled onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter as her hand brushed against his side of the bed. The faint scent of him lingered, a bittersweet comfort that made her chest tighten. If he knew everything… would he leave? Would he hate me? The questions haunted her, their answers as unreachable as the stars outside her window.

    The storm in her mind raged on until, eventually, exhaustion claimed her. Even in sleep, her dreams were restless, haunted by shadows and whispers. She clung to the faint trace of Cullen’s presence beside her, a fragile tether to the one thing she couldn’t bear to lose.

    ~~~

    As Cullen stepped inside, the house was silent. He hadn’t intended to come this late; some part of him knew he should have stayed in the Gallows. And yet, the weight of the last few weeks had become unbearable. Meredith’s relentless scrutiny, the investigation that seemed to go nowhere—it all pressed down on him, suffocating and unrelenting. But the thought of Ariana… she was the only thing that kept him steady.

    The lanterns had long since burned low, leaving only the shadows to greet him. The quiet creak of the door closing behind him was a stark contrast to the chaos that seemed ever-present in his life. Piece by piece, he shed his armor—each buckle, each strap finally lifting a weight he hadn’t realized he felt. His shoulders ached, his body was exhausted, but more than anything, he felt a weariness deep in his bones that no amount of rest seemed to fix—at least not when he was alone.

    The weight of the day clung to him, heavy and unrelenting, but the thought of seeing her—just her—made the burden feel lighter, if only for a moment.

    He moved through the familiar halls, his steps slow and deliberate as he made his way to her room. The door creaked softly as he opened it, and the sight before him made his chest tighten. Ariana was curled on his side of the bed, her hair spilling across the pillow like dark silk. The soft rise and fall of her breath was the only sound, her face peaceful in sleep. She missed him. That much was clear in the simple act of claiming his side.

    Quietly, Cullen slipped onto the bed with practiced ease. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, and though he tried not to disturb her, Ariana stirred faintly, turning toward him.

    “You’re home,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. Her eyes didn’t open fully, but she shifted closer, her hand brushing against his chest as though to confirm he was really there. “I missed you.”

    Home. It wasn’t a place, it never had been. It was her.

    It wasn’t just the words that undid him, but the way she said them—quiet, honest, wanting. The unspoken meaning settled between them like a whisper: I missed you, I need you.

    Cullen swallowed hard, his exhaustion fading into the background. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as he breathed her in. “I missed you too,” he replied softly, though the words felt insufficient. He pressed another kiss—this time at her temple, trailing lower to her cheek.

    Ariana tilted her head up to meet him, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was far too deliberate for someone who was half-asleep. Cullen smiled faintly against her mouth, his hand rising to cradle her jaw. “You are supposed to be sleeping,” he teased gently, the tone of his voice husky now.

    She opened her eyes just enough to look at him, the faintest glint of mischief in their hazel depths. “I was but you’re here now.”

    There was no hesitation in the way she reached for him, pulling him down into another kiss—this one deeper, lingering. Cullen groaned softly, the sound vibrating in his chest as he braced himself above her. Ariana’s hands slipped beneath his tunic, her fingers skimming his skin with a tenderness that set him alight.

    “Are you sure?” he breathed against her lips, though he already knew the answer. She responded by tugging him closer, her legs shifting beneath the blankets to make room for him.

    “I wouldn’t have said I missed you if I wasn’t,” she murmured, her words barely a whisper, but they sparked something deep within him.

    He didn’t need more encouragement. 

    He pulled back just enough to rid himself of the last remaining barriers between them—his tunic, his trousers—discarding them with a kind of hurried care. Ariana watched him, her expression soft and knowing, her lips curved in a faint smile that left him breathless. 

    “Have I told you how much I adore you?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned down to kiss her again. 

    “Not enough,” she teased, though her breath hitched as his mouth moved to her neck. 

    Cullen took his time with her, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He kissed her slowly, reverently, tasting the skin of her throat, her shoulder, the hollow just beneath her ear where she shuddered at the touch. Ariana’s hands responded in kind, exploring every part of his body—sliding down his back, tracing old scars, anchoring him to her. 

    The room felt warmer now, the blanket forgotten, tangled around their legs as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm. Every touch was a question; every sigh, every moan, an answer. He memorized every part of her again, as though it was the first time, marveling at every sound she made, every way her body responded to him. 

    Cullen had spent much of his life holding himself back—guarding his emotions, his desires. But with her, he could drop his guard, he didn’t have to hold back. She unraveled him piece by piece, and he relished every moment of it. 

    As the night wore on, they found themselves tangled together beneath the sheets, the room still dim but filled with the sound of their breathing. Cullen fell onto his back, one arm curled around her shoulders as she moved to rest her head against his chest. Her fingers tracing lazy circles against his skin, her breathing soft and steady. 

    Cullen pressed a kiss to her hair, his lips lingering there as his heart slowed. How did I ever find this? he wondered. How did he—a man who has seen so much darkness—come to deserve something this pure, this good?

    Ariana shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. “You seem quiet,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. “What are you thinking?”

    Cullen smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That I love you,” he replied honestly. 

    Her lips curved, and she pressed a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I love you too.” 

    Cullen closed his eyes, running his fingers through her hair absentmindedly as sleep pulled them both under. The world outside may still be chaos, but for now—for this moment—he had everything he needed. 

    And he would never take it for granted.

    ~~~

    Ariana woke to the soft light filtering through the windows, warming the room and illuminating the faint shadows of morning. Cullen’s hand rested against her shoulder, his fingers moving in slow, absentminded circles. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was awake; the tension in his touch was enough to give him away.

    “I can feel you thinking,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep but tinged with affection. A faint, teasing smile tugged at her lips as she nestled closer to him.

    Cullen’s hand stilled briefly before resuming its gentle motion. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of unspoken burdens. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t—”

    “Stop,” Ariana interrupted, her fingers trailing lightly over his chest, her touch both reassuring and insistent. “You’re not a burden, Cullen. Talk to me.”

    For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with everything left unsaid. Cullen’s breathing was steady, but she could feel the conflict in him—the way his heart beat just a little faster beneath her touch. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, hesitant, as if each word pained him.

    “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m putting you in danger by being with you,” he admitted, his tone barely above a whisper. “Meredith… she’s focused on you, and I wonder if it would stop if…” He trailed off, unable to finish, the words lodging in his throat like a stone.

    Ariana’s chest tightened, the thought of him pulling away cutting deeper than she’d expected. Her fingers stilled against his skin before she shifted to look up at him, her hand gently tilting his face toward hers. His brow furrowed, the lines of worry etched deeply into his features.

    “I’m not afraid of Meredith,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath the surface. “And I won’t give you up that easily. Don’t even think about it.”

    His eyes searched hers, flickering with doubt and something softer—something more vulnerable. “You deserve better than this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt. “Better than being targeted, better than… me.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at the self-recrimination in his tone. Without hesitation, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce, a silent declaration of everything she couldn’t put into words. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, holding him there as if to anchor them both.

    “You’re wrong,” she whispered against his lips, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re exactly who I need. I didn’t let a Blight take you from me; I’m certainly not letting Meredith do it.”

    Cullen exhaled shakily, his arms wrapping tightly around her as if trying to quiet his doubts. He pulled her close, their bodies entwined as they settled back into the pillows. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a fragile comfort, a reminder of what she was fighting to protect.

    But as she lay there, her head resting against his chest, her mind couldn’t help but wander to the truth she couldn’t say aloud: He’s right. Letting him go would be easier… for both of us. But I can’t.

    ~~~

    Ariana found herself grinning as she watched Cullen sip his coffee across the table. These mornings, rare as they were, had become her solace. She wished more than anything she could be candid with him. She wondered what it would be like to wake him up at dawn with her, share every part of her life with him, and take him down to the training area of the warehouse.

    Whenever they sparred together, she loved it. He was one of the few people who could genuinely challenge her. Her thoughts drifted further, wondering what her life could look like if he could be part of all of it. If they could retreat to the quiet of the Ranger manor outside Redcliffe. Would he even want to live that life? Away from the Order? Would it be enough for him?

    “Can I ask what you’re thinking about?” Cullen’s voice broke through her thoughts, drawing her attention back to the present.

    She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “How much I love you,” she admitted, her voice tender but tinged with longing.

    Before Cullen could respond, Isabel appeared in the doorway, “You’ve got a visitor,” she announced, her tone brisk but curious.

    Ariana and Cullen exchanged glances, their surprise mutual. “Who?” Ariana asked, rising from her seat.

    Isabel stepped aside, and Riley strode into the room, her fiery red hair catching the light. Ariana’s eyes widened, her breath catching for a moment before she bolted toward her, pulling Riley into a tight hug.

    “Riley,” she greeted, her voice steady despite the swirl of emotions. Relief, surprise, and mild panic danced in her chest.

    Riley stiffened briefly before hugging her back, a grin tugging at her lips. “Didn’t think I’d see you this happy to see me, Wol—” she caught herself, her voice dropping just before finishing the nickname. Riley’s sharp gaze flicked briefly to Cullen, assessing him.

    Ariana pulled back, her smile warm but laced with caution. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you to Kirkwall?”

    “Couldn’t stay away,” Riley replied, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Thought it was time I saw what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, though her stomach churned. “Sit,” she said, motioning toward the table. “Breakfast is better with company.” She gestured toward Cullen, who had been watching the exchange closely. “Riley, this is Knight-Captain Cullen.”

    Cullen stood, his movements deliberate as he extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

    Riley’s handshake was firm, her gaze unwavering. “So, you’re the Templar,” she said, her tone carrying a faint edge of amusement.

    Ariana’s cheeks burned as she shot Riley a warning look. “Riley…”

    “What? It’s true,” Riley said with a smirk, glancing back at Cullen. “This one dragged me all over Ferelden and Orlais after the Blight. She wouldn’t say much, but I knew she was looking for someone.”

    Cullen’s expression softened, though his wariness didn’t entirely fade. “And you figured it out?”

    Riley shrugged, her tone light but calculated. “Wasn’t hard. Our first stop was Lake Calenhad. Not much there except a Circle, so I figured it had to be a Templar. She never seemed the mage type.”

    Ariana groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maker help me.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, his earlier tension easing just enough for Ariana to catch the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “You could have just told her.”

    “She’s stubborn,” Riley quipped, earning a sharp look from Ariana.

    “I take it you didn’t come all this way just to embarrass me,” Ariana said, her tone playful but firm as she tried to steer the conversation back on track.

    Riley chuckled, finally taking a seat. “Not entirely,” she admitted. “But it’s a benefit.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened slightly as he met Riley’s gaze. “You’ve been through a lot together, from the sounds of it.”

    “You could say that,” Riley replied, her tone neutral but pointed. “She’s worth it, though.”

    Cullen didn’t respond immediately, but his posture relaxed slightly. “I don’t doubt that,” he said at last, his voice softening as his eyes flicked to Ariana.

    As breakfast continued, Ariana couldn’t help but notice the subtle shifts in Cullen’s demeanor. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes flicked to Riley often, as though trying to piece together her connection to Ariana. Ariana kept the conversation light, carefully steering away from anything that might raise more questions, though she felt the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

    When Cullen finally stood to leave, his gaze lingered on Ariana. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, his tone softer now.

    Ariana smiled, her heart squeezing at the question. “Of course.”

    The moment he was gone, Riley leaned back in her chair, her smirk returning. “Well, he’s not bad to look at.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “And you’re insufferable. Now, why are you really here?”

    Riley’s expression turned serious, her teasing facade dropping. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, Wolf.”

    ~~~

    The narrow streets of Hightown stretched before Cullen as he made his way back to the Gallows. The early morning light cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cobblestones did little to quiet the storm in his mind.

    He exhaled sharply, Riley’s words still ringing in his ears: She’s worth it, though.

    His jaw clenched as the implications of their conversation weighed heavily on him. Riley wasn’t just a friend. That much was clear. Her presence, her demeanor—everything about her hinted at something more, something calculated. It was in the way she moved, her careful choice of words, her sharp eyes that missed nothing. She wasn’t an ordinary traveler or a simple companion from Ariana’s past. No, Riley was trained, deliberate. She had the bearing of someone used to the weight of responsibility, someone who had seen battle. A Ranger, no doubt.

    The thought made Cullen’s chest tighten. Ariana had admitted to knowing the Rangers and even having friends among them. Still, her connection to them had always been a source of unease for him. His instinct was to distrust them—mercenaries who worked in shadows, answering to no one. Yet, as much as his Templar training demanded he view them as little more than opportunists, there was something about Riley that unsettled that belief.

    She’s worth it, though.

    That simple statement carried a weight Cullen hadn’t been prepared for. It wasn’t just loyalty—it was conviction. Riley believed in Ariana and cared for her deeply. That much was undeniable. And for the first time, Cullen wondered if he’d been too quick to judge the Rangers. If they had indeed been there for Ariana during the Blight, if they had protected her, then how could he dismiss them entirely?

    His thoughts shifted to Riley’s other comment: This one dragged me all over Ferelden and Orlais after the Blight. She wouldn’t say much, but I knew she was looking for someone.

    A surge of guilt swept through him. Ariana had been searching for him. She had endured the aftermath of the Blight and traveled dangerous roads, all in the hopes of finding him. And Riley had been with her through it all. Protecting her. Supporting her. Ensuring she wasn’t alone.

    That realization settled heavily in Cullen’s chest, though it brought with it an odd sense of relief. Ariana hadn’t been alone. She’d had people who cared for her and stood by her when he hadn’t been there. That didn’t erase the regret of not being by her side during those years, but it softened the edges of his guilt.

    Still, the question remained: Could he trust the Rangers? Could he trust Riley?

    Cullen’s brow furrowed as he rounded a corner, the Gallows now visible in the distance. His instincts told him to be cautious, to remain vigilant. But his heart… His heart clung to the image of Ariana safe, cared for, and alive. If the Rangers had been the ones to ensure that, then perhaps he could tolerate their presence, if only for her sake.

    Meredith’s scrutiny of Ariana loomed in his mind, a constant source of dread. He couldn’t always be there to protect her, not with Meredith’s watchful eyes narrowing on both of them. But Riley’s presence shifted something in his perspective. If the Rangers valued Ariana as much as Riley’s words suggested, perhaps he wasn’t alone in ensuring her safety. Perhaps they could protect her in the ways he couldn’t.

    His grip on his sword tightened as he crossed the bridge to the Gallows. The tension in his chest didn’t fully dissipate, but the weight of his fears felt slightly lighter. He would never fully trust the Rangers—he couldn’t, not with their secretive methods and loose allegiances. But knowing they cared for Ariana, that they might shield her from Meredith’s growing obsession, made accepting their presence in her life easier.

    So long as Ariana wasn’t working with them, he could accept her having friends among the Rangers. Knowing she had people who valued her, who would protect her as fiercely as he wanted to, eased some of his fears. It didn’t erase his distrust, but it made it bearable.

    And that, for now, was enough.

    ~~~

    “So…Riley…not that I don’t trust you, but…who’s in charge back home?” Ariana asked, her tone light but edged with genuine curiosity. Her fingers traced the rim of her tea cup as she studied her lieutenant.

    Riley leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with an easy grin. “Don’t worry, I made sure everything back in Redcliffe is in good hands. The Vanguard have really stepped up since you’ve been gone.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips. “I see,” she said dryly. “So…you’re telling me I promoted a few people without even realizing it?”

    Riley laughed, her voice carrying its usual warmth. “In title only, Wolf. They were already doing the job, you just made it official. Besides, I told Isabel about it. Did she forget to mention it to you?”

    Ariana let out a laugh, shaking her head. “She probably thought it was an administrative issue that didn’t need my attention. And honestly, she’s probably right. It’s fine. So…who’s running the manor?”

    Riley straightened, her grin shifting into something more practical. “I left Malcolm in charge of the manor and the big-picture tactical plans. He’s got a good head for strategy, and the rest of the Vanguard, that aren’t here, are leading their own squads now.”

    “Malcolm?” Ariana repeated with a chuckle. “I hope he hasn’t started running drills in the dining room again. I’ll never forget the time we almost lost a chandelier.”

    Riley smirked, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Oh, you know him. Probably has the whole place running like a barracks by now. But it’s better than the alternative. And hey, it’ll toughen up any new recruits. Speaking of… we’re helping Templars defect now?” the confusion on Riley’s face evident

    Ariana realized that she really hadn’t sent word ahead “Well, that’s part of what we need to talk about. Things in Kirkwall aren’t good, Riley. But we’ll get into it more later. I think I need help explaining the full extent of what we’re up against.”

    “Alright, Wolf. You know I trust you but… this is dangerous territory…” Riley said knowing she was stating the obvious. “Speaking of dangerous… You want to tell me how in the blazes you almost got yourself killed?”

    Ariana winced. She’d expected this. If anything, she was only surprised Riley hadn’t arrived sooner. “I… horde of rampaging Qunari?” Her answer sounded more like a question, and she knew it wouldn’t satisfy Riley.

    Riley’s expression hardened, her voice like a blade. “Rampaging Qunari? And where exactly were they rampaging?”

    “The docks,” Ariana admitted with a sigh. “Cullen’s position was about to fall, and then the Qunari would’ve taken the city, so… I had to do something.”

    Riley shook her head, frustration and guilt etched into her features. “You almost died saving Cullen? Is that the short version?”

    Ariana buried her face in her hands, unable to withstand Riley’s glare.

    “You can’t keep doing this, Wolf,” Riley said, her tone softer but no less serious. “One day, you’re going to run out of luck, and I’m not ready to lose you.”

    Ariana looked up, offering a sheepish smile. “I thought you’d be impressed with my strategy.”

    Riley huffed, leaning back in her chair. “This conversation isn’t over.”

    The tension eased, and Riley’s grin softened, replaced by a look of determination. “Lay it on me. What’s going on?”

    Ariana hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the door as if ensuring no one could overhear. Then she began to speak, her voice low but steady. She explained everything—the challenges in Kirkwall, Meredith’s interference, Michael’s unexpected arrival, and the growing strain of their operation. Riley listened intently, her sharp green eyes never leaving Ariana’s face.

    When Ariana finished, Riley sat back, her expression unreadable for a moment before she let out a low whistle. “Well,” she said, cracking a grin, “looks like I got here just in time. You’ve really gotten yourself in deep this time, huh?”

    Ariana gave her a pointed look but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You could say that.”

    “Good thing I like a challenge,” Riley said, clapping her hands together. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get to work.”

    “Alright then,” Ariana said, glancing at Riley with a knowing smirk. “So…do you want a day off, or are you ready to get to work?”

    Riley scoffed, crossing her arms. “What, you think I’ve gone soft since you left?”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “Of course not. Just making sure. You’re going to find Kirkwall is a dangerous place.” She gestured toward her room. “Let me get dressed, then. There are some people I want you to meet.”

    ~~~

    A short while later, they headed to the Hanged Man. Ariana wanted Riley to meet Varric and Hawke. As they entered the bustling tavern, Ariana gave Corff a knowing look. Without needing to ask, he nodded toward Varric’s suite. She motioned for him to bring up a bottle of wine, which he acknowledged with a nod before she and Riley made their way upstairs.

    Peeking into Varric’s suite, Ariana was pleased to find exactly the two people she needed. Varric and Hawke were lounging at the table, a pair of half-empty glasses between them, mid-conversation. The atmosphere was relaxed, but the sharpness in Hawke’s eyes betrayed that their conversation had likely been more serious moments before.

    “Do either of you ever get any work done?” Ariana teased, stepping inside with a grin. “I’ve yet to walk in here without finding you both sitting around.”

    Varric looked up first, his grin widening. “Ah, pup,” he said, raising his glass in mock toast. “What can I say? It’s hard work keeping the city in one piece.”

    Hawke leaned back in her chair, smirking. “We make it look easy.”

    Varric’s eyes shifted to Riley, his curiosity evident. “Who’s your friend?”

    Ariana closed the door behind her and turned to face them, gesturing for Riley to take a seat at the table. “This,” she smirked, “is First Lieutenant Riley of the Silver Rangers.”

    Riley raised an eyebrow, looking at Ariana. “Wait, I’m getting promoted?”

    Ariana gave her a sly smile. “Well, you promoted everyone else while I was gone, so…it’s in title only. You were already doing the job.”

    Hawke chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “So this is the infamous lieutenant?”

    “You’ve heard of me?” Riley asked, tilting her head with mock suspicion.

    “Of course,” Varric chimed in, leaning back in his chair. “Who do you think got all the communication and shipments set up?”

    “So you did all the heavy lifting?” Riley quipped, raising an eyebrow, her tone dry but playful.

    Varric’s grin didn’t waver. “Well, I delegated. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on the Champion. She’s a magnet for trouble.”

    Hawke shrugged, her smirk widening. “What can I say? Trouble finds me.”

    Riley leaned forward, her arms resting on the table as she glanced between the two. “Seems like you two keep things lively.”

    “You have no idea,” Ariana muttered, though her tone was fond.

    Varric raised his glass with a grin. “Well, welcome to Kirkwall, Lieutenant. Hope you like chaos.”

    Riley smirked. “I’m starting to see what you’ve been dealing with, Wolf.” She paused, turning to look at Varric. “I take care of this one. I specialize in chaos.”

    Ariana snorted, lifting her glass. “To chaos,” she replied dryly, earning laughter from the others.

    Hawke tilted her glass toward Riley. “If you’re sticking around, I hope you’ve got thick skin. You’ll need it between the mages, the Templars, and Varric’s endless storytelling.”

    Riley raised an eyebrow at Varric. “Endless storytelling? That sounds dangerous.”

    “Only if you’re on the wrong side of it,” Varric replied with a wink. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of material.”

    Ariana groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Maker, please don’t encourage him.”

    “Too late,” Varric chirped, leaning back in his chair. “I can already see the chapter titles: The Wolf and Her Pack.”

    Riley laughed, her eyes glinting. “That doesn’t sound half bad. Just make sure I get to approve my parts.”

    Varric raised his glass again. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

    The room filled with the warm hum of conversation and laughter, the tension of Kirkwall momentarily forgotten. For Ariana, it was a brief but precious reprieve—proof that even in the shadows, there was light.

    ~~~

    Riley woke to the faint hum of the Hanged Man coming to life downstairs. The muffled voices of early patrons and the clatter of mugs told her it was just another day in Kirkwall’s liveliest tavern. She stretched, noting how the modest but functional room had its own charm. “Ariana’s old room,” she murmured, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Not bad, Wolf. Not bad.”

    Moments later, Ariana arrived, stepping into the room with a teasing grin. “Well? Have you settled in, or do you need more sleep?”

    Riley snorted, standing and stretching her arms over her head. “Please, Wolf. This is like waking to the sounds of fresh recruits pretending to train.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes but chuckled. “Come on, I’ve got a full day planned for you.”

    The morning sun illuminated the bustling streets of Lowtown. The market was alive with the scents of fresh bread, spices, and the unmistakable hum of Kirkwall’s chaos. Riley inhaled deeply, the corner of her mouth twitching as her gaze flicked around the crowd.

    “Wolf,” she murmured, her tone casual. “You know you’ve got a shadow, right?”

    Ariana didn’t break her stride, her voice equally casual. “Noticed them a block ago. Subtle, aren’t they?”

    Riley smirked, her eyes catching a glimpse of their followers in a reflective window. “If by ‘subtle’ you mean stomping around like mabari in full plate, then sure.”

    Ariana’s lips twitched with amusement. “Templars. New recruits, I’d wager.”

    “Should we invite them to join us?” Riley asked, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Maybe give them pointers on how not to stand out?”

    Ariana chuckled softly. “Let’s make them work for it first.”

    They wove through the market, stopping occasionally to inspect stalls. Riley made a show of scrutinizing an apple, biting into it with exaggerated deliberation. “Think they’re hoping for a grand revelation? Maybe we’ll lead them to a secret Ranger hideout?”

    “Let’s disappoint them,” Ariana replied, pretending to study a bolt of fabric. “I could spend hours haggling over linen if it’d bore them enough to leave.”

    “They’re persistent, I’ll give them that,” Riley muttered as they slipped into another alley. “Want to lose them properly or keep playing?”

    Ariana sighed, exchanging a glance with Riley. “Alright. Let’s head back to the estate.”

    “Strategic retreat?” Riley raised an eyebrow.

    “Something like that,” Ariana replied with a smirk.

    Back at the estate, Riley leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed. “Alright, Wolf. Spill. Why are we being tailed by Templars? This Cullen’s idea of keeping tabs on you?”

    Ariana shook her head, her expression turning serious. “No, he would’ve told me. This is Meredith. The Knight-Commander doesn’t appreciate my ‘distracting’ her Knight-Captain.”

    Riley’s eyebrows shot up, a wry grin forming. “Wait. You’re telling me the Knight-Commander is sending rookies to skulk around because you’re seeing her golden boy? That’s petty even for Templars.”

    Ariana sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s more than that. Meredith doesn’t trust me. She’s been watching me for months. I think she sustpects I’m not an average noble.”

    Riley’s grin faded, her expression darkening. “So, she knows something?”

    “Probably nothing,” Ariana replied, her tone steady. “But she’s hoping to find something. She’s playing a game of intimidation, hoping I’ll slip.”

    Riley’s fists clenched at her sides. “And what if she does find something? Wolf, this isn’t just her watching you—it’s her setting up for a kill.”

    “I know,” Ariana admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But she’s watching Ariana Trevelyan, not the White Wolf. She thinks I’m just some noblewoman meddling where I don’t belong.”

    Riley scoffed. “She’s not wrong about you meddling.”

    Ariana shot her a look, but Riley wasn’t done. “If Meredith’s already circling, we need to be ready. We can’t afford to get sloppy.”

    Ariana nodded, her resolve firming. “We won’t. But for now, we keep the Rangers in the shadows. Meredith can’t know.”

    Riley pushed off the wall, her jaw tight. “Fine. But if she crosses the line, Wolf, you know I’m not the type to sit back and watch.”

    Ariana smirked faintly, her eyes hard. “And that’s why I trust you.”

    The two women locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.

    “Let’s plan,” Ariana said finally, her voice steady.

    Riley’s grin returned, sharp and confident. “Lead the way, Wolf. Let’s show her what shadows can do.”

    ~~~

    Ariana wandered through Hightown’s bustling market, her steps deliberate but unhurried. The air was thick with the mingling scents of polished steel from the blacksmith’s stall, parchment, and leather. Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere—lingering on the ever-present shadows of Templars that seemed to trail her steps in Lowtown.

    Funny how they never followed her into the Hanged Man. Even they knew better than to stir trouble under Varric’s watchful eye. But this—this—being tailed openly, was new. It left an itch of frustration she couldn’t quite shake.

    Her musings were interrupted by the sharp, clipped tone of a voice she recognized instantly.

    “Lady Trevelyan,” came the sharp, commanding voice that sliced through her musings.

    Ariana turned, her heart sinking slightly, but her expression was calm. Meredith stood a few paces away, flanked by two Templars. Her presence was as oppressive as ever, and the bustling crowd instinctively gave them space.

    Ariana’s fingers brushed against her side, where the familiar weight of her dagger usually rested. She wasn’t afraid—she’d faced worse than Meredith before—but she knew better than to show anything but calm. The trick with people like Meredith wasn’t strength; it was knowing when to push and when to let the storm blow over.

    “Knight-Commander,” Ariana greeted, her tone icy but polite. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed. “Your recent travels to Starkhaven have raised questions. Curious, how your visit coincided with certain… disruptions.”

    Ariana tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Disruptions?” she echoed, her voice laced with feigned innocence. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’d hate to misunderstand your… insinuations.”

    Meredith’s hand twitched near the hilt of her sword, her patience visibly thinning. “Do not play games with me, Lady Trevelyan. Why were you in Starkhaven?”

    Before Ariana could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension, laced with its usual sarcasm.

    “Well, well. Is this how Kirkwall handles its noble disputes these days? Public interrogations in the marketplace?”

    Hawke emerged from the crowd, her trademark lopsided grin firmly in place. She crossed her arms lazily, her sharp eyes flicking between Meredith and Ariana with practiced ease.

    “This doesn’t concern you, Champion,” Meredith snapped, her tone icy.

    “Oh, I beg to differ,” Hawke drawled, tilting her head. “See, I was just about to haggle over some essential expedition supplies. But it’s hard to focus on business with all this… tension.” She waved a hand dramatically at the gathered onlookers.

    Ariana bit back a laugh, grateful for the intervention.

    “Stay out of this,” Meredith warned, her voice sharp as steel.

    Hawke’s grin only widened. “Now, where’s the fun in that? You know me, Knight-Commander. I can’t resist poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. And besides, what’s poor Lady Trevelyan done to earn such scrutiny? Misplace your tea set? Borrow the Knight-Captain’s cloak and forget to return it?”

    Ariana coughed, covering her smile with a hand.

    “This is not a laughing matter,” Meredith hissed, her jaw tightening.

    “Neither is attempting to detain a noble in broad daylight without cause,” Hawke shot back, her tone light but edged with steel. “Unless you plan to formally charge her? In that case, might I suggest involving Guard-Captain Aveline? She loves handling these… delicate situations.”

    At that precise moment, Aveline’s unmistakable voice rang out from behind them, her tone carrying its usual mix of authority and mild exasperation.

    “What now?” Aveline strode toward the group, her armor catching the sunlight. She fixed Hawke with a pointed look before shifting her gaze to Meredith. “Knight-Commander. Is there a reason you’re questioning a noblewoman in the middle of Hightown? Because unless Lady Trevelyan is a mage, this seems more a matter for the City Guard.”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line, her posture stiffening. “I have reason to believe Lady Trevelyan’s recent travels are tied to matters of great importance.”

    “Then,” Aveline interrupted, her tone crisp, “I suggest submitting a formal request to the City Guard. We’ll handle it from there.” She crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “After all, we wouldn’t want to overstep jurisdiction, would we?”

    Hawke smirked, her voice light but pointed. “See? What did I tell you? Aveline’s got this all under control. If you’ll excuse us, we have some very important shopping to finish.”

    Meredith’s glare could have cut stone, but after a tense pause, she stepped back. “This isn’t over,” she said coldly, turning sharply on her heel. Her Templars followed without a word.

    As the crowd began to disperse, Aveline sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how I let you drag me into these things, Hawke.”

    Hawke smirked, and before she could respond, Aveline added dryly, “One day, Hawke, I’ll bill you for the extra paperwork you cause. Maker knows I’ve earned it.”

    “You love it,” Hawke replied breezily, clapping a hand on Aveline’s shoulder. “Keeps life interesting.”

    Ariana laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Aveline. That could’ve gone worse.”

    Aveline shot her a look. “You’re lucky she didn’t escalate. You’ve got too many eyes on you, Trevelyan. Be careful.”

    “I will,” Ariana promised.

    Hawke grinned, looping her arm through Ariana’s. “Come on, Ari. Let’s leave Aveline to her very important duties. We’ve got shopping and drinks to attend to.”

    “And trouble to avoid,” Aveline muttered, shaking her head as she turned to leave.

    “Trouble?” Hawke called after her, her grin widening. “Aveline, I am trouble.”

    Ariana laughed, slipping her arm through Hawke’s. “And I’m clearly your accomplice. Trouble just seems to follow us.”

    “And yet I still let you in my office,” Aveline replied dryly over her shoulder, disappearing into the crowd.

    Ariana shook her head, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Well, that was eventful.”

    “Welcome to the new Kirkwall,” Hawke quipped. “Now, drinks?”

    “Drinks,” Ariana agreed, the tension of the encounter finally beginning to lift as they made their way down the bustling street

    ~~~

    Hawke and Ariana eventually made their way down to the Hanged Man. The day’s events merited a conversation with Riley and Varric.

    As expected, they found both Riley and Varric in Varric’s suite. Riley was sharpening her sword while Varric lounged with a glass of wine, Bianca resting on the table.

    “Well, we just had quite the interesting afternoon in Hightown,” Hawke quipped as she and Ariana walked in, closing the door behind them. “Honestly, probably the most excitement Hightown has seen since the Qunari…”

    Ariana flinched at the phrase, raising an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, her tone dry.

    “Too soon?” Hawke smirked.

    “Maybe,” Ariana replied, shrugging. “Although I suppose we’re in this mess since the Viscount was killed by the Arishok…”

    Riley and Varric exchanged confused glances. “What’s going on, Pup?” Varric asked, his tone shifting to something more serious.

    Hawke and Ariana took turns explaining their encounter with Meredith. Varric’s expression darkened as the story unfolded while Riley’s brows knitted together in a deep frown.

    “If I do this again, I’m going to need a better cover, Varric,” Ariana finally said, her tone wry. “As in actual business I can point to.”

    “Not good, Wolf. This related to your shadow, I’m guessing?” Riley asked, crossing her arms.

    “Shadow?” Hawke repeated, looking between the two women. “Do I want to know?”

    “Oh, yes,” Ariana replied, her lips curving into a faint smirk.

    “Templars have been following me lately. Shadow seems like a strong word since they really aren’t very good at the whole scouting thing.”

    Before anyone could respond, the door opened, and Cullen and Michael stepped into the suite. Cullen rushed to Ariana’s side, crouching beside her chair, his eyes scanning her as though expecting to find her injured.

    “What happened?” Michael asked, his tone urgent.

    “You know… it really would have been helpful if you had gotten here earlier,” Hawke teased, leaning back in her chair. “We just explained everything.”

    Cullen ignored the banter, his hazel eyes fixed on Ariana. “Ari, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice laced with worry.

    Ariana offered him a reassuring smile, her hand brushing his cheek. “Cullen, I’m fine. Nothing happened. Hawke was there, and Guard-Captain Aveline stepped in.” She kissed his cheek lightly, motioning for him and Michael to take a seat. Reluctantly, Cullen rose and settled in the chair closest to hers, though his tension was still palpable.

    “It appears,” Ariana began with a soft sigh, “that Templars have been following me recently. Do you know why?” Her gaze turned to Cullen, her tone steady but questioning.

    Cullen took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think she’d resort to this,” he murmured, though his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear.

    “What are you talking about, Cullen?” Michael’s voice was sharper now, his concern evident.

    “Meredith,” Cullen replied, his frustration spilling into his tone.

    “She asked me to bring Ariana in for questioning concerning the intercepted mage transport.” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I thought… it was settled.”

    Varric let out a low whistle, setting his wine glass down. “Settled? With Meredith? Come on, Curly, you know she doesn’t let things go. Especially not when it comes to… well, anyone with a spine.”

    “She’s watching you, Ariana,” Riley added, her tone grim. “And now she’s making sure you know it.”

    Cullen’s head dropped into his hands, his voice muffled. “This isn’t how it should be. Ari, this is my fault. If it weren’t for me…”

    “No,” Ariana interrupted firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “This isn’t your fault, Cullen. And letting Meredith think she can intimidate me into…” She paused, not wanting to voice the thought out loud. “It’s not a solution.”

    “It might not be a solution, but…” Michael began hesitantly, though his words trailed off at Ariana’s sharp look.

    Hawke, leaning forward now, crossed her arms. “It’s not going to change anything at this point. Meredith’s already got her sights on you. Giving her an inch isn’t going to make her back off.”

    Riley nodded. “Hawke’s right. We need to keep our eyes open. She’s not going to stop unless we give her a reason to.”

    “I’ll reach out to my network,” Varric added, his voice more serious than usual. “See what I can dig up. There’s got to be something we can use to take the heat off.”

    The room fell into a contemplative silence for a moment before Cullen stood, his expression still troubled. “I’ll walk you home,” he said quietly, looking at Ariana.

    Michael stood as well, his expression resolute. “I’m coming too.”
    Ariana shook her head, her tone light despite the heaviness of the discussion. “That’s not necessary, Cullen. I—”

    “It wasn’t a question,” Cullen cut her off, his gaze steady. Despite the tension, Ariana couldn’t help but smile faintly, finding his protectiveness endearing.

    “You all know I live three doors down from Ariana; I could just walk back with her,” Hawke teased, raising her glass with a smirk. “If you’ll just wait until I finish my wine, at least.”

    Cullen and Michael shot her a sharp look that made it clear they were going. Hawke put her hands up in mock surrender. “Well, a Templar escort it is then.”

    Ariana sighed heavily. “Would you both sit down?” her tone more commanding than she intended.

    Cullen glanced at Michael, his jaw tightening as if reluctant to back down. Michael, for his part, mirrored the same resolve, though his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When they both sat, it was with the air of soldiers reluctantly obeying orders—not from a commanding officer, but from someone they couldn’t bear to argue with.

    Ariana knew Cullen was this worried. And if she were honest, she didn’t mind it all that much. She appreciated how much he cared. On the other hand, she found Michael’s protectiveness endearing and somewhat unexpected. While she still disliked the circumstances under which Michael ended up in Kirkwall, she was somewhat thankful for them. For once in her life, she had a relationship with at least one of her siblings. Something that felt strange and yet… comforting.

    She could feel the weight of their concern pressing against her like armor too heavy to bear. She loved them both for it, but there was a bitter edge to their protectiveness. Cullen and Michael, for all their strength and resolve, were bound by Meredith’s leash. Hawke and Riley, however, were free—untouchable in ways neither Templar could afford to be.

    “While I appreciate how much you both care, if our concern is that Meredith will try again to arrest me, it would be best if Hawke and Riley walked with me.” Ariana said calmly, “Neither of you can afford to openly defy Meredith. If you do, we will all be in more trouble.”

    “I…” Cullen hesitated for a moment, visibly frustrated. “You’re right. Maker… I hate it, but you’re right.”

    His fists clenched briefly before he exhaled, his gaze softening as it settled on her. “I just don’t want to feel powerless again, Ari. Not when it comes to you.”

    Ariana placed a hand over his to reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She lingered for a moment, her hand brushing against his. “You’re not powerless, Cullen. You’re doing more than you realize just by being here.” Her voice softened, her gaze steady as she spoke. “And when the time comes, I know you’ll do what’s right.”

    Cullen’s gaze held hers for a beat longer before he nodded, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. Ariana gently squeezed his hand before straightening and turning back to the others.

    “Alright, you two,” she said, her tone lighter now, though the weight of the conversation still lingered. “How about you grab a drink and let us all have one peaceful night? We’ve earned it.”
    Michael arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue, settling back in his chair. Cullen hesitated momentarily before rising and moving toward the small bar in the corner of the suite, his steps less heavy than before.

    “I’ll get the first round,” Cullen said over his shoulder, his voice carrying a touch of warmth.

    Varric raised his glass, his grin returning. “Now you’re getting the hang of it, Curly.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, settling back in her seat as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. The air in the room lightened, and for a while, the burdens they carried seemed just a little further away. They stayed like that for hours—talking, laughing, and letting the shadows of Kirkwall fade into the background, if only for a little while.

  • Chapter 41 – A Series of Investigations

    7 – 23 Justinian 9:34

    As Cullen walked out of the library, Ariana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The tension in the room lingered for a moment longer, like a phantom of the confrontation that had just passed. She turned slowly, her gaze drifting back to the empty space where he had stood only seconds before.

    He believed me.

    Relief washed over her, soft but fleeting. She had lied to him, or rather she had skirted the truth. She never said she wasn’t involved, she just implied that she knew less than she did. She let his report do the rest. It had been almost too easy to let the truth hide behind carefully chosen words and her steady gaze. Too easy to hurt him like that.

    Ariana moved toward the fireplace, the heat of the flames brushing against her face as she sank heavily into one of the armchairs. The soft cushion did little to comfort her. She leaned forward, pressing her hands together tightly as she stared into the fire’s depths.

    I can’t tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

    The thought made her stomach churn. Cullen—who trusted her, who loved her—deserved better. She knew that. But the risk of telling him the truth… of losing him entirely… was too much to bear. And even if he could understand, the fallout would destroy them both.

    “Maker, what am I doing?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

    The sound of footsteps broke her trance, and she looked up to see Isabel walking into the library. Ariana straightened instinctively, brushing her fingers quickly under her eyes as if to erase any lingering evidence of her guilt.

    Isabel paused, frowning as she took in Ariana’s distant gaze. “What happened?” she asked, her tone cautious but knowing.

    Ariana didn’t answer at first, her eyes dropping to the floor as she leaned back into the armchair. The silence stretched, but Isabel didn’t move. Finally, Ariana exhaled and looked up.

    “Cullen received a report about the intercepted mage transport,” she said quietly. “He asked me about it—the ambush”

    Isabel’s brow furrowed, her frown deepening. “And what did you tell him?”

    Ariana swallowed. “I implied I wasn’t involved. That I didn’t know anything about it.”

    “Ariana…” Isabel’s voice carried both warning and disappointment, and she shook her head as she crossed her arms. “Tell me you didn’t.”

    “What else was I supposed to do?” Ariana shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. She pushed herself upright, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. “If I told him the truth, Isabel, do you know what that would mean? What it would do to him?” She ran a hand through her hair, her voice trembling. “He’d have no choice but to turn me in or lie for me—and he’s already so conflicted about the state of the Order.”

    Isabel took a step closer, her gaze firm. “And what do you think this is doing to him now? Every time he looks at you, he’s wondering what’s real and what’s another truth you’ve twisted to protect him. How much longer before that doubt eats him alive—or worse, tears you both apart?”

    “You think I don’t know what this is doing to him?” Ariana snapped, but her voice broke halfway, betraying the ache behind her frustration. “I see it every time he looks at me, Isabel. Every single time.”

    Isabel’s voice softened slightly, but her frustration was still clear. “This isn’t going to end well, Ariana. You can’t keep living like this—half in one life, half in another. It’s tearing you apart, Ariana, and it’s not fair to him either. You can’t straddle both worlds forever, Ariana. One will destroy the other—and you with it. And Maker help you, you won’t survive the fallout when it happens.”

    “It’s not about what life I want to lead!” Ariana stood up, her voice rising with her. Her hazel-green eyes burned with conviction as she turned to face Isabel. “It’s about what I have to do. I can’t abandon the people I’m trying to protect. You know that.”

    Isabel didn’t back down. “And what about Cullen?” she asked pointedly. “You can’t have it both ways, Ariana. If you can’t tell him the truth—if you’re going to keep lying to him—then maybe you  should let him go.”

    The words hit Ariana like a blow, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She stood there, staring at Isabel, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to find her voice.

    “If you’re asking me to leave him,” Ariana said finally, her voice trembling, “then I can’t. I need him, Isabel. I need him.”

    The admission hung heavy in the air, as if saying the words aloud had made them more real—and more painful.

    Isabel let out a long, slow breath, her hands bracing against the back of a chair as though steadying herself. Her jaw tightened, but her eyes softened briefly, just for a moment, before the steel returned. “Find your own breakfast, child—I’ve got nothing left to say. And you’d do well to get out of this house for the day.”

    She paused at the door, her hand resting lightly on the frame, her back still to Ariana. “Maybe some distance will help you see what your stubborn heart refuses to.” Her voice softened slightly, her shoulders dropping. “You think you’re protecting him, but you’re not. You’re just delaying the pain, and when it comes, it’ll hit like a hammer.”

    Isabel turned her head slightly, her profile catching the light from the fire. “You’ll lose him, child—and when you do, it’ll shatter you. So figure out if this fight is worth that cost, because I don’t think your heart will survive losing him. And Maker knows I won’t stand by and watch that happen.”

    With that, she pushed off the doorframe and walked away, her steps slow but deliberate, leaving Ariana alone with the flickering firelight and the unbearable weight of her words.

    When the sound of Isabel’s footsteps faded, Ariana sank back into the chair, her head falling into her hands. Her body felt heavy, her breaths shallow and uneven, as though the weight of her lies had finally settled in, suffocating her.

    What am I doing? she thought again, her fingers tightening against the armrests. The truth sat like a stone in her chest, immovable and unrelenting.

    ~~~

    When Cullen stepped back into the Gallows, the oppressive weight of Kirkwall’s largest fortress settled over him once again. The halls were dark, the morning light struggling to reach beyond the towering stone walls. Templars moved with brisk purpose, their footfalls echoing in the quiet.

    Cullen didn’t make it far before he saw her—Meredith, standing in the center of the main hall, flanked by a squad of Templars in full armor. Her gaze locked onto him the moment he entered, her expression sharp and unreadable.

    “Knight-Captain,” Meredith said, her voice ringing through the hall with practiced authority. “You left the Gallows not long after receiving the report about the Starkhaven transport.”

    Cullen stopped before her, keeping his posture straight, his expression carefully neutral. “I had to leave for other reasons, unrelated to the report,” he replied evenly.

    Meredith’s cold blue eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism crossing her face as her chin tilted slightly upward. The light from the hall glinted off the edges of her armor, accentuating the hard lines of her presence. She stepped forward, the measured weight of her movement deliberate and predatory, her gaze never leaving Cullen’s face. Her lips thinned into a sharp line, her voice soft but cutting when she finally spoke, “Unrelated, you say? Interesting timing for such an absence, Knight-Captain.” Her tone was clipped, cutting through the air like a blade. “You are aware that your duties require your full attention, are you not?”

    Cullen clenched his jaw but nodded. “Of course, Knight-Commander.”

    “Then perhaps you can enlighten me,” Meredith continued, stepping closer, her piercing gaze boring into his. “Do you have any additional information regarding this ambush? The attackers? The defected Templars?”

    Cullen shook his head, his voice even. “Not yet, Knight-Commander. I have only the details provided in the initial report.”

    Meredith studied him for a long moment, the silence thick and oppressive. Finally, she spoke. “Unacceptable. We must determine the identity of those responsible and uncover who compromised our ranks.” She straightened, her voice sharp as a blade. “You will question the remaining Templars assigned to that detail. I expect answers, Knight-Captain. Quickly.”

    “Understood,” Cullen said, his fists clenching subtly at his sides.

    “Maybe you should bring Lady Trevelyan in for questioning as well.” Meredith said as eyes appeared to search for a reaction from him, anything she could use.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened immediately, the sharp line of his posture betraying his anger. His fists curled at his sides, barely restrained by the need to keep himself in check. He swallowed hard, forcing his tone to remain even. “Lady Trevelyan? Why would she have anything to do with this?” Cullen said

    “It appears that she was traveling while this occured. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you say?” Meredith added

    Cullen’s breath caught for a fraction of a second, his mind racing. Meredith was watching Ariana, waiting for a slip—an excuse to drag her into this mess. His heart clenched at the thought, the familiar ache of protectiveness flaring into sharp-edged anger. How far would Meredith go to prove a point? Meredith had to be having Ariana followed—watched, scrutinized—waiting for the smallest misstep to justify her suspicions. It explained how Meredith always seemed ready with her accusations, her veiled threats.

    “She has openly questioned the Order, maybe she has decided to do more…” Meredith’s tone was icy and calculating and certainly accusatory.

    Cullen knew he needed to be smart about this, he couldn’t risk a confrontation. Meredith would simply find someone else to drag Ariana in, someone who would willingly do her bidding “Would you like us to gather a list of all Hightown nobility who has been traveling this past week who may be involved? We probably should consider interrogating the Champion of Kirkwall as well…” His tone bordered on sarcasm but remained just polite enough not to sound openly defiant.

    Meredith’s expression shifted, her mouth tightening as a flicker of anger crossed her features. For a brief moment, Cullen thought she might reprimand him, but instead, her gaze darted sharply to the gathered Templars as if silently reminding them of their place.

    “That won’t be necessary, Knight-Captain,” Meredith said curtly, her voice colder than before. “You may be correct—it is likely Lady Trevelyan is nothing more than some dilettante spending her father’s money and speaking of matters she doesn’t understand.” she said, visibly annoyed at his defiance.

    “But Cullen,” Meredith added, her tone dropping to something almost accusatory. “See that your focus remains where it should. The Order cannot afford distractions.”

    Distractions?

    “Of course, Knight-Commander,” Cullen replied tightly, though every thought in him wanted to say so much more.

    Cullen, of course, knew exactly who she meant by that. The accusation lingered like a bitter taste on his tongue, a pointed barb aimed as much at him as it was at Ariana. Meredith’s relentless targeting of her felt less like suspicion and more like an attack—a deliberate reminder that she saw Cullen’s loyalties as tenuous.

    His jaw clenched at the thought, frustration knotting in his chest. Maker, how many times must she bring Ariana into this? He forced himself to remain still, his face betraying nothing, though his thoughts churned like a storm. He would not give Meredith the satisfaction of seeing him waver.

    Meredith lingered for a moment longer, as if daring him to defy her, before turning sharply on her heel. The squad of Templars fell into step behind her, the echo of their armored boots trailing into the distance.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his shoulders tense as the weight of her words settled on him. He turned toward the hall leading to his office, his thoughts a tangle of frustration, worry, and doubt.

    Maker help him—he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this balance from breaking entirely.

    ~~~

    Ariana changed into a simple training outfit and quickly made her way to Lowtown. The early summer morning was already warm, the air carrying the faint scent of the sea. It was too early to visit Varric, she reasoned, so she headed to the warehouse instead. A few rounds with Linnea or Lamberto should help her clear her mind. Or maybe, she could take over training some of the recruits.

    Quietly, she stepped into the warehouse. The sounds of recruits sparring and Lamberto loudly critiquing everything they were doing wrong echoed through the space. “Wolf!” Lamberto turned to her with a wide grin as she entered. “You up for showing these recruits how it’s done?”

    “Oh, Maker… and what exactly am I showing them?” Ariana chuckled, rolling out her shoulders as she walked toward him.

    The murmurs from the gathered recruits were unmistakable. They seemed new—faces she wasn’t sure she had met before. Everything from awe that she was the White Wolf to quiet disbelief that someone like her could carry the title filled the air. She smirked to herself. There was something about being underestimated that always drove her to prove herself.

    “You know… parry, dodge, block… the basics,” Lamberto joked.

    “Aren’t the basics your job?” Ariana teased, swinging the training swords in lazy arcs as she walked to the center of the room. “Or do you want me to prove how easy it is to break them?”

    Lamberto laughed, tossing his own sword from hand to hand. “Bold words, Wolf. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

    “Still got it?” Ariana raised an eyebrow. “Watch and learn, recruits. This is what happens when you don’t dodge fast enough.”

    Ariana walked over to grab a couple of training swords, taking two for herself and tossing one to Lamberto. “I’m certainly not challenging them,” she said with a smirk. “I think observing might be more useful.”

    “Observing? Is that how you were trained—” Lamberto’s words trailed off, his expression faltering as he realized his mistake.

    Memories of Krieger—his arms correcting her stance, his voice smooth but unsettling—flooded her mind. Keep this up, and you’ll be unstoppable his voice cut through her thoughts. Ariana kept her smile steady, refusing to let her expression betray her. She knew Lamberto hadn’t meant anything by it.

    “Sometimes,” she replied lightly, brushing off the moment. “But you’re the one doing the hands-on work here.” Her smirk returned as she added, “I think from me they only need to see me kick their instructor’s ass. It’ll make them feel better.”

    The gathered recruits chuckled at her comment, their tension easing slightly.

    Ariana’s boots barely made a sound as she moved into position, her every step deliberate. She twirled one of the training swords with an easy grace, the blade a blur of polished wood under the dim light. She could feel the eyes of the recruits on her, their whispers fading into silence as they watched the White Wolf take her stance.

    “Well, now you’ve done it,” Lamberto said as he lunged toward her without further warning.

    Ariana easily sidestepped his attack, raising one of her training swords to parry his follow-up strike. The sparring session began in earnest, each move deliberate and calculated. She gave him room at first, allowing Lamberto to demonstrate his own skill, making it seem like the fight was more even than it truly was. She dodged and blocked with fluid grace, countering his strikes with precision that drew murmurs of approval from the recruits.

    Eventually, Ariana’s figured the recruits had seen enough. She shifted gears, her movements faster and sharper, each parry and counter more decisive. In a flurry of strikes, she disarmed Lamberto, twisted his arm behind his back, and forced him to his knees.

    “I yield,” Lamberto grunted, signaling his surrender.

    Ariana stepped back, lowering her training sword as she offered him a hand to help him up. “I think that covered everything,” she said with a mock bow. “Unless anyone thinks I missed something. Then we could do it again…”

    The recruits burst into cheers, their earlier skepticism replaced with certainty. The murmurs shifted; now, they were sure she was who they’d heard about.

    “No. No. That… won’t be necessary, Wolf,” Lamberto said as he stretched his arms. “Don’t you have work to do somewhere else?” he added, waving her off good-naturedly.

    “I’m always available for another demonstration,” Ariana quipped, making her way toward the office.

    “Wolf,” Linnea greeted her, looking up from a stack of papers as Ariana stepped in. “You embarrassing Lamberto out there?”

    “I tried not to,” The teasing warmth in Ariana’s voice faded as she stepped into the office, her expression sharpening. “We need to talk,” she said, her tone low but firm. The camaraderie from the sparring match lingered in the air, but it dissolved as Linnea’s gaze turned serious.

    Linnea tilted her head, her expression growing more serious. “What’s going on?”

    Ariana leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “The transport we intercepted? Two Templars helped us and have now joined the Rangers,” she said, watching Linnea’s reaction carefully. “They’ll head to the manor after they see the mages we rescued safely to Markham.”

    “What? They… helped you?” Linnea’s tone was filled with surprise. “And they left the Templar Order?”

    “That’s not everything,” Ariana continued. “It seems there’s a mage-templar group within the Gallows plotting against Meredith. They want to turn the Gallows back into a regular Circle instead of the prison it is now. The group is still young, but from what the Templars told me, they don’t seek chaos. They just want Meredith gone and the abuses to stop.”

    Linnea sank back into her chair, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think it could be a trap?”

    Ariana glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the maps, boards, and reports that covered every surface. She leaned back against the desk again, weighing her words. “Trap? No. Possibly risky? Yes,” she admitted. “If they don’t handle things right, it could make things worse and destabilize everything sooner. But if they’re genuine and we can coordinate with them… maybe it could help turn the tide.”

    Linnea leaned forward, her fingers steepled as she rested her elbows on the desk. “Helping them would mean putting ourselves directly in their crosshairs if things go wrong. Meredith’s not the sort to let an uprising pass quietly.” She shook her head, frowning. “Do we even know how many are involved?”

    “Not yet,” Ariana admitted. “The Templars who joined us are our only connection so far. If we’re careful, we can find out more without drawing too much attention.”

    Linnea sighed. “Careful isn’t something the Gallows is known for. If Meredith gets wind of this, even a rumor, it’ll turn into a bloodbath. You know that.”

    “I do,” Ariana said firmly. “Which is why we need to tread carefully. But think about it, Linnea. If this group succeeds… if we can help them… it’s not just Meredith who falls. It’s the foundation of her tyranny.”

    Linnea’s gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. After a moment, she nodded. “Alright. But we need more information before we do anything. If we move too soon, we’ll be walking into disaster.”

    Ariana straightened. “Agreed. I’ve asked Hawke to do some digging. The Templars that defected gave me a name, Ser Thrask, and apparently Hawke has worked with him before. She’ll let us know what she finds.”

    “Understood,” Linnea said, though her expression remained tense. After a moment, she added, “And Wolf? Be careful. If Meredith catches even a whisper of this, we might not have the chance to regroup.”

    Ariana gave a small, determined smile. “I’ll be careful. We all will. But right now that mage-templar group is at the highest risk. And let’s make sure no one hears about this from us.”

    Ariana ran a hand over the edge of the desk, her thoughts momentarily distant. “We’ve seen what happens when fear controls Kirkwall,” she said softly. “This time, we’ll make sure hope has a chance to fight back.”

    ~~~

    After reviewing all current operations with Linnea and stopping to talk with some of the new recruits, Ariana made her way to the Hanged Man. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across Lowtown as she wound her way through the familiar streets. She pushed open the heavy door of the tavern, the warm, lively hum of voices and clinking mugs washing over her as she stepped inside.

    Varric was in his usual corner, leaning back in his chair with a drink in hand, Bianca resting on the table beside him. He looked up as she approached, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Pup! You’re out early… or late. Depends on how you’re counting.”

    Ariana slid into the seat across from him, offering a faint smile. “Isabel kicked me out of the house.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow. “Kicked you out? Must have been some morning.”

    “She’s… upset,” Ariana admitted, running a hand through her hair. “About Cullen. About the lies. She said I need to decide which life I want to lead.”

    Varric’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained light. “Sounds like Isabel’s getting tired of playing middle ground. Can’t say I blame her.”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing. “She’s probably right, but I can’t tell him, Varric. It would destroy everything. He’d have to choose between me and his duty. It’s not fair to put him in that position.”

    Varric nodded slowly, swirling his drink. “You’re not wrong, Pup. The last thing Curly needs is more weight on his shoulders. Maker knows he’s carrying enough as it is.” He took a sip, his gaze steady on her. “But Isabel’s not wrong either. This? The lies, the secrets? It’s all going to boil over eventually. And when it does, everyone’s going to get burned.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. The truth of his words settled heavily on her shoulders.

    Varric’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual bite. “Well, if anyone can walk that tightrope, it’s you. Just don’t look down.”

    They talked and drank for hours, the conversation ranging from potential strategies to shared stories of past misadventures. By the time Ariana stood to leave, the tavern was buzzing with evening activity, the air thick with laughter and the smell of ale.

    As she stepped out of the Hanged Man, she almost collided with Michael, who was making his way toward the estate.

    “Ariana,” he greeted, his tone subdued. His arm was already out for her to take, a familiar gesture that she accepted without hesitation.

    “You look tired,” she said, studying his face. There was something more than exhaustion in his expression—a darkness, a weight.

    “Not here,” Michael said quietly, glancing around the dimly lit street.

    Ariana nodded, falling silent as they walked the rest of the way to the estate. Once inside, they joined Isabel and Emma for a quiet dinner, though Michael’s unease was palpable. Afterward, the two of them retreated to the courtyard, the cool breeze carrying the scent of the sea.

    As they entered the courtyard, Ariana felt a flicker of relief. Despite the day’s turmoil, Michael’s steady presence was grounding, like a reminder that not everything in her life was on the verge of unraveling.

    Michael sat stiffly, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, the tension in his shoulders visible even in the dim light. His jaw worked as though he was grinding his thoughts into silence, but his eyes betrayed the storm within. “The Gallows is… it’s a dark place, Ariana.”

    Ariana watched him carefully, her brow furrowing. “What happened?”

    “It’s not one thing,” Michael admitted. “It’s everything. The way the mages look at me… like I’m the enemy. Even when I try to be kind, they don’t trust me. It’s like they’re waiting for me to trap them. And the punishments… they’re so far beyond what’s reasonable. Minor infractions get…” He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists. “They’re terrified, Ariana. And I can’t blame them.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at his words. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re in a difficult position, Michael. But you can help, even if it’s in small ways. Keep being kind. Show them that not all Templars are like the rest. If you see minor infractions, maybe you can… overlook them. Protect them from worse punishments.”

    Michael looked at her, his jaw tight. “You make it sound so easy.”

    “It’s not,” Ariana said softly. “But it’s something. And if you can earn their trust, even a little, it could make a difference.”

    Michael nodded slowly, though his frustration was still evident. “I’ll try. But it’s hard, Ariana. Every day, it feels like I’m walking a fine line. And I don’t know how long I can keep it up.”

    Ariana studied him, her expression thoughtful. She could see the cracks forming in his convictions, the doubt that lingered in his eyes. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “it’s the ones walking the fine line who have the clearest view of both sides.”

    As the wind carried the scent of salt and distant waves, Ariana leaned back in her chair, watching Michael. He had been the dutiful Templar, the one who followed the rules without question. But now, he was changing, whether he realized it or not. And though the path ahead was uncertain, for the first time, she allowed herself to believe he might walk it with her.

    But not yet. She needed to watch, to wait. For now, she would let him find his own way.

    ~~~

    It had been a couple of weeks since Ariana intercepted the mage transport. The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Ariana sat at the desk by the window, one foot tucked up on the chair, her arms loosely wrapped around her knee as she gazed out at the quiet morning. Cullen’s shirt hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the fabric carrying the faint, comforting scent of him.

    Her thoughts swirled as she absently traced patterns on the edge of the desk, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on her. The wooden desk littered with correspondence and reports. Her head tilted slightly as she read through a letter, the corners of her lips pulled tight in concentration.

    A knock at the door broke her concentration. “Come in,” she called, straightening slightly in her chair, setting down the letter.

    The door opened to reveal Cullen, his armor catching the soft light as he stepped inside. His serious expression softened as his eyes fell on her, and for a brief moment, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

    “You’re up early,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the shirt she wore.

    “So are you,” she replied with a small smile, lowering her foot and turning to face him fully. “Though I suppose that’s not unusual.”

    Cullen crossed the room, setting a folded report on the desk. “I need your opinion on something,” he said, his tone quieter than usual.

    Ariana arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “What’s troubling you?”

    He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the window before meeting hers again. “It’s about the Gallows,” he admitted, his voice low. “Specifically, how punishments are being handled for minor infractions.”

    Ariana’s expression sobered as she gestured for him to sit. “Go on,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her arms resting on the desk.

    Cullen settled into the chair across from her, his fingers brushing over the edges of the report. “I’ve received several reports detailing extended solitary confinement, denial of meals, even physical punishments for minor offenses. It’s… excessive. But I need to know if I’m overreacting.”

    Ariana unfolded the report, her hazel-green eyes scanning the lines of text. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she read, her fingers tightening slightly around the paper. “You’re not overreacting,” she said firmly. “This isn’t discipline—it’s cruelty.”

    Cullen exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. “That’s what I thought. But how do I address it without challenging Meredith directly? She’ll see any attempt at change as defiance.”

    Ariana set the report down, her gaze steady. “You can’t change Meredith overnight, Cullen. But you can start by protecting those under your command. Redirect punishments, reassign tasks—anything to mitigate the damage.”

    Cullen nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Reassignments could work. If I frame it as improving efficiency, she might not question it immediately.”

    “I know Michael would probably love the chance to be in a position to help the mages.” Ariana said “He hates being feared.”

    “You’ve spoken to Michael?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “I didn’t realize he felt that way.”

    “I have, he’s… disillusioned,” Ariana replied, her tone softening. “He’s trying, Cullen. But he’s struggling. He believes in the ideals of the Order, but what he sees every day in the Gallows… it’s wearing him down. He hates the fear he inspires, and he hates feeling like he’s part of the problem.”

    Cullen’s expression grew heavier as he considered her words. “Michael’s frustration doesn’t surprise me,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “He’s always been more idealistic. But if even he’s questioning things, that says more about the state of the Gallows than anything else.”

    His gaze dropped to the desk, and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “But even then, I hate how powerless it feels. I’m supposed to lead, to protect. And yet, every day, it feels like I’m just watching it all get worse.”

    “You’re not alone in this, Cullen,” Ariana said, her voice steady but filled with warmth. “You’re doing more than most, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

    He offered her a faint smile, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “It helps to talk about it. To have someone I trust.”

    “You’ll always have me,” Ariana replied, her smile soft but resolute.

    Cullen stood, tucking the report back into his pouch. “I’ll think on what you’ve said. And I’ll speak with Michael.”

    Ariana rose as well, walking with him to the door. As he reached for the handle, he paused, glancing back at her. “You look good in my shirt,” he said, his voice carrying a touch of warmth and teasing.

    Ariana chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “I told you I was keeping it.”

    Cullen shook his head, a small, genuine smile breaking through his earlier seriousness. “I’ll see you later.”

    As the door closed behind him, Ariana returned to her desk, her fingers brushing over the stack of papers. For the first time that morning, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.

    One day at a time, she reminded herself, her gaze drifting to the skyline beyond the window. One day at a time.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s boots echoed against the stone floor of the Gallows as he approached Knight-Commander Meredith’s office. The oppressive air of the fortress seemed heavier than usual, the weight of the intercepted transport incident lingering like a specter. Cullen had spent weeks trying to piece together the fragments of information surrounding the attack, but answers were few and far between.

    Meredith was already waiting for him, her posture rigid and commanding as always. Her sharp eyes locked onto him the moment he entered the room, and the squad of Templars stationed outside made it clear this was not a casual meeting.

    “Knight-Captain,” Meredith began, her voice as cold and precise as a blade. “It has been several weeks since the intercepted transport. I trust you’ve made progress in uncovering who was behind it.”

    Cullen stood at attention, his tone measured. “I questioned all Templars involved in the transport, Knight-Commander. Unfortunately, none had any further information to provide. They were as surprised as anyone by the attack and the defection of their comrades.”

    Meredith’s brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And the defectors? What did you learn of their motivations?”

    “From what I could gather, it appears the two defectors chose that moment to leave rather than planning the attack themselves,” Cullen explained. “The ambush seems to have been perpetrated by an unknown group. The Templars involved indicated that it was not an orchestrated betrayal from within the Order but an external intervention. The defectors took advantage of the chaos to escape.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, and she began to pace slowly behind her desk. “So, you are telling me we now have rogue Templars among the populace and an unidentified group with the audacity to attack our transport. Who do you suspect orchestrated this?”

    Cullen hesitated, carefully choosing his words. “It may be related to one of the mages who were freed during the attack. However, neither of the mages in question has known family or close friends in the area that we could question. Their backgrounds provide no immediate leads.”

    Meredith stopped pacing, her gaze piercing. “And you have no other theories? No insight into who these attackers might be?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened. “Not at this time, Knight-Commander. My men and I continue to investigate, but the attackers were skilled and left no identifying traces behind. They knew what they were doing.”

    Meredith’s expression hardened further, if such a thing were possible. “This is unacceptable, Knight-Captain. An attack on the Order cannot go unanswered. The fact that you have yet to produce results reflects poorly on us all. I suggest you redouble your efforts.”

    “Understood,” Cullen replied, his voice steady despite the growing tension in the room.

    Meredith’s tone turned icy as she added, “And I trust there will be no more unsanctioned absences on your part while this matter remains unresolved. Your duties are clear.”

    Cullen stiffened, the veiled accusation cutting deeper than he expected. “Of course, Knight-Commander. My focus remains on the Order.”

    Meredith studied him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “See that it does. Dismissed.”

    Cullen turned and left the office, his mind churning as he replayed the conversation. The unknown group, the defectors, the mages freed in the attack—none of it aligned neatly. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how tenuous the situation was becoming. As he stepped back into the open air of the Gallows courtyard, the oppressive weight of Meredith’s scrutiny followed him, a constant reminder of how fine a line he was walking.

    ~~~

    Meredith waited until the echo of Cullen’s boots faded into silence before moving. Her posture remained rigid, her gloved fingers clasped tightly behind her back. The shadows of the Gallows flickered against the stone walls as the torches outside guttered in the wind. She stared at the heavy door, her sharp blue eyes narrowing in thought.

    He’s slipping.

    The thought festered like a wound. Cullen, once her most promising Knight-Captain, was no longer the man she had painstakingly molded. His resolve had softened, his loyalty fractured, all because of her. Ariana Trevelyan.

    Meredith exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound almost imperceptible in the stillness of the chamber. A noblewoman with no place meddling in the affairs of Kirkwall’s Order. Yet, somehow, Ariana had wormed her way into Cullen’s life, into his mind. Meredith saw the hesitation in his gaze, the cracks in his once-iron will. He was mine to shape, and now…

    Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away from the door, pacing behind her desk. She could not afford distractions—not now, with tensions between mages and Templars growing more volatile by the day. Cullen was supposed to be her right hand, her mirror, the one who would carry her vision forward. Instead, he was drifting, and Ariana was the root cause.

    Meredith stopped abruptly, her gaze sharpening as an idea crystallized. If Ariana’s presence was a distraction, it must be removed.

    “Knight-Lieutenant Aldric,” she called sharply.

    The door opened almost immediately, and a young Templar stepped inside, his posture stiff with discipline. His armor clinked faintly as he saluted. “Yes, Knight-Commander?”

    Meredith studied him for a moment, her piercing gaze unrelenting. Young. Ambitious. Eager to prove himself. He would do.

    “I have a task for you,” she said, her voice crisp and cold. “One that requires discretion and absolute loyalty.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “Of course, Knight-Commander. What are your orders?”

    “You are to conduct a thorough investigation into Ariana Trevelyan,” Meredith said, her tone leaving no room for questioning. “I want to know every detail about her travel to Starkhaven around the time of the intercepted transport. Who she met with, why she went, and if there is any connection between her and the group responsible for the attack.”

    The Templar hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “Ariana Trevelyan? The noblewoman?”

    Meredith’s lips thinned. “Yes. Do you have an issue with the order, Knight-Lieutenant?”

    “No, Knight-Commander,” he said quickly, though the slight shift in his stance betrayed his discomfort. “I simply meant… should I report my findings to Knight-Captain Cullen once the investigation is complete?”

    Meredith’s eyes hardened, her tone dropping to a cold, deliberate edge. “No. Everything concerning Ariana Trevelyan is to be reported directly to me. Knight-Captain Cullen is not to be informed. Do you understand?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant swallowed hard but nodded. “Understood, Knight-Commander. I will begin immediately.”

    Meredith inclined her head slightly. “Good. Remember, Knight-Lieutenant, this task requires absolute discretion. Should I find that word of this investigation has spread, the consequences will be severe.”

    “Yes, Knight-Commander,” the Templar replied, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. He saluted once more before exiting the office.

    As the door closed behind him, Meredith turned to the window, her hands once again clasping tightly behind her back. She gazed out over the Gallows courtyard, her expression cold and calculating.

    Ariana Trevelyan was a complication—one that Meredith intended to neutralize. If there was even the faintest connection between her and the intercepted transport, Meredith would expose it. And if not, she would find another means to discredit her. Ariana’s presence in Cullen’s life was a threat to the Order’s stability, and Meredith would not allow anyone to disrupt the balance she had fought so hard to maintain.

    Meredith’s gaze darkened, her mind sharpening with resolve. No one—no noble, no mage—will undermine the Order. And certainly not her.

  • Chapter 37 – The Bishop’s Gambit

    10 Cloudreach – 8 Bloomingtide 9:34

    As the chill of Cloudreach gave way to the warming sun of Bloomingtide, the city of Kirkwall seemed to find a semblance of calm. The streets were busy with merchants, their colorful stalls lining the market squares, and children darted between the crowds with carefree laughter. But beneath the surface, the tension lingered—a quiet undercurrent of unease that only those paying close attention could discern.

    The stories of the White Wolf, once whispered with reverence and awe in the wake of the Qunari attack, had faded into distant memory for most. Even Cullen, though not one to let such things slip his mind entirely, found his thoughts occupied by more immediate concerns: the growing unease within the Gallows, Meredith’s relentless consolidation of power and control, her focus with Ariana, and the persistent but muted unrest among the mages. It felt as if the city was holding its breath, waiting for the next inevitable storm.

    For Ariana, the quiet was both a blessing and a curse. The lull in outward chaos afforded the Rangers a chance to operate with increased efficiency, but it also gave her more time to dwell on the precarious balance she maintained. The warehouse in Lowtown had become a lifeline for apostates seeking to escape Kirkwall. Under her careful coordination, and with Hawke and Varric’s invaluable assistance, mages were quietly ferried to safety—sometimes far beyond Kirkwall’s borders, sometimes far enough within the Free Marches to slip past Templar notice. And with Frederick’s help they found sympathetic Circles to take in mages when they were accidentally lost on their way to Kirkwall without many questions asked.

    Whenever a situation threatened to draw attention, Hawke and her companions stepped into the spotlight. Their well-crafted heroics captured the city’s imagination, leaving the Rangers free to work in the shadows. It was a system born of necessity, and though it wasn’t perfect, it allowed Ariana to maintain the delicate equilibrium required to keep both the mages and the Rangers safe.

    The influx of seasoned Rangers from Ferelden had strengthened their ranks. Ariana directed them with precision, sending scouts to patrol the roads leading into the city. Their orders were clear: monitor all Templar movements, particularly those involving the transportation of mages. If mages wished to leave Kirkwall’s shadow, the Rangers facilitated their escape. For those who chose the Circle, the Rangers guided them to safer havens in Ferelden or Orlais, far from Meredith’s overreach.

    The system wasn’t without its risks. Each success added to Ariana’s growing reputation in the shadows, a double-edged sword that both bolstered her resolve and weighed heavily on her conscience. The Divine’s terse directive echoed in her mind with every decision: Do what you must. Stay in the shadows.

    Cullen remained blissfully unaware of the Rangers’ larger activities, his days consumed by his duties at the Gallows and the constant weight of Meredith’s scrutiny. His evenings and nights with Ariana provided fleeting moments of peace, but even in those quiet moments, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something lingering beneath the surface, something she wasn’t sharing.

    It was during one of their quiet mornings that Cullen found himself at the Trevelyan estate, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the halls as the first rays of sunlight spilled across the kitchen table. Ariana moved with an unhurried grace, dressed in her familiar blue house robe, her movements betraying a faint stiffness that still lingered from her injuries. She poured a cup of tea, her expression thoughtful as she settled into a chair across from Cullen.

    “You’re quiet this morning,” Cullen remarked, his tone light but probing as he spread butter over a piece of bread.

    Ariana offered a faint smile, her gaze drifting toward the window. “Just thinking,” she replied softly.

    “About what?” he pressed, his tone still gentle but tinged with curiosity.

    Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup, hesitating. “The calm before the storm…”

    Cullen frowned, his brow knitting in confusion. “What storm are we talking about?”

    Ariana turned her gaze to him, the faint smile on her lips fleeting. She didn’t want to argue—not with him, not about this—but the unspoken thoughts weighed heavily on her. “Meredith.”

    “Ariana,” Cullen sighed heavily, he felt the same concern, especially as it related to Ariana “Have you heard from Frederick?”

    “I have,” Ariana’s tone almost surprised “And from my father… and from the Duke of Markham himself.” She paused for a moment as a smirk formed on her face “It seems he hates me slightly less now, I think he’s more concerned about Meredith than my engagement to Fred…”

    “Oh?” Cullen’s tone echoed her own surprise

    “They both want to be kept informed of the situation in Kirkwall.” Ariana shrugged “It’s something, for now Varric is keeping them informed but I believe the Duke is sending some of his own people to stay here.”

    “I see.” Cullen’s the concern in his voice audible “I don’t know Ari. Meredith believes Kirkwall is not like the other city-states in the Free Marches. If she feels cornered…” his voice trailed off.

    Her hands shifted to rub her temples as she exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. “Meredith’s belief is a convenient excuse for her power play. And it’s going to tear this city apart,” she said finally, her voice weary. “When it does, the Qunari will have seemed like the easy part.”

    Cullen stiffened at her words, the finality in her tone catching him off guard. “Meredith is trying to maintain order,” he replied, a thread of defensiveness in his voice. “To protect the city from falling into chaos again.”

    “A stranglehold isn’t order, Cullen,” Ariana countered, her gaze steady but laced with frustration. “A Templar isn’t meant to rule over both mages and civilians. Her power grows unchecked with every passing day.”

    The weight of her accusation hung in the air, and Cullen was silent for a moment, his expression conflicted. “It’s not ideal,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter, almost tentative. “But she’s acting in the city’s best interest.”

    “And who holds her accountable?” Ariana asked, her voice trembling slightly as her frustration seeped through. “Who stops her if she oversteps? You know as well as I do that no one in Kirkwall can challenge her—except for you.

    “That’s not how it works,” he finally said, his voice quieter but laced with frustration. “The Order has checks, balances—it’s not as simple as you think.”

    “Then who checks her?” Ariana pressed, leaning forward. “You’ve seen it, Cullen. You know I’m right.”

    Cullen’s lips tightened, a familiar reaction to her words. His grip on the fork became more intense. “The city needs leadership,” he said, his voice strained. “With the Viscount gone—”

    “Then find a new Viscount!” Ariana interrupted, her voice rising as her frustration broke through.

    He sighed heavily, his free hand rubbing at his temple. “It’s not as simple as that.”

    “Why not?” she pressed, her voice sharp. “What’s stopping anyone from putting a proper leader in place? Oh, wait, it’s Meredith. Pretending it’s about safety”

    Her words struck something in him, and he looked away, his jaw tightening further. “I don’t want to fight with you, Ariana,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “But this… it’s not as simple as choosing sides.”

    “It never is,” she whispered, her voice laden with both understanding and sorrow.

    Cullen’s gaze shifted away, his silence like a blade twisting in her chest. The divide between them felt impossibly wide, their loyalties pulling them in opposite directions. She had chosen her path long ago, to stand with those who had no one else, and from what she could see, Cullen had chosen his: unwavering loyalty to the Order. Neither could change, and deep down, she knew the truth she kept from him would only widen the chasm. But how could she tell him? How could she bear to lose him completely?

    The thought left her breathless, a sharp ache she buried as quickly as it surfaced. If the cost of her path was losing him, then she would carry that burden. She had no choice—not when the stakes were so high. And yet, the quiet truth lingered in the back of her mind: losing Cullen might break her, but staying silent would keep him safe.

    ~~~

    Meredith sat at her desk in the Gallows, her sharp gaze scanning the rows of reports and ledgers before her. The dim light from the narrow windows illuminated her austere quarters, casting stark shadows that mirrored the tension in her mind. She thrived on order, on control, and yet Kirkwall was anything but orderly.

    The chaos left in the wake of the Qunari invasion lingered like a smoldering ember. The Viscount was dead, the nobility restless, and the mages in the Gallows more emboldened than ever. Hawke’s rise as Champion had upset the city’s delicate balance, casting a shadow Meredith could neither ignore nor directly confront. And then there was Cullen—a capable Knight-Captain whose unwavering dedication had, of late, begun to waver. She knew precisely why.

    At first, Lady Ariana Trevelyan had seemed an inconsequential child—a runaway noblewoman content to have no responsibility of any kind. Meredith had dismissed her as another Hightown dilettante, undeserving of serious attention. But when Cullen—a man she had handpicked for his staunch adherence to Templar doctrine—began to lose focus, Meredith was forced to reassess.

    Cullen had arrived in Kirkwall with a reputation forged in the aftermath of the events at Kinloch Hold. He had witnessed the horrors of magic gone unchecked, and his fervor for the Order’s mission made him a valuable asset. But since Lady Trevelyan’s arrival, that resolve had begun to erode. At first, Meredith dismissed it as a fleeting indulgence—an outlet for Cullen’s youthful energy, easily overcome. Yet Lady Trevelyan had proven more cunning than anticipated, weaving herself into his life with alarming tenacity. Cullen’s growing defense of her actions was no mere dalliance. It was a challenge to her authority.

    Meredith felt the sting of betrayal more keenly than she expected—was it weakness on his part, or hers for trusting him? She would not allow sentiment to cloud her judgment again. If Cullen could not be realigned, he would be dealt with like any other liability.

    Meredith’s jaw tightened as she recalled the confrontation in Hightown. She had approached Lady Trevelyan expecting either contrition or fear, but instead found defiance cloaked in civility. Not to mention her friend, Lord Decken. The girl’s sharp wit and boldness had stung, but Cullen’s subsequent defense of her was the true betrayal. Both his and Lord Decken’s  comments about the Trevelyans being one of the most prominent house in Ostwick lingered. The Trevelyans were know for their ties to the Chantry, sparking questions Meredith could not leave unanswered. Was Lady Trevelyan seeking to manipulate the Templars through Cullen? Was her connection to the Champion of Kirkwall more than coincidence?

    A knock at the door pulled Meredith from her thoughts. “Enter,” she commanded, her voice clipped.

    One of her senior Templars stepped inside, bowing his head. “Knight-Commander, the information you requested.”

    “Report,” Meredith ordered, her tone curt.

    The Templar handed her a stack of papers, his words measured. “Michael Trevelyan has served as a Templar at Kinloch Hold for several years. His record is clean—competent and loyal, with no notable infractions. Kira Trevelyan remains a compliant mage within the Ostwick Circle, with no history of rebellion or discord.”

    Meredith’s fingers tightened on the papers as she read. Michael’s position within the Templar Order presented an opportunity. A transfer to Kirkwall could be arranged swiftly, bringing him directly under her command. Kira, though more distant, was a valuable contingency—another string to pull if necessary.

    “Arrange for Michael Trevelyan’s transfer to Kirkwall,” Meredith instructed, her voice like steel. “Expedite the process and bypass the usual protocols. I want him here within the fortnight.”

    The Templar hesitated briefly, but Meredith’s cold gaze brooked no dissent. “As you command, Knight-Commander,” he replied, bowing before retreating.

    Alone once more, Meredith set the papers aside and leaned back in her chair. Michael’s arrival would serve multiple purposes: it would test his loyalty to the Order, strain his bond with his sister, and deliver a clear message to Lady Trevelyan. If she valued her family, she would understand the implications. If not, Meredith would use Michael to drive a wedge deeper between Cullen and the woman who threatened to distract him from his duty.

    Meredith’s grip on her quill tightened, the faint scratch of ink on parchment the only sound in the room. She had always understood the power of perception. Kirkwall needed to see her as unyielding, a stalwart force against chaos, but Ariana Trevelyan, threatened that carefully cultivated image. The girl’s noble connections, her alliance with the Champion, and now Lord Decken’s interference—all of it painted a picture Meredith did not like. If the Trevelyans or Duke of Markham sought to turn the Free Marches against her, they would soon learn how tightly she held the reins of this city.

    “Control is not just strength,” she murmured aloud, her voice a sharp whisper. “It is certainty.” She set her quill aside and leaned back in her chair, her thoughts returning to Michael Trevelyan. His arrival would bring her that certainty. Through him, she would remind Cullen—and Lady Trevelyan—where true authority lay.

    But Michael’s transfer was only the first step. Meredith’s web stretched far beyond Kirkwall’s walls, and every piece she moved brought her closer to the unshakable order the city so desperately needed. The Trevelyans, the Champion, even Cullen—they would all play their part, willingly or not.

    ~~~

    Cullen found himself surrounded by stacks of paperwork and the faint echo of boots on stone from the hall outside. The orders and reports he had been meticulously working through had become a blur, his focus straying again and again to the argument with Ariana earlier that morning. No matter how much he tried to redirect his attention, her words lingered, biting at the edges of his mind. Who stops her if she oversteps?

    Cullen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as if the motion could dislodge the memory. Ariana had always been spirited, passionate in her convictions, but this time her words had struck a nerve. Some part of him couldn’t believe she genuinely thought the Templar Order was wielding unchecked power. The Order was accountable—to the Divine, the Chantry, and the Seekers of Truth. Its structure was designed to prevent such abuses. And yet…

    The thought tugged at him, persistent and unwelcome. He couldn’t shake the parallels she had drawn to his own criticism of mercenaries. The disdain he felt for the White Wolf and the Rangers—how they operated outside the law, answerable only to themselves—was a familiar frustration. But what if Ariana saw the Templar Order in the same light? Did she truly believe the Templars were no better than mercenaries loyal only to coin? Worse, did she see him that way?

    He gritted his teeth, willing the thoughts to quiet. He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now. There was too much at stake—both for the city and for his relationship with Ariana. Pushing the quill across the parchment before him, he focused on the duty assignments for the week.

    Cullen’s quill froze mid-note as his eyes caught the name: Michael Trevelyan. His chest tightened, the sound of the Gallows around him fading into an oppressive stillness. He reread the line, half-expecting the name to disappear, but there it was—unmistakable. The sight of Michael’s name sent a jolt through him, his chest tightening with equal parts dread and fury. He could almost feel Meredith’s cold hand moving the pieces, her calculated gaze watching from the shadows..

    He leaned back in his chair, the weight of suspicion settling heavily on his shoulders. This is her response, he realized, his thoughts snapping into focus. Transfers didn’t happen without cause, and Meredith’s sudden interest in Michael couldn’t be a coincidence.

    He hadn’t approved any transfers. Nor had he ordered reinforcements from Ferelden. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. This was no coincidence.

    Who stops her if she oversteps? Ariana’s voice echoed again, sharper this time, cutting through his thoughts.

    Suspicion flared, Cullen knew well enough to recognize Meredith’s handiwork. She had orchestrated this—her fingerprints were all over it. But why? What purpose could she possibly have for bringing Michael Trevelyan here?

    Had Michael requested the transfer? No. Cullen would have seen the paperwork. This wasn’t initiated from Kinloch Hold. Meredith had done this. But for what did she hope to gain?

    Rising from his chair, Cullen gathered the papers in his hand and strode out of his office, his boots striking against the stone floor with determined purpose. The halls of the Gallows blurred around him as his thoughts churned. If Meredith thought she could manipulate him or Ariana through Michael, she had severely underestimated both of them.

    He found one of the clerks responsible for processing transfers and approached the desk. The clerk, startled by the sudden appearance of the Knight-Captain, fumbled with his stack of documents.

    “Knight-Captain,” the clerk greeted, his tone wary. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

    Cullen placed the transfer papers on the desk, his tone firm but controlled. “This transfer,” he said, tapping the document. “Michael Trevelyan from Kinloch Hold. When was this arranged?”

    The clerk adjusted his glasses, flipping through a separate set of records. “Ah, yes. That request came through… a little over two weeks ago, I believe. A response to the need for reinforcements after the Qunari attack.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. “And whose authority was this processed under?”

    The clerk hesitated, visibly uncomfortable under Cullen’s intense scrutiny. “The Knight-Commander’s,” he admitted. “It was expedited through her office.”

    Cullen nodded curtly, his expression unreadable. “Of course it was. Thank you.” He turned on his heel without another word, his boots echoing against the stone as he strode away.

    His frustration mounted with each step, the pieces clicking into place. Meredith was making her move. This wasn’t just about reinforcements or filling gaps in the roster. This was leverage—a calculated attempt to use Michael against Ariana.

    ~~~

    The Gallows was eerily quiet as Cullen made his way to Meredith’s office. The usual hum of Templar activity seemed muted, the oppressive stone walls absorbing every sound. Each step echoed in the stillness, a steady rhythm that barely concealed the storm brewing in his mind.

    When he reached her door, Cullen hesitated for only a moment before rapping his knuckles sharply against the wood.

    “Enter,” Meredith’s voice called, cold and commanding.

    Cullen pushed the door open and stepped inside. Meredith was seated at her desk, meticulously reviewing a stack of documents. The stark light from the narrow windows cast sharp angles across her face, emphasizing the severe lines of her expression. She didn’t look up as he entered, her quill scratching against the parchment with deliberate precision.

    “Knight-Commander,” Cullen began, his voice steady but carrying a note of tension. “I wanted to speak with you about the recent transfer.”

    Meredith finally looked up, her sharp eyes meeting his. “Ah, Michael Trevelyan,” she said, her tone clipped. “I trust the paperwork has reached your desk?”

    “It has,” Cullen replied, stepping closer to the desk. “What I don’t understand is why I wasn’t informed beforehand. A transfer of this nature should have been discussed with me.”

    Meredith’s gaze hardened, and she set down her quill with deliberate care. “Are you questioning my authority, Knight-Captain?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to maintain a calm demeanor. “Of course not,” he said evenly. “But as the Knight-Captain overseeing the Gallows, I would expect to be consulted on personnel changes, especially one as significant as this.”

    Meredith leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepling in front of her. “Michael Trevelyan’s transfer was a strategic decision,” she said, her voice taking on an edge of condescension. “After the Qunari attack, it became clear that our forces needed reinforcement. Trevelyan’s record speaks for itself—loyal, capable, and experienced. Surely you see the benefit of having another seasoned Templar in Kirkwall.”

    Cullen held her gaze, his expression unreadable. “And yet, the timing feels… specific,” he said carefully. “Ser Michael arrives just as tensions in the city are at their peak. It’s difficult to ignore the connection to his sister.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Lady Trevelyan’s presence in Kirkwall is… irrelevant,” she said, though the words felt hollow even to her. “My concern is ensuring the stability of this city, and Michael Trevelyan will contribute to that goal.”

    Cullen took a measured breath, his frustration simmering just below the surface. “With respect, Knight-Commander, it seems more than coincidental. You’ve made your disdain for Lady Trevelyan quite clear.”

    Meredith stood abruptly, her sharp gaze locking onto Cullen with undeniable authority. “Do not mistake my actions for anything other than what they are, Knight-Captain,” she said sharply. “Lady Trevelyan is a distraction—one that has clearly affected your judgment.”

    Cullen’s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his tone steady. “My judgment remains sound, Knight-Commander. My duties have not faltered.”

    “And yet, your attention has,” Meredith countered, her voice cutting like a blade. “You were once one of my most reliable officers, Cullen. A man of discipline and conviction. But since Lady Trevelyan’s arrival, I have seen cracks in that resolve.”

    Cullen’s eyes flashed with defiance. “If I have faltered, it is only because I’ve begun to question whether the Order’s actions align with its purpose.”

    Meredith’s expression darkened, her voice dropping to a dangerous low. “The Order exists to maintain control, to protect this city from the chaos that threatens to consume it. Doubt is a weakness, Cullen, and I will not tolerate it in my ranks.”

    For a moment, silence stretched between them, the air thick with tension. Cullen met her gaze unflinchingly, the weight of his own convictions pressing against the authority she wielded.

    “Michael Trevelyan’s presence will strengthen the Gallows,” Meredith continued, her tone hard and unyielding. “And perhaps it will serve as a reminder of where your loyalties should lie. To the Order. To the protection of Kirkwall. Not to some girl who seeks to undermine our work.”

    Cullen straightened, his voice steady but edged with steel. “My loyalties have always been to the Order, Knight-Commander. But loyalty does not mean blind obedience.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room felt colder. “Take care, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “Loyalty is only valuable when it’s absolute. I trust you won’t force me to question yours further.”

    Without another word, Cullen gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, leaving the office with a storm of emotions churning in his chest. As he stepped into the corridor, the weight of Meredith’s words pressed heavily on him.

    He would need to tread carefully. Meredith’s game was becoming clearer, and Ariana was now at the center of it. But one thing was certain: he would not let Meredith use Michael—or anyone else—as a pawn in her quest for control.

    ~~~

    The ship docked at the Gallows under the gray morning light, its gangplank creaking as Michael descended onto the cold stone courtyard. The oppressive walls of the fortress loomed around him, their shadow casting a chill that rivaled the sea breeze. He adjusted his pack, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar expanse. Kirkwall, he thought grimly. This place feels like a prison before you even step inside.

    A group of Templars stood nearby, their armor polished but their postures weary. Among them, one figure caught his attention—a tall, commanding presence whose golden hair gleamed faintly in the morning light. The man turned, his sharp gaze locking onto Michael, and began to approach.

    Michael’s brows furrowed in recognition. “Cullen?” he said as the man neared, surprise evident in his tone. “Last I saw you was… during the Blight…” His words trailed off, realizing that was not a memory either of them should relive.

    “Knight-Captain Cullen,” Cullen corrected, though his tone held no arrogance. He stopped a few steps away, his posture straight and formal. “Welcome to Kirkwall, Knight-Lieutenant.”

    Michael’s surprise deepened. “Knight-Captain?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Cullen. “You’ve moved up quickly.”

    Cullen inclined his head, acknowledging the remark without elaborating. “A lot has changed since Kinloch Hold,” he said evenly. “I’m here to ensure you settle in smoothly.”

    Michael’s brow furrowed, his curiosity evident. “So why the transfer?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of suspicion. “No one mentioned anything unusual before I left Ferelden.”

    “Kirkwall has… unique challenges,” Cullen replied, his tone measured. “The Knight-Commander requires experienced Templars. That’s all I can tell you for now.”

    Michael’s boots echoed against the cold stone, the oppressive silence of the Gallows settling over him like a heavy cloak. His eyes scanned the courtyard, where mages moved with quick, cautious steps, their eyes darting toward the ever-present Templar patrols. There was fear in their movements, sharp and skittish, like prey too aware of its hunters. But worse than the fear was the resignation—the quiet acceptance that escape was impossible.

    The sight of chains on a mage’s wrists tightened something in Michael’s chest, a quiet unease he couldn’t shake. He had sworn to protect, to uphold the Order’s principles, but here? The line between protection and oppression seems perilously thin.

    Michael’s gaze shifted to Cullen as they stopped in the courtyard, Cullen’s composed demeanor standing in stark contrast to the tension that filled the air. “This place feels like it’s holding its breath,” Michael muttered, his voice low.

    Cullen glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “Come. I’ll show you where you’ll be stationed.”

    Michael fell into step beside him, his eyes lingering on the harsh architecture of the Gallows. As they passed a group of mages being escorted by Templars, he spoke again, his voice lower. “It’s strange seeing you in charge,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at Cullen. “You were younger than me when you were stationed in Ferelden. Now you’re… this.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened slightly, though his tone remained neutral. “I suppose circumstances were right,” he said.

    “Maybe,” Michael replied, though his voice carried a note of doubt. His eyes flicked back to the courtyard, the sight of chains making his stomach churn. “I didn’t ask to be here… Why was my transfer requested specifically? I can’t imagine there’s anything special about my record that warrants this.”

    Cullen’s expression didn’t change, but his steps slowed slightly. “You’re here because you’re needed,” he said, though the words felt rehearsed, distant.

    Cullen’s response came too quickly, his tone too even. Michael recognized it for what it was—a practiced deflection. Whatever answers Cullen had, they were buried beneath layers of loyalty and duty, and he wasn’t about to unearth them here.

    Michael glanced at him again, catching the hint of tension in his jaw. “Right,” he said simply, filing the observation away. There was more to this transfer, and Cullen wasn’t saying it. Yet.

    As they reached the barracks, Cullen stopped and turned to face him. “You’ll have some time to settle in before beginning your duties. If you have questions, bring them to me.”

    Michael nodded, though his gaze lingered on Cullen. “I appreciate it,” he said, his tone polite but edged with curiosity. “It’ll be… interesting to see how things work here.”

    Cullen inclined his head before stepping back. “Welcome to Kirkwall,” he said again, his voice even, before turning and walking away.

    Michael watched him go, his thoughts swirling. Every step deeper into the Gallows felt like walking into a trap, though Michael couldn’t yet see the snare. Kirkwall’s got secrets, he thought. And something is very wrong.

    ~~~

    The kitchen was warm, the soft glow of lanterns casting a gentle light over the stone walls. The scent of herbs and roasted vegetables lingered in the air, but the atmosphere between Isabel and Ariana was anything but cozy. Isabel stood at the counter, her arms crossed as she regarded Ariana with the steady, no-nonsense gaze that could cut through any pretense.

    “You’ve been impossible lately,” Isabel said, her voice calm but firm. “And don’t even think about telling me otherwise, child. You know it’s true.”

    Ariana, seated at the kitchen table, sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She was barefoot, wearing the house robe she had taken to lately, though its comfort did little to ease the tension in the room. “It’s not that simple, Isabel,” she said, her tone defensive. “You know what’s at stake.”

    “And Cullen doesn’t?” Isabel’s green eyes narrowed. “Do you think you’re the only one carrying the weight of this, Ariana? You keep him in the dark, you argue with him at every turn, and then you expect him to do as you want without understanding why. It’s not fair.”

    Ariana flinched at the words, though she tried to mask it with another sigh. “I’m trying to protect him,” she said, her voice quieter now.

    “Protect him?” Isabel snorted, shaking her head as she turned back to the counter. “From what? Knowing who you really are? “What you stand for?” Isabel repeated, her voice sharp as a knife. Ariana opened her mouth to protest, to offer some weak excuse, but Isabel cut her off with a swift gesture. “Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t about that. It’s always been about that, child. You’re so busy trying to shield him from who you really are, you’ve blinded yourself to the fact that he’s already chosen to stand beside you.”

    Ariana’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her thoughts racing. Isabel’s words cut too close. Cullen had chosen Meredith, chosen the Order—or so she told herself. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? She could feel the distance growing between them with every unspoken truth, every guarded word.

    “He has chosen to stand with Meredith…” Ariana shot back, though her tone was softer than even she expected.

    “Because you haven’t given him a choice, Ariana!” Isabel snapped back visibly frustrated with her. Probably more than Ariana had ever seen.

    Ariana flinched, Isabel’s words cutting deeper than she expected. She turned her gaze to the table, her fingers twisting together as she searched for something to say. “I’m just… trying to protect him,” she said softly, her voice faltering. Maker, how could she protect him without pushing him away? And if she lost him because of it, would she even survive the weight of that choice?

    Isabel sighed, her tone softening as she crossed the room and placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “Maker’s breath, Ariana,” she said, her voice gentler now. “You don’t protect someone by pushing them away. If you trust him, really trust him, then you owe him the truth. If you don’t… well, then maybe it’s not him you’re protecting.”

    “That’s not—” Ariana started, but Isabel spun back around, cutting her off.

    “Yes, it is,” Isabel said, her voice sharper now. “You can’t have it both ways, child. You can’t demand his loyalty while keeping him at arm’s length. If you don’t trust him with the truth, then you need to stop treating him like he’s the enemy every time you don’t agree.”

    Ariana’s mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came. Isabel’s words struck a chord, one she couldn’t ignore. She slumped back in her chair, her hands folding in her lap as guilt began to creep into her expression.

    “You’re right,” Ariana said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been… unfair…unkind. And it’s not fair to him.” She looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together. “I need to apologize.”

    Isabel’s features softened, the frustration in her eyes giving way to something warmer—relief, perhaps, or a quiet pride. She stepped closer, resting a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “Good,” she said softly, her voice losing its earlier edge. Because Maker knows that man loves you more than his own life. The least you can do is meet him halfway.”

    Ariana nodded, though her stomach twisted with guilt. “I’ll talk to him,” she said, though her voice trembled. The words felt fragile, as though speaking them aloud might shatter her resolve. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to meet Isabel’s steady gaze. “I’ve been awful. I just hope it’s not too late.”

    ~~~

    That evening, Cullen found Michael in the Gallows courtyard, watching a group of Templars spar. His posture was casual, but his eyes tracked every move with the precision of someone accustomed to assessing strength and weakness. As Cullen approached, Michael turned, his expression guarded.

    “Knight-Captain,” he greeted, his tone formal but edged with curiosity.

    “Michael,” Cullen said, his voice steady, though a hint of tension lingered. “Change into civilian clothes. We’re going somewhere.”

    Michael’s brow furrowed, his arms crossing over his chest. “And where exactly are we going?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

    Cullen’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ll see,” he replied simply, turning on his heel without waiting for a response.

    For a moment, Michael stood rooted, weighing the request before finally moving to follow. He changed quickly and trailed Cullen through the Gallows gates and into the city. The bustling streets of Lowtown gave way to the quieter, more refined avenues of Hightown, and with each step, Michael’s unease grew. The estates here spoke of power and privilege, a stark contrast to the grim austerity of the Gallows.

    “Are we going to the Chantry?” Michael asked, his voice low, breaking the silence.

    “No,” Cullen replied curtly, his eyes fixed ahead. “Just trust me.”

    Michael’s unease deepened as they approached a grand estate. The glow of lanterns spilled across the cobblestones, and the faint murmur of voices could be heard within. He stopped just short of the door, glancing at Cullen with growing suspicion. “What are we doing here?”

    Cullen didn’t answer. He simply gestured toward the door. “Inside.”

    Michael hesitated, then followed Cullen through the heavy oak doors. The warmth of the estate was immediate, the crackle of the hearth and the scent of something rich and spiced wafting from the kitchen. The polished wood floors gleamed in the firelight, and the quiet hum of conversation gave the house an intimate, welcoming feel—so unlike the sterile corridors of the Gallows.

    Michael’s sharp eyes swept the entryway, his confusion growing. “Cullen,” he said again, his tone edged with impatience. “Why here?”

    Cullen didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped further into the house, his movements purposeful. Michael followed reluctantly, his wariness growing with every step. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall just before Ariana appeared in the doorway.

    The moment her eyes landed on Cullen, Ariana’s stride quickened. In three swift steps, she closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around him as though she were afraid he might disappear. Cullen stumbled slightly at the force of her embrace, his hands instinctively catching her waist to steady her.

    “Ariana—” he began, his voice a mix of surprise and concern.

    “I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, her words tumbling out before he could stop her. Her voice trembled, raw with emotion. “I’m so sorry for everything—for arguing, for shutting you out. I’ve pushed you away when all you’ve ever done is try to be there for me.”

    “Ari,” Cullen tried again, his voice gentler this time, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. “It’s alright—”

    “No, it’s not,” she interrupted, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her hazel-green eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’ve been so focused on fighting everything that I’ve been awful to you because of it. And I love you, Cullen. Maker, I love you so much.” Her voice broke on the last word, her vulnerability stripping away the walls she’d so carefully built.

    Her words hit him like a physical force, and for a moment, he simply stared at her, his own emotions tangling with hers. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a faint smile. “Ari,” he said softly, his tone filled with warmth, “I love you too. But—”

    He hesitated, glancing over her shoulder, and Ariana immediately caught the shift in his expression. She turned, her breath hitching as her gaze landed on the figure leaning casually against the doorframe.

    Michael stood there, his arms crossed and an amused grin tugging at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity, “that clears up a few things.”

    Ariana froze, her mind struggling to process the moment. Her arms fell to her sides, and her face drained of color as she stared at him. “Michael?” she whispered, disbelief thick in her voice.

    Michael straightened, his grin softening into something kinder. “Hello, Ari,” he said, his voice warm with a touch of affection.

    ~~~

    The warm light of the hearth flickered softly, but Ariana felt no comfort in its glow. Her heart had barely settled from the moment Michael stepped into the house, his presence a bittersweet reminder of the ties she’d tried to protect from Kirkwall’s shadows. She walked toward him slowly, her composure slipping under the weight of surprise.

    “You don’t look nearly as tired this time,” she quipped, her lips curving into a faint smile as she wrapped her arms around him in a brief but warm embrace. “What… what are you doing here?”

    Michael arched an eyebrow, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied, his tone edged with dry humor. His sharp gaze flicked between her and Cullen, the faint amusement in his eyes betraying the questions he hadn’t yet voiced. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

    Ariana opened her mouth to respond, but Isabel’s brisk voice cut through the moment. “Enough gawking,” she said, her tone laced with fond exasperation as she stepped into the room. “Come sit down. All of you. Dinner is ready.”

    Michael turned toward Isabel, his brow furrowing slightly as recognition flickered across his face. “Isabel?” he asked cautiously, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. “You’re here too?”

    She arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smile softening her sharp features. “You remember me, child? You were, what, ten when you left for the Templars?”

    Michael tilted his head, his smile turning wry. “Barely,” he admitted lightly. “But you were kinder than mother, always.”

    Isabel’s no-nonsense demeanor slipped just slightly, replaced by a rare warmth. “And you were always trailing after your sister,” she said with a teasing edge. “Making sure she didn’t turn the manor upside down.”

    Ariana laughed softly, shaking her head as she moved toward the table. “If by ‘making sure,’ you mean tattling every chance you got, then yes, he was very diligent.”

    Michael chuckled, easing into the room with the same steady confidence he’d always had. The tension between them thawed, but Ariana felt the weight of unspoken questions lingering. She could see it in the way his sharp eyes darted around the room, cataloging every detail.

    Cullen settled beside her as Michael took the seat across from them. The quiet hum of the room was almost too loud in the stillness that followed, the faint crackle of the hearth filling the gaps between breaths.

    “So,” Ariana said, her smile tinged with mischief and curiosity, “can I assume you’re not here to drag me back to Ostwick?”

    Michael raised his glass, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know you were here,” he said simply. “Did you request my transfer?”

    Her smile faltered, genuine confusion flickering across her face. “Why in the Void would I ask for you to be transferred to the Gallows?” she said sharply. “To work under Meredith, of all people? That woman makes ogres look pleasant.” She winced slightly, glancing at Cullen. “Sorry… that was—”

    Cullen blinked, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smile. “You’re not wrong,” he said dryly, his humor catching her off guard. “But let me guess—Varric came up with that comparison?”

    Ariana gave him a sheepish look but didn’t answer. The tension in her shoulders softened slightly as she reached for her wine glass.

    Michael’s smirk faded as his gaze shifted between them. “If it wasn’t you,” he said, his tone growing more serious, “then who requested the transfer?”

    The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, before Ariana turned to Cullen, her silent question evident in her eyes.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Meredith,” he said firmly, the name cutting through the tension like a blade.

    Ariana’s stomach twisted as Cullen spoke Meredith’s name. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping her wine glass until her knuckles ached. Of course Meredith wouldn’t hesitate to use her family against her. The knowledge burned, filling her with equal parts guilt and fury. Was this the cost of trying to protect them?

    Michael’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Meredith?” he repeated, the name falling from his lips like a curse. “Why would the Knight-Commander transfer me here? What’s going on?”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes flicked briefly to Ariana before returning to Michael. “I believe she’s using you,” he said carefully, his tone low but steady. “As leverage.”

    Michael’s sharp gaze snapped to her, suspicion flaring in his eyes. “Leverage for what?” he demanded, his voice hardening.

    Ariana forced herself to breathe, her tone wry as she gestured vaguely toward Cullen. “Apparently, my relationship with him is enough to warrant all this. Meredith doesn’t need much of an excuse.”

    Michael’s incredulous expression deepened, his attention darting between the two of them. “So… this is about you two?” His disbelief was almost palpable.

    “Among other things,” Cullen interjected, his tone measured but grim. “Meredith doesn’t trust anyone she perceives as a threat to her authority. Ariana has… made an impression.”

    Ariana arched an eyebrow, her voice dry. “Frederick is the one that threatened her…”

    Cullen inclined his head slightly in agreement, though his expression remained serious. “Meredith doesn’t see defiance; she sees disruption. And now she’s testing both of us—my loyalty to the Order, and her ability to intimidate you.”

    Michael’s fists curled on the table, tension radiating from him. “So, she’s using me as a pawn,” he muttered bitterly. “Wonderful. I thought I’d left that behind in Ostwick.”

    Ariana’s expression softened, her voice steady but tinged with guilt. “We’ll figure this out together.”

    Cullen nodded, his tone firm. “Whatever her plans, we’ll counter them. Meredith won’t win.”

    The weight of the situation pressed heavily on the room, the flickering shadows of the hearth mirroring Ariana’s own unease. Yet even as guilt gnawed at her, a flicker of determination remained. Meredith might have drawn Michael into her game, but Ariana wouldn’t let her win—not at the cost of her family.

    ~~~

    As the evening wore on, the tension that had hung over the household like a storm cloud began to dissipate. Michael, his second glass of wine nearly empty, chuckled at Isabel’s vivid retellings of childhood antics, many of which he seemed only half to remember. Her warm, teasing tone filled the kitchen, weaving a thread of familiarity that softened the sharp edges of the day’s revelations.

    Ariana stood near the kitchen door, her arms loosely crossed, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched them. Yet her gaze often flicked toward Cullen. He was standing near the counter, preparing to leave, his posture as calm and composed as ever. But something about him felt different—subdued, perhaps, or heavier in a way she couldn’t quite name. The realization gnawed at her, a quiet unease settling in her chest.

    They hadn’t seen much of each other in the past few days, and now the gaps between their moments together seemed to stretch longer than they ever had before. Was it her fault? The arguments, the tension, her constant pushing—had she driven him away without realizing it? The thought tightened around her like a vice, her mind cycling through every harsh word, every moment she’d chosen distance over vulnerability.

    What if this time, I’ve pushed too far?

    When their eyes met briefly, her stomach twisted. Say something, she urged herself, but the words wouldn’t come. She motioned toward the hallway with a subtle tilt of her head, and to her relief, Cullen hesitated only briefly before nodding and following her in silence.

    The library was dimly lit, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the walls. Ariana stopped near the hearth, her back to him as she stared into the flames, her thoughts racing. She had rehearsed a hundred ways to start this conversation, but now, with him standing behind her, none of them felt right.

    “Cullen…” she began, her voice softer than she intended. Turning to face him, she hesitated, her words catching in her throat when she met his gaze. “I… you’ve been busy,” she said finally, her tone faltering. Her hands found the hem of her robe, fingers twisting the fabric absently, a rare show of vulnerability. “I wasn’t sure if—”

    Before she could finish, Cullen stepped forward, closing the space between them in a single motion. His hands cupped her face with a gentleness that made her heart ache, his hazel eyes searching hers for only a moment before he leaned in and kissed her.

    Ariana’s breath caught, her surprise melting almost instantly into quiet surrender. Her hands found his chest, resting lightly against the warmth of his tunic as she leaned into him. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was steady, grounding—a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there was still something solid between them.

    When Cullen pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire behind them.

    “I haven’t seen you in days,” Ariana said softly, her voice still tinged with lingering vulnerability. “I thought…” She hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly against his chest. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come back.”

    Cullen’s brows furrowed, and he sighed quietly, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” he began, his tone steady but laced with something heavier—guilt, perhaps. “At least, not entirely.”

    Ariana tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. “Then why?”

    His hands slid from her jaw to rest gently on her shoulders, steadying her as he spoke. “When I saw Michael’s name on the transfer orders, it caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to tell you… or how to deal with the fact that Meredith is clearly using him to get to you.” He exhaled heavily, his frustration seeping into his voice. “I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how to protect both of you without… making things worse.”

    Ariana blinked, her expression softening as the pieces began to fall into place. “You thought I’d blame you,” she murmured, her voice quiet but understanding.

    “I thought you’d be angry,” Cullen admitted, his tone raw with honesty. “And I didn’t want to fight—not again. I’ve seen how much Meredith’s games are wearing on you, and I hate that I’ve become part of the problem.”

    Her hands shifted to rest on his forearms, her touch firm yet reassuring. “You’re not the problem, Cullen,” she said softly. “Meredith is. And whatever she’s planning, we’ll face it together. But you don’t have to figure everything out on your own.”

    His gaze softened, and he nodded slightly, the tension in his posture easing. “I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t want to fail you.”

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, her fingers brushing against his sleeves. “You won’t,” she assured him. “You’ve been by my side through everything, Cullen. That’s more than enough.”

    Her throat tightened, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. “I missed you,” she said simply, the words heavy with regret and affection.

    “I missed you too,” he replied, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. The gesture was so tender, so unguarded, that Ariana felt the knot in her chest begin to loosen.

    For a moment, they stood in the quiet, the crackling fire the only sound between them. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the warmth of his presence chase away the lingering shadows of her doubts.

    “I’ll walk you out,” she murmured, her voice steadier now. Her fingers slipped into his, holding on as if to anchor herself.

    When they returned to the kitchen, Michael and Isabel glanced up from the table. Michael arched an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between amusement and curiosity, though he said nothing. Isabel, however, wore a knowing smile that Ariana pointedly ignored. For the first time in days, the weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter. She didn’t need to have all the answers tonight. For now, it was enough that Cullen was still at her side.

  • Chapter 36 – What Must Be done

    8 – 9 Cloudreach 9:34

    The following morning, Ariana sat at her desk, the thin parchment resting between her fingertips, the words etched upon it seemingly heavier than the weight of the ink itself.

    “Do what you must. Stay in the shadows. 

    -Dorothea” 

    She had expected this. From the moment she penned her letter to the Divine, she had known the response would be little more than permission to do what she had already resolved to do. Yet, seeing the words in front of her, their brevity so stark and unflinching, she couldn’t deny the sinking feeling that settled in her chest. 

    However, what was also painfully clear from the note was that they would get no help from the Chantry at this point. Stay in the shadows. “She makes it sound so easy,” Ariana murmured to herself, her voice tight with frustration.

    Her gaze dropped to the paper, her fingers tightening on its edges before carefully setting it down. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. The worst-case scenario was no longer a looming possibility—it was here, tangible, staring back at her in the Divine’s measured handwriting. 

    The room around her seemed quieter, the distant murmur of the house muffled as her thoughts began to race. This was no longer about mere rumors or speculation. It was real. The Rangers, her network, her decisions—they were all that stood between the vulnerable and the inevitable chaos that seemed to be encroaching on Kirkwall and beyond. 

    Do what you must.

    The words echoed in her mind, an affirmation of the responsibility she bore. Yet, for all her resolve, the reality of what lay ahead sent a chill down her spine. 

    The creak of the door was soft, but Ariana knew who it was without looking. Isabel entered the room quietly, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She paused when she saw Ariana’s expression, her usually steady gaze faltering as concern flickered across her face. 

    “Child?” Isabel asked softly, setting the cup down with care. “What is it?” 

    Ariana opened her eyes, the faintest hint of weariness in their depths. She gestured to the letter, her voice quiet. “The Divine… has responded.” 

    Isabel reached for the letter, her eyes narrowing as they scanned the short message. A faint sigh escaped her lips, the weight of the words not lost on her. “I see,” she murmured, her voice steady but sympathetic. 

    Ariana let out a shaky breath, her hands falling to her lap. “It is worse than I thought. She has effectively told me to prepare for the worst—to do what is necessary.” 

    Isabel rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. “You have faced worse odds, Ariana. This is not the first time you have been tasked with the impossible, and it will not be the last.” 

    “Fixing ‘all the things’ in Ferelden was one thing,” she said bitterly. “There were no shadows. Rebuilding a town didn’t defy anyone. But here? Stay in the shadows.” She laughed without humor. “As if this is just another piece in her grand game.” For a moment, she wondered if that’s all she had ever been—a piece to be moved until sacrificed, all for a larger, unseen strategy.

    “Then you will adapt,” Isabel said firmly, her voice cutting through Ariana’s rising anxiety with practiced ease. “Because that is what you do, child. You adapt, you endure, and you fight for what is right.” 

    Ariana nodded, though her mind remained clouded, the letter’s implications swirling in her thoughts like a storm. “The Rangers will need to be more careful than ever now. And the mages… Maker, if Meredith discovers what we are doing—” 

    For a moment, Ariana’s gaze softened, gratitude flickering in her hazel-green eyes. Isabel’s unwavering confidence in her was a lifeline, the steady presence she often relied upon when everything else felt unmoored. 

    She picked up the letter again, folding it neatly with deliberate care and tucking it away into a small lockbox on her desk. “Stay in the shadows,” she repeated softly. “It seems that is the only choice left.” 

    Isabel nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips as she squeezed Ariana’s shoulder. “And you’ll do it well. You always have.” 

    The soft creak of the library door interrupted them. Ariana’s head turned sharply, and her heart skipped a beat as Frederick appeared in the doorway. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze darted between the two women, picking up on the faint tension lingering in the air. 

    “Is everything all right?” he asked, his tone light, though his sharp grey eyes betrayed his curiosity. “You both look like you’re plotting something dramatic.” 

    Ariana immediately schooled her expression into something calmer, her posture shifting as if shaking off the moment. She offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just business,” she said with an airy tone, brushing her hands lightly along the desk. “A letter that needed sorting.” 

    Frederick’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression searching as if trying to read between the lines. “Business,” he echoed skeptically, though his tone remained teasing. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re being purposefully vague?” 

    Isabel straightened, stepping back with a pointed glance at Ariana as if to silently say, this is yours to handle. “Because Ariana is purposefully vague,” Isabel replied dryly, a hint of humor easing the tension. She offered Frederick a polite smile. “I’ll fetch you both something to eat. No plotting on empty stomachs.” 

    Frederick chuckled as Isabel disappeared down the hall, leaving him alone with Ariana. He stepped further into the room, his gaze landing briefly on her desk before meeting her eyes again. “You’re not going to tell me what that was really about, are you?” 

    Ariana shook her head, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Not right now, Fred,” she said softly but firmly. “It’s just… things I need to sort out.” 

    He frowned, concern flickering across his face. “Does it have to do with what happened in the city? The Qunari? The injuries?” 

    Her smile faltered briefly, her fingers brushing absently over the edge of the desk. “Partially,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “The Qunari uprising… it changed everything. The chaos, the desperation… Maker, Fred, I saw things I’d rather not remember.” She paused, her gaze distant. “And yes, I got caught in the middle of it. Too close to the fighting.” 

    Frederick’s brow creased further. “Ari—” 

    “Don’t,” she cut in gently, holding up a hand. “I’m fine now. Truly. And I promise, it’s nothing you need to worry about.” 

    Frederick’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, the concern still evident in his expression. Finally, he sighed, giving her a small, reluctant smile. “I know better than to press you when you’ve made up your mind.” 

    “At least you should know better,” she replied with a faint grin, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. 

    Frederick tilted his head, his tone lighter again. “For what it’s worth, you’re terrible at pretending you’re not up to something. You’ve always been the worst liar.” 

    Ariana laughed softly, shaking her head. “Only with you because you still let me get away with it.” 

    “For now,” he quipped, though the sincerity in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. “But if you need anything—anything at all—you’ll tell me, won’t you?” 

    Ariana’s expression softened, her gaze meeting his as she nodded. “I will,” she promised, though a part of her doubted she’d ever let him carry that burden. 

    Frederick seemed satisfied with that, leaning back against the nearby bookshelf with his easy, familiar smile. “Good. Now, let’s see what Isabel has prepared. If I remember correctly, she makes a mean lemon cake.” 

    Ariana chuckled, the heaviness in her chest lifting, if only slightly. “She does,” she replied, pushing herself up from the chair. “And you’ll owe me if I let you have the last slice.” 

    Frederick grinned, falling into step beside her as they left the library together. For now, the shadow war could wait—just a little longer.

    ~~~

    Ariana paced the length of the library, the Divine’s letter tucked securely in her pocket. The words weighed on her like chains, each step echoing her growing sense of entrapment. What if she’d been naive to think the Divine would ever act? Was she just a pawn, moved in a game far beyond her control? The thought sent a cold knot of anger and doubt tightening in her chest. The words felt like they burned there, a constant reminder of the dangerous path ahead. She had sent for Hawke and Varric as soon as the weight of the message settled. This wasn’t something she could manage alone.

    When Hawke and Varric arrived, the atmosphere in the estate was heavy. Isabel led them into the library, where Ariana stood by the table, a map of Kirkwall and its surrounding areas spread out, various notes and markings scattered across its surface. She turned to greet them, her expression serious but calm.

    “Pup,” Varric said, his tone light despite the tension in the room. “This must be something big if you’re calling us here so early.”

    Ariana offered a faint smile but didn’t return the jest. Instead, she retrieved the letter from her pocket and handed it to Hawke. “Here,” she said simply, her voice steady.

    Hawke’s eyes scanned the brief message, her brows knitting together as she passed it to Varric. “Do what you must,” she murmured, her tone dry but carrying an edge of understanding. “That’s ominous.”

    Varric read it next, his expression darkening slightly as he placed the letter back on the table. “She’s leaving it all on you, huh?” he said. “No guidance, no resources, just… good luck out there?”

    Ariana nodded, leaning against the edge of the table, though her mind remained clouded. Every word, every plan etched onto the map felt like a thread of a web she could no longer untangle. She had resolved to act, but the weight of knowing she might lead others into danger never fully left her. “Seems like it. But we don’t have time to dwell on what we don’t have. We have to move.”

    “What’s the plan, then?” Hawke asked, crossing her arms as she leaned back against a chair.

    Ariana gestured to the map. “Same plan we’ve been working, but now we need to start being faster and getting more people out. It also means we’ll need to start intercepting any mage transports into Kirkwall. Keep directing any mages you come across to the warehouse. The Rangers have it set up as a safe haven. From there, we can smuggle them out of Kirkwall to safety.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow. “And if Meredith catches wind of this?”

    “She can’t,” Ariana said firmly. “We stay in the shadows. No one can know this is connected to the Rangers, or to me. If anyone asks, they’re just independent sympathizers.”

    Varric nodded, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. “We should also alert our contacts in the mage underground. Let them know we’ll need to get better at this.”

    “I was hoping you’d bring that up,” Ariana said, glancing at Hawke. “Can you two handle that?”

    Hawke considered the question for a moment, her gaze drifting over the map. “We’ll talk to Anders. He should be able to coordinate with them.”

    “Good,” Ariana said, her tone resolute. “The more coordination we have, the better chance we have of avoiding detection.”

    Hawke straightened, meeting Ariana’s gaze. “You’re taking a big risk, you know.”

    “So are you,” Ariana replied. “But we’ve already seen what Meredith is capable of. If we don’t act, innocent people will suffer.”

    There was a moment of silence as the weight of the situation settled over the room. Varric broke it with a soft sigh. “Well, Hawke, it looks like we’re getting ready for war after all.”

    “Thank you,” Ariana said sincerely, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. “Both of you.” 

    Hawke gave her a small smile. “Just promise me one thing.” 

    Ariana felt her curiosity stir, her gaze narrowing slightly as her mind raced to piece together Hawke’s cryptic words. “What’s that?” she asked, the question tinged with both suspicion and a flicker of concern. 

    Hawke’s smile widened, though there was a sharpness to her tone. “If this all goes sideways, don’t get yourself killed. I need someone to share the blame with.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, a small relief breaking through the tension. “Well… look at it this way. If I die, you won’t need to share that Champion of Kirkwall title.”

    Hawke’s laugh was quick and full, her tone playfully sharp as she leaned against the back of a chair. “Oh, didn’t you hear? Apparently, we’ll have to duel for the title.”

    Varric’s voice cut in smoothly, his usual swagger infused with mock seriousness. “For dramatic effect, naturally. I’ll make sure to pen the story so both of you look good. Can’t have the readers picking sides, after all.”

    Ariana shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. “You’d make it sound like we battled on the rooftops in a storm, wouldn’t you?”

    Varric grinned, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. “Hmm, now that you mention it, Pup, a thunderstorm could really set the scene. Adds a touch of gravitas to the whole affair.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “And who wins this epic duel, then?”

    “Depends who’s buying the drinks that night,” Varric replied smoothly.

    The banter rippled through the room like a calming tide, momentarily pulling Ariana from her thoughts. Yet beneath her faint smile, the weight of her responsibility simmered, a constant reminder that this fragile levity could shatter at any moment. Ariana allowed herself a brief moment to breathe, her gaze flicking to the map spread across the table, the lines and notes a stark reminder of the work ahead.

    Hawke’s tone softened, though her teasing edge remained. “In all seriousness, Ari, don’t get yourself killed. I like having you around, and besides… someone has to keep Varric in check.”

    Ariana’s expression gentled, her eyes meeting Hawke’s with quiet determination. “The feeling’s mutual. Just try not to get us both killed, alright?”

    Varric raised his hands in mock surrender. “Now, now, let’s not get sentimental. We’ve got a shadow war to run here, and I’d rather it not end with a tragic finale. Too many tears, not enough drinks.”

    “Noted,” Ariana replied, her voice lighter as she reached for her notes. “Let’s focus on keeping this as tear-free as possible, shall we?”

    Before any more could be said, the sound of footsteps approaching made all three of them pause. The door creaked open, and Frederick appeared in the entryway, his brow furrowed slightly as he took in the scene. “What’s all this? More scheming?” he asked, his tone casual but underpinned by curiosity.

    Varric and Hawke exchanged quick, wary glances, and Ariana straightened, stepping forward as if to intercept him. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Fred. Just… business.”

    Frederick tilted his head, his sharp grey eyes flicking between Ariana, Varric, and Hawke. “Business? With the Champion of Kirkwall? I’m not blind, Ari.”

    Ariana exhaled softly, her posture relaxing just a little. “It’s complicated, Fred. That’s all.”

    Frederick crossed his arms, his expression darkening slightly. “Is it as complicated as the rumors I’ve been hearing?”

    The room fell silent for a beat. Hawke and Varric stiffened almost imperceptibly, both of them glancing at Ariana for direction. Ariana’s brow furrowed slightly, her tone cautious as she asked, “What rumors?”

    Frederick took another step into the room, his gaze steady. “I’ve heard disturbing things about the Kirkwall Circle. It’s part of the reason I came.”

    Varric leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of disturbing things?”

    Frederick glanced at him before turning his focus back to Ariana. “The Knight-Commander of the Markham Circle reached out to me before I left. He’s an old friend, and… he’s worried. Deeply. He said there are whispers about Meredith’s methods—rumors that the Rite of Tranquility is being overused. That it’s being used as a weapon.”

    Ariana stilled, her heart sinking at the confirmation of what she already knew. This wasn’t just about saving lives anymore; it was about standing against a force far more corrupt than she had dared to admit. Her pulse quickened, and she felt the sting of bitter frustration—both at Meredith and at herself for not acting sooner. Yet to hear that others in the Templar Order were concerned was something else altogether. She exchanged a brief look with Hawke and Varric, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.

    Frederick, clearly unsettled, continued. “The Markham Circle is small, you know that. It has no political weight, no real influence. The Knight-Commander there believes Meredith’s focus isn’t on protecting mages but on controlling them completely—breaking them. He’s afraid to investigate any further.”

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on Frederick, searching his face for any hint of doubt or exaggeration. She wanted to believe they weren’t fighting a losing battle, but each word he spoke reminded her how deep the shadows had grown. Could they truly face this and survive? There was none. She turned her attention to Varric and Hawke, who both seemed to reach the same conclusion she had.

    Finally, Hawke broke the silence. “And what do you think, Frederick?”

    Frederick frowned, his voice quiet but resolute. “I think if half of what I’ve heard is true, Meredith is a monster. And someone has to stop her.”

    Ariana let out a quiet breath, her decision already made. She glanced at Varric and Hawke again, seeing the understanding in their eyes before turning back to Frederick. “Fred… this isn’t just gossip. It’s worse than you know.”

    He blinked, surprise flickering across his face. “You’re saying it’s true?”

    Ariana nodded slowly. “It’s worse. We’ve seen it firsthand.”

    Frederick looked at her, his expression softening with concern. “Ari, if you’re in danger—”

    “I’m not,” she cut in gently, though her tone carried the weight of her resolve. “But the mages are. And I can’t ignore it.”

    Frederick studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. “You’re in the middle of this, aren’t you?”

    “We are,” Ariana admitted quietly, motioning towards Hawke and Varric. “And now, you’re part of it, too.”

    He let out a small breath, his lips quirking into a faint, resigned smile. “Well, I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines, have I?”

    Varric snorted, shaking his head. “Looks like you picked a fine time to visit, my Lord.”

    Frederick’s grin grew, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Better late than never.”

    Ariana stepped forward, her expression softening. “Fred… you can still walk away from this. I’ll understand.”

    He shook his head firmly. “No. I told you, if you ever need me, I’m here. You’ll need allies, Ari. And I’ll be one of them.”

    Hawke smirked, arms crossed. “I like him already.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, warmth flickering in her chest as she looked between them. For the first time in days, she felt a spark of hope. They weren’t alone in this. Not anymore.

    ~~~

    Ariana had chosen her outfit carefully that day—a deep sapphire gown with elegant tailoring that hugged her figure. The high collar and subtle embroidery of the fabric spoke of noble refinement without being ostentatious. The soft shimmer of the material caught the sunlight as she walked, her steps steady but light as she made her way through the cobbled streets of Hightown.

    She had hoped a stroll might help clear her thoughts. She asked Frederick for his company, needing someone to talk to, someone whose perspective she trusted. The Divine’s letter, the mages, the Rangers—it all weighed heavily on her.

    “You said the Markham Circle is small,” Ariana began softly, careful to keep her voice low as they walked side by side. “But can you find out if they have room to take in mages?”

    Frederick quirked an eyebrow, glancing at her with curiosity. “Of course, but why do you ask?”

    Ariana let out a faint sigh. “Part of our task, if we confirm the suspicions about the Rite of Tranquility, is to divert mages bound for Kirkwall elsewhere. But not all of them want to become apostates—some just want to be safe.” She let her words hang in the air for a moment, glancing at him. “It would be easier if we had Circles willing to accept mages quietly.”

    Frederick’s expression turned thoughtful, his voice measured. “You’re organizing something far bigger than you’re letting on, aren’t you?”

    Before she could answer, a sharp voice cut through the hum of Hightown. Ariana felt her stomach twist slightly, her thoughts snapping to attention as her mind raced to interpret the tension in that voice.

    “Ariana Trevelyan.”

    They turned in unison to find Knight-Commander Meredith standing a few paces behind them, her crimson-lined armor catching the sunlight, making her look more imposing than ever. Her piercing gaze scanned Ariana from head to toe, lingering with calculated scrutiny. There was no attempt at subtlety in her judgment.

    Frederick instinctively shifted a half-step closer, placing himself slightly in front of Ariana, his shoulders squaring as if shielding her.

    “I wondered how long it would take for our paths to cross,” Meredith continued, her tone clipped.

    Ariana’s expression remained neutral, though her back straightened instinctively. “Knight-Commander,” she replied evenly, inclining her head in a gesture that was polite but far from deferential.

    Meredith’s sharp eyes lingered on Frederick for only a second before turning back to Ariana. “It has come to my attention that you have been occupying a great deal of the Knight-Captain’s time.”

    “I’m certain that any time I’ve occupied has been during his off-duty hours only, Knight-Commander,” Ariana responded calmly despite the frustration that was beginning to settle in her chest.

    Meredith held her gaze, unyielding “It has also come to my attention that the Knight-Captain brought you to the Gallows and arranged for you to be tended to by several Circle mages. A careless use of magic caused by his distraction with you.”

    “Yes, I’m sure my dying would have been a far more convenient and less careless an act on the Knight-Captain’s part.” Ariana quipped, her tone purposefully light “However, I believe if you have concerns about his actions or his duties–“

    “His duties, girl, are of paramount importance—”

    “Lady Trevelyan,” Frederick interrupted smoothly, his tone cold and firm, cutting through Meredith’s condescension like a blade. “It is only proper that you address her as such. I am Lord Frederick Decken, son of the Duke Victor Decken of Markham. It is not often I see Templars addressing individuals of noble blood with such… directness.”

    Meredith’s gaze flicked to him sharply, clearly unamused, but Frederick stood his ground, his noble poise unwavering.

    Ariana glanced at Frederick with the faintest hint of appreciation before continuing, her tone measured but pointed. “If you are concerned about Cullen’s focus on his duties, perhaps you should address that matter with him directly. I am not privy to his assignments.”

    The flash of irritation that crossed Meredith’s face was fleeting, but Ariana caught it. Her chest tightened as the weight of Meredith’s words settled in—a subtle but undeniable threat to Cullen, to her, and to everything they were trying to protect. “You would do well to understand the delicate balance in this city,” Meredith said, her voice low and heavy with warning. “There are matters at play here that you cannot begin to comprehend.”

    “Oh, I am quite familiar with delicate balances,” Ariana replied, her tone sweetly polite, though her words carried weight. “Speaking of which, has there been any progress in the search for a new Viscount? Surely, the city cannot function properly without civilian leadership.”

    Meredith’s expression darkened, though she forced a tight smile. “The current situation requires stability. A change in leadership would be… premature.”

    “Curious,” Ariana said, her gaze unwavering. “I was under the impression that the Chantry frowns upon Templars wielding power in civilian matters. I imagine that must make this situation… uncomfortable for you.”

    Meredith’s jaw tightened, her composure slipping just a fraction. “I would caution you to tread carefully, Lady Trevelyan. Kirkwall is not a place for outsiders to meddle.”

    Frederick interjected, his voice calm but cutting, every word laced with noble authority. “Forgive me, Knight-Commander, but I must remind you that Lady Trevelyan is hardly an outsider. She has resided in Kirkwall for some time now, and as the daughter of one of Ostwick’s most prominent houses, she has every right to concern herself with the city’s wellbeing.”

    Meredith’s glare turned icy, but Frederick pressed on, unshaken. Ariana’s tension eased slightly at his calm confidence, but her mind churned, already anticipating the ripple effects of this confrontation. “Moreover, I agree with Lady Trevelyan in this matter. What I have witnessed here is deeply troubling, and I do intend to bring this back to my father in Markham and the noble houses of Ostwick. The other city-states will undoubtedly find it… unsettling to hear that Kirkwall appears to be under what one might call Templar occupation.”

    The subtle emphasis on the last words made Meredith’s face flush with barely restrained anger. “You speak of things you do not understand, my Lord.”

    “Do I?” Frederick replied smoothly, tilting his head in a way that somehow made the air even heavier. “Or do I speak of matters the Chantry might wish to address before they attract further… scrutiny?”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, her composure visibly cracking, though she held her silence for a moment longer. Finally, with an abrupt turn, she barked, “Good day, Lady Trevelyan. Lord Decken.”

    With that, Meredith spun on her heel and strode off, her crimson-lined cloak snapping behind her like the crack of a whip.

    The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the whispers of a few nobles lingering nearby who had clearly witnessed the exchange. Ariana felt the weight of their stares, the cold judgment of the court she had long since learned to navigate. But beneath her composed exterior, unease flickered—this exchange would carry far beyond Hightown’s cobbled streets.

    Ariana exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from her shoulders as she turned to Frederick. Gratitude flickered in her eyes, but beneath it lay a faint shadow of concern. “That was bold, even for you,” she murmured, her tone light but edged with sincerity. “You didn’t have to do that.”

    Frederick shrugged lightly, though there was a quiet resolve in his voice. “Of course I did. Your Knight-Captain ordered me to take care of you,” he joked, “And I meant what I said, Ari. I won’t let you stand alone in this. If I can take this fight into the light, to Markham, to the other city-states… well, that’s one less battle you need to fight from the shadows.”

    Ariana’s expression softened, genuine relief breaking through her carefully guarded demeanor. “Thank you, Fred.” Her voice softened, and for a moment, the weight of her burdens lifted. “You don’t know how much it means.”

    “Don’t thank me yet,” Frederick said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I suspect Meredith is already plotting the fastest way to get rid of me.”

    Ariana laughed softly, shaking her head. “Just do try to not get yourself killed. I would feel bad about that… and I would miss you.”

    They continued walking toward the estate, Ariana aware of the lingering gazes from the nobles they passed. The story would spread like wildfire by the evening—Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken standing up to the Knight-Commander. Ariana could only hope it wouldn’t come back to bite them.

    As they reached the estate, Frederick turned to her again, his expression serious. “She’s dangerous, Ari. You know that, don’t you?”

    “I know,” Ariana replied quietly, her gaze steady. “But someone has to stand up to her.”

    Frederick studied her for a long moment before nodding, his voice unwavering. “And I’ll be here to make sure you don’t have to do it alone.”

    ~~~

    A sharp knock echoed through Cullen’s quarters as he sat at his desk, buried in the endless reports that came with his station. The flicker of a nearby candle cast shadows over the papers, but his focus had begun to waver. “Enter,” he called, his voice steady despite his growing fatigue.

    The door creaked open to reveal a young Templar, his posture rigid and expression tense. He stepped inside, hesitating just long enough to catch Cullen’s attention.

    “Knight-Captain,” the Templar began, his tone careful, “there has been an… incident in Hightown. It involved the Knight-Commander, Lady Trevelyan, and Lord Decken.”

    Cullen immediately straightened in his chair, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of Ariana. “What happened?” he asked, his voice calm but firm, laced with urgency. “Be specific.”

    The Templar’s gaze flickered uncertainly before he continued, his words measured. “The confrontation occurred in full view of several nobles. Knight-Commander Meredith appeared… displeased with Lady Trevelyan’s presence in Hightown and her association with you, and…” the Templar paused, clearly uncomfortable.

    “And?” Cullen demanded, annoyance clear on his face.

    “And she was displeased that Lady Trevelyan had been brought here to recover from her injuries. The Knight-Commander suggested it was a ‘careless’ use of magic to save Lady Trevelyan’s life. However, Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken were both… unyielding.”

    Cullen clenched his fists. Careless use of magic? The thought infuriated him. Could Meredith really believe he should have let Ariana die that night?

    He shook the thought from his mind and leaned forward. “Unyielding?” The single word was a prompt, one that carried the weight of his growing concern.

    The Templar nodded, a faint unease coloring his expression. “Meredith questioned Lady Trevelyan’s… influence over you and made it clear she did not approve. Lady Trevelyan, however, insisted that any concerns regarding your duties should be addressed to you directly. She… also pointed out that the Chantry traditionally opposes Templars exerting undue civilian authority, especially in the absence of a Viscount.”

    Cullen let out a slow, measured breath. His jaw tightened as the Templar’s account began to solidify the scene in his mind—Meredith’s sharp rebukes, Ariana’s calm but pointed responses, and the tension simmering between them.

    “And Lord Decken?” Cullen asked, his tone clipped.

    The Templar hesitated again, as though reluctant to recount the full exchange. “Lord Decken stepped in when the Knight-Commander addressed Lady Trevelyan… improperly,” he explained carefully. “He reminded her of Lady Trevelyan’s noble station and made it clear that speaking to her in such a manner was unacceptable.”

    The corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched slightly, though he quickly suppressed any sign of amusement. “I see,” he said, gesturing for the Templar to continue.

    The young man cleared his throat, clearly choosing his next words with care. “Lord Decken went further, stating that he would report the incident to his father in Markham and to the city-state of Ostwick. He expressed concern that Kirkwall’s governance… or lack thereof, might cause unrest among the Free Marches.”

    Cullen sat back, rubbing his temples as the full weight of the situation settled on him. He could almost hear Frederick’s voice, the carefully measured tone of a nobleman wielding influence like a weapon.

    “How did Meredith respond to that?” Cullen asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

    The Templar hesitated, then replied, “The Knight-Commander left abruptly. She was… visibly displeased.”

    Visibly displeased. That was an understatement. Cullen exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at his desk. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he said finally, his tone steady but clipped. “You are dismissed.”

    The Templar bowed slightly and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Cullen sat in silence for a moment, his thoughts a whirlwind.

    Ariana, with her sharp wit and unwavering determination, standing her ground against Meredith—it was both predictable and infuriating. And Frederick’s involvement only complicated matters further. Cullen felt a flicker of pride for them both, though it was overshadowed by the gnawing unease that had begun to settle in his chest.

    He knew Meredith too well. She wouldn’t see this as a mere disagreement or even an isolated challenge. She would see it as an affront, a direct threat to her authority. And Meredith did not take threats lightly.

    Cullen leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. He wasn’t angry with Ariana—how could he be? She hadn’t sought out this confrontation. Meredith had provoked her. And yet, Cullen couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

    She stood her ground, but at what cost?

    He could no longer deny the pattern. Meredith’s disdain for Ariana wasn’t just personal—it was a symptom of something far larger. She was tightening her grip on Kirkwall, and anyone who stood in her way, mage or otherwise, was a threat to be crushed. If she would call saving a life ‘careless,’ what hope did the mages have of being seen as anything other than tools to be controlled or discarded?

    With a weary sigh, Cullen stood. Whatever Meredith’s next move, he needed to be ready—not just for Ariana, but for everyone caught in her shadow.

    ~~~

    Ariana, Frederick, and Isabel sat in the kitchen, their conversation circling through lighter topics before inevitably returning to the day’s events.

    Isabel let out a quiet breath, both exasperated and impressed. “Still, you know how these things spread, child. By tomorrow, Hightown will be buzzing, and Cullen will hear of it sooner rather than later.”

    “I have never seen a Templar act the way Meredith did…” Frederick said, his tone tinged with confusion. “It seems Markham is right—she’s certainly wielding far more power than is appropriate.”

    Ariana leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling softly. “She took advantage of the Qunari uprising and the Viscount’s death. With no civilian leadership, she’s been free to operate without oversight.”

    “That woman knows how to seize opportunities,” Isabel interjected, her tone edged with reluctant acknowledgment. “Her skill in that regard cannot be denied.”

    Ariana turned to Frederick, her gaze serious. “Frederick, find out about the Circle in Markham. Let me know if they can take in any mages. If we’re going to divert them from Kirkwall, we need safe places for them to go.”

    Frederick nodded, though his expression turned serious. “Just be mindful, Ari. You’re playing a dangerous game with someone who holds all the power in this city. I’ll help however I can. And I did mean it when I said I will take this back to my father.”

    Ariana met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude crossing her features. “I know. Thank you, Fred. Though, I have a feeling Meredith now sees us both as a threat.”

    Frederick looked contemplative, glancing toward Ariana. “This wasn’t just about you and Cullen, was it?” he asked. “Her reaction—it felt personal.”

    “I think in a way it was,” Ariana replied. “She wants me to step aside, to let her dictate his life, his choices. I think from her perspective I’ve stolen her protégé.” Ariana’s thoughts raced as she spoke. Varric had once told her how quickly Cullen had risen through the ranks after arriving in Kirkwall—a hollow man, driven only by duty and pain. But that wasn’t the Cullen she knew. His growth, his confidence, even his willingness to question orders—all of it had come after they’d reconnected. Meredith’s protégé might have followed her without question, but now? Ariana realized she had indeed taken something from Meredith, though not in the way the Knight-Commander believed. She had simply helped Cullen find himself again.”

    Frederick leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Do you think this will end with words, or is she planning something more?”

    Before Ariana could respond, the sound of the front door opening sent all three of them glancing toward the hallway. Their postures stiffened instinctively, the tension of the day making them alert. A moment later, Cullen appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an unspoken urgency.

    “Ari,” he began without preamble, his golden eyes moving between her and Frederick. “What happened today? Why did you challenge Meredith?”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, her irritation flickering to the surface. Why did I challenge Meredith? The question struck her like a sharp slap, her thoughts bristling. Is that really what he thinks? That I sought her out for sport? Her expression cooled as she met his gaze. “Why did I…? Cullen, I was out for a walk. She accosted me in the middle of the street. What was I supposed to do, bow down and apologize for my existence?”

    Frederick leaned back slightly, his expression calm but watchful. “If anything, Knight-Captain,” he interjected smoothly, “it was Meredith who provoked Ariana. She treated her with a disrespect unbecoming of her station, and I simply couldn’t stand by and let that continue.”

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to Frederick, a mix of gratitude and wariness in his eyes. “I’ve heard what happened,” he said, his tone measured. “But I also heard you plan to take this back to your father—and potentially the other city-states.” There was a note of caution in his voice now. “Do you think that’s wise? It could escalate things further.”

    Frederick studied Cullen for a moment before replying, his tone steady but firm. “It may escalate things, yes,” he admitted. “But the Free Marches operates on mutual respect and shared values. For one city-state to operate under Templar rule would be deeply concerning to the others.”

    Cullen frowned, his arms crossing as he leaned against the doorframe. “You must realize how dangerous this could be. Meredith will not respond kindly to outside interference.”

    “I don’t expect she will,” Frederick countered, though his tone remained diplomatic. “But that does not mean she should go unchecked. I don’t intend to send an army to her doorstep, Knight-Captain. I intend to share my observations with Markham and Ostwick’s leaders—quietly, for now. If Kirkwall’s stability is truly at risk, it’s better that the city-states are aware of it sooner rather than later.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his concern evident. “And if this scrutiny puts more pressure on Kirkwall? If it makes Meredith’s grip even stronger?”

    Frederick’s gaze sharpened, though his voice remained calm. “If she tightens her grip, then she reveals her intentions for all to see. And that,” he said pointedly, “may be the very thing that forces change.”

    Ariana’s expression softened slightly as she glanced between the two men. “Frederick’s right,” she said, her tone quiet but resolute. “The Free Marches stands together, Cullen. If one city-state falters, the others will act. It’s always been that way.”

    Cullen sighed heavily, his hand running through his hair. “I just don’t want this to spiral out of control,” he muttered, his frustration evident. “Meredith is already watching you, Ari. This will only make things worse.”

    “She’s already watching me,” Ariana replied evenly. “What’s one more reason for her to glare at me from across the Gallows?”

    Frederick chuckled softly, though his expression remained serious. “Don’t worry, Knight-Captain. I’ve been in enough diplomatic circles to know how to tread lightly. For now, I’m simply gathering information.”

    Cullen’s gaze lingered on Frederick for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “Just be careful,” he said, his tone quiet but sincere. “Meredith isn’t someone to underestimate.”

    “Nor am I,” Frederick replied with a faint smile. “But your warning is noted, Knight-Captain.”

    Ariana stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Cullen’s arm. “I know you’re worried,” she said gently. “But I promise you—today wasn’t about picking a fight. I handled myself, and Frederick has only ever had my back.”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes softened as he looked at her, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just… don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

    Frederick smiled faintly, his tone lighter now. “Well, I’ve been following Ariana into trouble since we were children. I don’t intend to stop now.”

    Ariana was quietly grateful for having Frederick back in her life. And this new version of their friendship felt as it always should have been.

    The room relaxed slightly as the tension eased. Isabel, who had been listening quietly from the pantry, stepped forward with a raised eyebrow. “Well,” she said dryly, setting down a plate of hearth cakes, “it’s good to see you boys aren’t at each other’s throats. Let’s hope that continues.”

    Her humor was met with faint smiles, but the weight of the day’s events lingered. Cullen took a seat beside Ariana, the four of them sharing a quiet moment of understanding as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

    ~~~

    The Gallows courtyard was alive with the clink of swords and the low murmur of voices as Cullen oversaw the morning drills. A group of recruits stood before him, their stances awkward as they tried to mimic his instructions. His voice was patient yet firm, guiding them with a steady presence.

    The sharp sound of boots striking stone interrupted the rhythm, and Cullen’s gaze shifted to see Knight-Commander Meredith approaching with her usual air of purpose. Her expression was taut with displeasure, her movements clipped. She stopped a few paces away, her piercing gaze locking onto him.

    “Knight-Captain,” she said curtly, her tone brooking no argument. “I need a word.”

    Cullen nodded to the recruits, signaling for them to continue their drills. “Of course, Knight-Commander,” he replied, his tone calm and measured. “What is it?”

    Meredith wasted no time. “It concerns Lady Trevelyan—and her companion, Lord Decken,” she began, her voice laced with irritation. “Their behavior yesterday was not only disrespectful but a threat to the stability of this city.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, unease stirring in him. “I’ve heard about the exchange,” he said cautiously. “From several witnesses.”

    Her lips thinned, but her irritation remained unchecked. “Then you know how reckless their actions were. Lady Trevelyan questioned my authority in front of onlookers, and Lord Decken—” Meredith’s voice dropped into a disdainful sneer, “—saw fit to threaten political repercussions. Do you not see how dangerous such influence can be?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained steady. “Knight-Commander,” he began carefully, “from the accounts I’ve received, Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken were responding to your approach. They did not seek out conflict.”

    Meredith’s eyes flashed with anger, but she pressed on. “It matters little who initiated the conversation. Their words were inflammatory, undermining the authority of the Templars in a city that is already volatile. Someone like Lady Trevelyan—” she paused, her voice growing colder, sharper, “—is a destabilizing influence. And Lord Decken? He is a meddler, an outsider with no place here.”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes darkened, though his tone remained composed. “With respect, Knight-Commander, Lord Decken is the son of the Duke of Markham, and Lady Trevelyan is of Ostwick’s most prominent families. One with deep ties to the Chantry. They are hardly outsiders.”

    Meredith’s posture stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Titles mean little here, Knight-Captain,” she snapped. “Kirkwall is not like the other city-states in the Free Marches. We cannot afford the luxuries of their politics. Her defiance—their defiance—can only sow division.”

    Cullen took a step forward, his expression unwavering. “With respect, Knight-Commander, Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken did not act with defiance but with dignity. They addressed you with the respect owed to your station, even as they defended their own. To call their actions destabilizing seems… excessive.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the tension between them was palpable. “You may believe that,” she said icily, “but I assure you, Knight-Captain, their influence—her influence—will prove a distraction at best and a danger at worst. You would do well to consider the company you keep.”

    “Is this truly about their influence?” Cullen asked quietly, his voice firm. “Or is it about your disapproval of their association with me?”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flashing with restrained fury. “Your loyalties, Knight-Captain, are under scrutiny,” she said sharply. “Do not let misplaced affections cloud your judgment—or your duties.”

    Cullen’s voice lowered, his tone firm. “If you are questioning my duties, Knight-Commander, I would ask where I have faltered. Have I failed in my responsibilities?”

    Meredith’s mouth tightened into a thin line, her tone icy. “Your duties are not in question, but your judgment is. Bringing Lady Trevelyan to the Gallows for healing was a careless use of our resources.”

    “Careless?” he repeated, his voice low and measured, but with an edge of restrained anger. “Would you have had me let her die?”

    Meredith’s silence was deliberate, her gaze like ice. Cullen felt the words hang between them, cutting deeper than he expected. Misplaced affections, he thought bitterly. Meredith’s disdain for Ariana—and now Frederick—was not only personal but dangerously calculated. She saw them as threats, and she was determined to neutralize them.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, forcing his composure. “Knight-Commander, if you believe my association with Lady Trevelyan compromises my duties, I welcome a formal review.” His tone sharpened slightly. “But I will not stand for baseless accusations against those who have done nothing but act with integrity.”

    Meredith’s glare deepened, but she seemed to realize she would gain no ground here. With a sharp pivot, she turned on her heel, her crimson-lined cloak snapping behind her like a whip. “Watch yourself, Knight-Captain,” she said over her shoulder, her tone low and laced with warning.

    Her words struck a chord deeper than he wanted to admit. Ariana, with her unyielding courage, and Frederick, with his careful diplomacy, were weaving themselves into the fabric of Kirkwall’s politics. And while Cullen admired their strength, he couldn’t shake the nagging fear that Meredith’s wrath would fall harder on them because of him.

    He let out a weary sigh, his gaze shifting back to the recruits in the courtyard. What are we walking into, Ari? he thought, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and dread. And how do I protect you from it?

  • Chapter 33 – Wolf in Kirkwall

    21 Drakonis – 28 Drakonis 9:34

    Ariana stirred, her eyelids heavy and unwilling to fully open. The faint ache in her ribs flared with each shallow breath, and her entire body felt drained, weighed down by exhaustion. As she forced her eyes open, the dim room around her came into focus. The walls were plain stone, dark and cold, illuminated only by a faint light from a single lantern on a desk. The room was small, devoid of decoration, practical in every sense. The bed she lay on was narrow, the mattress firm beneath her. Everything felt unfamiliar.

    Her gaze drifted, scanning the sparse furnishings, and she stiffened as she noticed a figure on the far side of the room. A mage stood at a table, their back to her, methodically preparing something she couldn’t make out. Her voice came out soft, barely a whisper. “Where am I?”

    The mage startled, turning sharply to face her. Relief flickered across his features when he saw her awake. “The Gallows,” he said simply, his tone calm but grave. “You were gravely injured. The Knight-Captain brought you to us.”

    The words hit her like a blow, and a surge of panic rippled through her groggy mind. She tried to sit up but quickly regretted it, the sharp pain in her ribs stealing her breath, the wound at her side burning as she moved. The Gallows? Fragments of memory swirled in her mind—the docks, the battle, Cullen’s arms—but nothing solid. She didn’t remember being brought here.

    The mage noticed her struggle and stepped closer, lowering his voice as if to soothe her. “Don’t move. You’re safe here.” He hesitated, his eyes searching hers before he leaned in slightly. “I… thank you. Your secret is safe with me. I promise I will not let you die.”

    Her chest tightened, though whether from the pain or the implications of his words, she couldn’t tell. “Who…” Her voice was weak, the act of speaking itself a strain. “You know who I am?”

    The mage nodded, his expression steady. “You saved my friend. I owe you more than I could ever repay.”

    He reached down, his hand squeezing hers briefly—a gesture of reassurance, gratitude, and solidarity. Ariana opened her mouth to respond, but the room swayed, and her strength failed her. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision, and she sank back against the mattress, unable to resist the pull of unconsciousness.

    ~~~

    The next time she woke, it was with a dull, persistent ache in her ribs, a tightness on her side, and the lingering fog of exhaustion. The dim light of the room hadn’t changed, though now the air felt heavier, quieter. Ariana blinked a few times, her gaze adjusting, and her breath caught as her eyes landed on a familiar figure sitting at the desk.

    Cullen.

    He was leaning forward, his elbows braced on the wooden surface, his hands clasped together as if in thought. His armor was gone, replaced by a plain shirt and trousers, though his sword was propped against the desk within easy reach. The flickering lantern light softened the usual sharpness of his features, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

    Ariana tried to speak, but her throat felt raw, her voice little more than a rasp. “Cullen…”

    He looked up immediately, his golden eyes locking onto hers. Relief washed over his face, followed by a mixture of concern and something she couldn’t quite place. He stood quickly, moving to her side.

    “You’re awake,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “How are you feeling?”

    “Like I lost a fight with a dragon,” she muttered, her lips quirking in the faintest attempt at a smile. Even that small movement hurt.

    Cullen huffed a quiet laugh, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “You came close. You’ve been unconscious for… almost two days.” His gaze swept over her, taking in her pale complexion and the exhaustion still etched into her features. “Do you remember what happened?”

    Her brow furrowed, pieces of memory slotting into place. The battle, the docks, the Alienage… the rest was a haze. “I… remember fighting. Helping people. And then… nothing.” Her hand instinctively moved toward her side, but she stopped when the movement made her ribs protest. “What happened?”

    “You were bleeding badly when I found you,” Cullen said, his voice quieter now. “The wound in your side… if I hadn’t brought you here…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “I had to make a choice. The Circle’s healers were your best chance.”

    Ariana’s breath caught at the mention of the Circle. The faint memory of a mage leaning over her flickered in her mind, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on Cullen—his presence steady, his concern palpable.

    “Can’t imagine Meredith was happy about that,” she muttered absently, her voice still weak. The words slipped out before she fully registered what she was saying.

    Cullen froze, his brows knitting together as he processed her comment. “What do you mean by that?”

    Ariana’s eyes widened slightly, realizing her mistake. She quickly shook her head, forcing a faint, dismissive smile. “Just… what I’ve heard. She doesn’t seem the type to appreciate a Hightown noble taking up space in the Circle, even for healing.”

    Cullen studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Her explanation felt thin. However, he seemed to let it drop—for now.

    “Hmph,” he murmured, glancing away as if the thought unsettled him. “Meredith has her priorities.”

    Relieved that he didn’t press further, Ariana let herself relax against the pillows. But then she shifted slightly, and the sensation of bandages wrapped snugly around her midsection drew her attention. Only then did she notice her armor was gone, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments beneath the blanket. Heat crept into her cheeks as the realization hit her.

    Her eyes flicked back to Cullen, and a faint smirk tugged at her lips despite the ache in her ribs. “You know,” she began, her tone teasing, “I can’t help but notice that I’m… well, mostly undressed.”

    Cullen stiffened, his golden eyes widening slightly as a flush crept up his neck. His gaze darted away, landing somewhere around the far wall. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “One of the healers…” His voice cracked, and he coughed lightly before trying again. “One of the healers undressed you. To treat the wound. Of course.”

    Ariana raised a brow, her smirk widening as her hazel-green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Of course,” she echoed, her tone light but playful. “Glad to know you’ve still got your sense of decorum.”

    Ariana’s smirk deepened as she tilted her head slightly. “Though,” she added, her voice light but with a teasing lilt, “I wouldn’t mind if you did leave that sense of decorum behind. Just for a moment.”

    Cullen’s eyes widened, the blush on his cheeks spreading rapidly. “Ariana—” he began, his tone flustered, but she cut him off with a soft laugh.

    “You’re easy to unsettle, you know that?” she said, her voice quieter now, though the playfulness lingered in her gaze. Her fingers lightly brushed against his hand, grounding him.

    His lips twitched again, this time giving way to a small, reluctant smile. “You don’t make it easy to stay composed,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly.

    Ariana’s smirk returned, her eyes glinting with playful defiance. “Well,” she said, her voice laced with teasing mischief, “it’s not like I undressed myself.”

    Cullen’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again as his blush deepened. He shifted his weight, clearly searching for a response, but Ariana let out a soft laugh and waved a hand dismissively.

    “Relax, Cullen,” she said, her tone gentler now. “I’m only teasing.” Her teasing faded into something softer as she leaned back against the pillows, her gaze steady. “Thank you… for everything.”

    The shift in tone was enough to ease the tension, and Cullen exhaled, giving her a faint smile. “You should rest,” he said again, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

    Ariana shifted her hand, tugging gently at the front of his shirt. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice soft but insistent.

    Cullen hesitated for a moment before leaning closer, his golden eyes searching hers for a moment of reassurance. She raised her hand, brushing her fingers against his cheek before letting it settle there, the warmth of her touch drawing his full attention.

    “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her hazel-green eyes locking onto his. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

    Before he could respond, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering briefly before she pulled back. Cullen’s breath caught, the vulnerability in her gesture leaving him momentarily speechless. But then his expression softened completely, a quiet resolve in his gaze as he leaned closer.

    “I can’t lose you, Ari,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken fears and hopes. His hand brushed against her face as he leaned in, pressing a light, tender kiss to her lips. “I need you.”

    The words settled between them, unspoken truths finally given voice. Ariana’s hand lingered on his neck as her eyes fluttered shut, a faint smile on her lips as she whispered, “Then you’ll just have to keep saving me.”

    “You saved yourself,” he replied quietly. “I just carried you the rest of the way.”

    Her lips curved in the faintest smile, but exhaustion finally claimed her before she could respond, but the warmth of Cullen’s presence stayed with her as she drifted back into the safety of sleep.

    Cullen stayed by her side, his worry easing only slightly as her breathing evened out. For now, he could breathe too.

    ~~~

    The door creaked softly as Cullen stepped into the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor. His gaze immediately landed on her—standing by the desk, clutching a glass of water, her figure illuminated by the faint light streaming in through the narrow window. 

    He froze for a moment, his breath catching. She was wearing only her undergarments, her bandaged torso visible beneath the dark lines of old scars and the faint, fresh bruising. Without the layers of armor and clothing that usually concealed her, every detail of her form was visible: the taut muscles of her arms and legs, the wiry strength honed through years of battle. It was an unexpected sight—one that struck him harder than he anticipated. She wasn’t just fast; she was built for survival. Every inch of her spoke of someone who had endured far more than she let on. 

    And yet, despite her imposing presence, there was an effortless grace to her, a softness that never quite disappeared. She stood there, barefoot, sipping water as though nothing were amiss. 

    “You should be resting,” Cullen said, breaking the silence as he stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. His voice was firm but carried a note of concern that betrayed his irritation. 

    Ariana turned slightly, her movements slow and measured. Her hazel-green eyes met his, and a faint smirk tugged at her lips. “I was thirsty,” she replied, her voice rasping slightly, though the teasing edge was unmistakable. “Lying in bed wasn’t going to fix that.” 

    Cullen sighed, crossing the room to stand in front of her. Up close, the shadows under her eyes were more pronounced, and the lines of exhaustion etched into her face deepened. “You’ve been unconscious for four days,” he said, his tone gentler now. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

    “Four days?” Her brow furrowed slightly as she glanced around the room. Where… where am I, exactly?”

    Cullen’s expression softened. “My quarters, in the Gallows. It was the safest place I could think to bring you. I wasn’t going to risk leaving you anywhere less secure.”

    “You could have just stayed with me, you know.” she replied, gesturing around the room before tilting her head. “For my safety, of course.” 

    Her words hung in the air, teasing yet pointed. Cullen’s composure cracked, his gaze snapping to hers as a flush crept up his neck. “Ariana,” he said, his voice low, the hint of a warning in his tone.

    She chuckled softly, the sound sending a strange warmth through him. “And where have you been staying, Knight-Captain?” 

    “In the barracks,” he answered simply, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s not important.” 

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, and he couldn’t help but notice how comfortable she seemed—standing there, barely clothed, teasing him without hesitation. As if she were trying to tell him something, subtly but deliberately. It unsettled and intrigued him in equal measure. 

    She swayed slightly, and Cullen’s hand shot out to steady her, his fingers brushing against her arm. “Enough,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You need to get back in bed.” 

    Instead of complying, she leaned lightly against his chest, her arms resting against his sides. Cullen stiffened at the contact, but wrapped his arms around her. His heart pounded in his chest, the proximity of her—the trust implicit in the gesture—both comforting and overwhelming. 

    “Ariana,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “You need to rest.” 

    She didn’t reply immediately, her head tilting slightly as she exhaled against him. The weariness in her posture was palpable, but her voice, when it came, was laced with quiet defiance. “I’m fine.” 

    He sighed deeply, slipping an arm around her back and another under her legs, lifting her effortlessly. “Fine or not, you’re going back to bed,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

    As he turned toward the bed, she looped her arms around his neck, and for a moment, time seemed to still. Her hazel-green eyes locked onto his, and he felt as though she were studying him, searching for something. 

    Then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed him—a soft, fleeting kiss that sent a jolt through his entire body. 

    Cullen lost himself in their kiss for a moment. The relief of having her in his arms, safe, washing over him. She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his, her voice a barely audible whisper. “Thank you, Cullen. For everything.” 

    For a moment, all he could do was stand there, holding her, his thoughts a tangled mess of relief, worry, and something deeper that he refused to name. This wasn’t the time. The memory of almost losing her was too fresh, too raw. 

    Finally, he exhaled slowly, stepping forward and gently lowering her onto the bed. He grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it over her, tucking it in with careful hands. 

    “Stay here,” he said, his voice steadier now as he moved to retrieve a glass of water. “I’ll get the healers to check on you again soon.” 

    Ariana chuckled softly, her teasing spark not entirely gone despite her exhaustion. “Am I still making you uncomfortable?” she said, her tone light but mischievous. “I would get dressed but I have no clothes here…” 

    Cullen shot her a look, his jaw tightening as his blush deepened. “You’re impossible,” he walked over to the nearby dresser, pulling out a shirt and handing it to her. “Here. Put this on,” he said softly.

    Ariana chuckled as she reached for the shirt, her hazel-green eyes glinting with amusement. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.” she teased, her tone light despite her fatigue.

    ~~~

    Cullen leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead “Get some sleep,” he whispered “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

    Ariana settled back against the bed, but then her thoughts drifted to the estate. “Cullen wait,” she called before he walked out “Isabel? Emma? Are they alright?”

    “They’re fine,” Cullen said, as he turned back towards her “I checked on them myself. The estate is untouched. Isabel has been… understandably worried about you.”

    Relief washed over her, though it was quickly tempered by the anxiety of everything she didn’t know. “And the city?”

    Cullen sighed as his expression darkened, his shoulders tensing as he returned to sit on the bed next to her “The Viscount is dead. The Arishok killed him during the fighting.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened. She had known the city was on the brink, but hearing those words felt like the ground shifting beneath her. “And the Arishok?”

    “Hawke,” Cullen said simply, his tone carrying a mixture of respect and disbelief. “Hawke killed him in single combat. She challenged him, and now… now she’s the Champion of Kirkwall.”

    Ariana blinked, the weight of his words settling over her. Champion of Kirkwall. It made sense, and yet it felt surreal. “Hawke…” she murmured, shaking her head faintly. “Of course she did.”

    Cullen glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “She’s already managed to keep the city from descending further into chaos. Barely.”

    “And the Qunari?” Ariana asked, her voice steadier now.

    “Gone,” Cullen replied. “Their remaining forces surrendered after the Arishok fell. It’s over, for now.”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging slightly in relief. But the tension in her ribs quickly reminded her of her injuries, and she straightened with a grimace.

    “I need to go home,” she said quietly, glancing at Cullen.

    “Not yet,” he replied firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Only when the healers say you’re safe to leave. Until then, you stay here.”

    Ariana sighed, her frustration evident, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she leaned back against the headboard, the glass of water cool in her hands as she tried to process everything he had told her.

    The city was still standing, but everything had changed. And for now, all she could do was wait.

    ~~~

    Ariana stood quietly, smoothing the fabric of the plain travel outfit Isabel had sent. It was simple and comfortable, yet every movement around her ribs sent a dull ache radiating through her side. Her fingers lingered on the bandages beneath the fabric, a reminder of how close she had come to losing everything.

    Cullen’s quiet voice broke her thoughts. “Are you ready?”

    She looked up, meeting his gaze. His expression held that familiar blend of concern and steadfastness, the same look that had brought her comfort countless times over the past week. “I’m ready,” she replied softly, her voice steadier than she felt.

    He stepped closer, offering his arm without hesitation. She accepted, leaning into him lightly as they began the slow walk toward the estate. Each step was a stark reminder of her injuries, but the steady warmth of Cullen’s presence grounded her.

    The streets of Kirkwall felt different now—haunted by the aftermath of the Qunari attack. The echoes of battle had given way to an oppressive stillness. As they walked, her sharp gaze caught every detail: the shattered windows, the scorched remnants of once-bustling shops, the faces of people who passed them—worn, hollow, and wary.

    It wasn’t the devastation that unsettled her most, but the heavy presence of Templars. They were everywhere, their gleaming armor catching the light as they stood watch, their hands never straying far from their weapons. A subtle tension hung in the air, one that felt more stifling than protective.

    “More Templars than usual,” Ariana murmured, her hazel-green eyes narrowing as they passed another pair conducting a tense conversation with a merchant.

    “They’re helping maintain order,” Cullen replied, his voice careful, as though testing the weight of his own words. “Ensuring the city doesn’t spiral into chaos.”

    Her lips tightened, and she glanced up at him, noting the slight set of his jaw. “That’s the official reason.”

    Cullen hesitated, his pace slowing almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” he admitted, the discomfort evident in his tone. “And to ensure there’s no… further unrest.”

    She said nothing, her thoughts swirling as her gaze swept over the scene around them. Order enforced through fear—it was a familiar pattern, one she had seen in far too many places. Yet now, standing beside Cullen, it felt more personal. Her trust in him warred with the reality of what the Templars represented here in Kirkwall.

    “Feels like a different city,” she said finally, her voice quieter.

    “It is,” Cullen replied, his golden eyes darkening with thought. “The Qunari may be gone, but what they left behind…” He trailed off, his tone heavy. “It’s going to take time.”

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on the remnants of a collapsed building. Her chest tightened at the sight of an old woman sweeping rubble from her doorstep as if it were a routine chore. “Hightown will rebuild,” she said softly. “But for Lowtown and the Alienage? They’ll be left to pick up the pieces on their own, as always.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at her, his steps slowing. “You care deeply about this city.”

    “It’s not the city,” she corrected, her lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s the people—the ones who can’t fight back, the ones who are always forgotten.” Her words hung in the air, unspoken truths passing between them.

    They walked on in silence, each lost in their thoughts until Cullen broke it. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice almost hesitant.

    Ariana tilted her head, puzzled. “For what?”

    “For trusting me,” he said, his gaze fixed ahead. “For letting me take care of you when you needed it most.”

    She stopped, pulling gently on his arm to make him face her. Her hazel-green eyes softened as they met his, her voice steady but filled with quiet conviction. “Cullen, you don’t need to thank me. I’ve always trusted you with my life.” She paused, her voice lowering as she added, “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

    The weight of her words lingered between them, the air charged with something unspoken but deeply understood. Cullen’s lips parted as if to respond, but he seemed to think better of it, nodding instead.

    As they resumed their walk, Ariana leaned into him a little more, her mind easing despite the pain. For a moment, she wondered if him knowing that she had almost died saving him would be easier or hard for him to deal with.

    ~~~

    As they stepped into the estate, the warm light of the house enveloped Ariana, a welcome contrast to the tense streets outside. The scent of fresh bread and the soft murmur of voices carried from the kitchen, offering a brief moment of reprieve. She barely had time to process the change in atmosphere before the familiar clatter of boots echoed in the hallway.

    Hawke appeared first, her stride confident and quick, followed closely by Varric, who carried Bianca with his usual casual ease. Without hesitation, Hawke closed the distance and pulled Ariana into a firm hug.

    “Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Hawke teased, her tone playful yet tinged with relief.

    Ariana managed a tired grin. “Champion of Kirkwall,” she said with mock reverence, her voice soft but light. “What an honor to find you sullying my humble home.”

    Hawke smirked, stepping back and offering her arm dramatically. “I elevate every place I visit. You’re welcome.”

    Varric leaned against the kitchen table, his arms crossed as he chuckled. “Don’t let her fool you, pup. She was pacing outside like a restless mabari before she barged in.”

    Isabel, who had been lingering nearby, approached with a warm smile. “It’s good to have you back, my child,” she said softly, wrapping Ariana in a gentle embrace. The steady presence of Isabel’s arms reminded Ariana of the family she had built here, and she allowed herself a moment to relax.

    Cullen stood by the door, observing the reunion with quiet detachment. The faintest smile touched his lips, though the tension in his shoulders remained. After a moment, he stepped forward, his hand settling at Ariana’s waist as he drew her close.

    “I need to get back. Please get some rest,” he said quietly, his voice low and tinged with reluctance. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

    Ariana’s breath caught at the gentle urgency in his touch. She returned the kiss, her hand rising to cup his cheek. For a moment, the chaos of the past days faded. When they parted, her gaze softened as she whispered, “I will,” a promise she intended to keep.

    Cullen’s golden eyes searched hers, as though ensuring she meant it, before he finally nodded and stepped back. Without another word, he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.

    The silence that followed was brief.

    “Maker’s breath, Ari,” Hawke said, her smirk practically glowing with mischief. “That man is madly in love with you.”

    “Oh, he’s completely gone,” Varric added, shaking his head as if in awe. “I’ve seen some things in my time, but this? This takes the cake.”

    Ariana’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she groaned, rubbing her temples as though she could block out their voices. “I just got out of the Gallows. Can I have five minutes before the torment begins?”

    “Absolutely not,” Hawke declared, crossing her arms with a mock air of authority. “The Knight-Captain of Kirkwall is in love… with you. You’re going to hear about it.”

    “And we’re here to make sure you do,” Varric quipped, his grin widening.

    Ariana opened her mouth to retort but faltered, Hawke’s words echoing in her mind. Madly in love. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel something—she did, deeply—but she had never put it into words, not even to herself. Did he love her? Did she deserve that? Did he?

    The thought made her heart quicken, a mix of warmth and trepidation swelling in her chest. She shook her head, brushing the thoughts aside with a forced laugh. “Fine,” she said, feigning exasperation. “Get it out of your systems now.”

    “Not a chance, pup” Varric shot back. “We’re in this for the long haul.”

    Once the laughter and teasing died down, Ariana’s smile faded as reality crept back in. “What do I need to know? What happened while I was unconscious in the Gallows?”

    Hawke’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a grim seriousness. “With the Viscount dead, Knight-Commander Meredith has stepped in to ‘keep order.’”

    Ariana’s hand froze mid-motion, her cup of tea trembling slightly before she set it down. “What?” she asked, disbelief etched in her voice. “A Templar cannot rule the city.”

    Varric shrugged, his tone dry. “Technically, she’s not. But with no Viscount and no council to rein her in, she’s running the show. Templars on every corner, curfews, restrictions. Meredith’s version of ‘order’ looks a lot like tyranny.”

    Ariana’s fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, her jaw tightening. “Cullen didn’t mention any of this.”

    “Not surprising,” Varric said, leaning back. “He probably doesn’t want you to worry—or maybe he’s just trying to avoid an argument.”

    Ariana’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of her conversations with Cullen. “‘Meredith has her priorities,’” she murmured, recalling his words. “Now I see what he meant.” Her voice faltered as the full weight of the situation sank in.

    “What are you talking about, pup?” Varric asked, his head tilting.

    “Cullen’s words,” Ariana said, her voice tinged with realization. “I made a comment about Meredith likely not being happy that I was in the Gallows, and that was his response. I remember thinking it was an odd thing to say, but now it makes sense.” Her words trailed off as the implications of Meredith’s increasing control settled over her.

    Hawke’s gaze darkened. “This is exactly what everyone feared. The Qunari left destruction in their wake, and Meredith’s using it to seize more control. If she keeps this up, Kirkwall will tear itself apart.”

    Ariana clenched her fists, a dull ache blooming in her ribs as her tension grew. “This… this is what the Divine feared,” she muttered, her mind flashing back to their conversations. The fractures in Kirkwall were deepening, and Meredith’s power grab would only widen them.

    “And the Templars?” she asked, her voice sharper now. “Are they targeting anyone? The mages?”

    Varric’s expression softened slightly. “Not yet. Meredith’s focused on ‘restoring order.’ Lowtown’s a mess, but most of the Rangers are staying under the radar. No direct trouble so far.”

    Ariana exhaled, though her shoulders remained tense. “For now, that’s a relief. But we need to stay vigilant. If Meredith’s control grows, she’s going to start looking for enemies, real or imagined.”

    Varric leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “The question is, what are we going to do about it? I don’t think the White Wolf or the Champion can just sit back and watch this happen.”

    Hawke crossed her arms, her tone heavy with frustration. “It’s not just mages anymore. She’s tightening her grip on everyone. If she keeps this up, there’ll be riots—and then she’ll use that as an excuse to crack down even harder.”

    Ariana rubbed her temples, her thoughts spinning. “First, we need to figure out just how far she’s willing to go. If this escalates, the last thing we need is open conflict between the Templars and the people.”

    “And Cullen?” Varric asked cautiously. “What does the Knight-Captain think of all this?”

    Ariana hesitated, her chest tightening. Cullen couldn’t be blind to Meredith’s flaws, but could he see how dangerous her control had become? “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “But I need to find out.”

    Silence settled over them, the weight of their precarious situation pressing down on all of them. Finally, Hawke broke the quiet, her tone laced with wry amusement. “Speaking of heroic feats, word’s spreading about the White Wolf saving the Gallows.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed. “And?”

    Hawke smirked. “And apparently, your Knight-Captain is looking for you.”

    Ariana blinked, her pulse quickening. “What?”

    Varric chuckled. “It’s true. He’s been asking around Lowtown, trying to track down the mysterious White Wolf.”

    Her stomach churned. Cullen was hunting her, though he didn’t even realize it. “You know,” she said slowly, “he didn’t even mention the White Wolf when we talked about the attack.” she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration and something else—hurt.

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, her grin fading slightly. “Really? After all that?”

    “Not a word,” Ariana muttered, her tone tinged with something close to hurt. “The Gallows would have fallen to the Qunari without me, Valentina, and Lamberto. He would have been injured—or worse—and yet he’s looking for me?”

    “Well, you did save his life,” Hawke said, her grin softening. “Maybe he’s just curious.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. “Or maybe he still sees the White Wolf as a threat. A risk to his precious order.”

    Her words carried a bitter edge, but she couldn’t entirely blame him. Cullen didn’t know the White Wolf had been injured, didn’t know the risk she’d taken. And yet, it stung that he couldn’t see the good the Rangers were doing.

    The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Varric broke the silence with a soft chuckle. “Well, if it helps, Valentina and Lamberto left him with a lasting impression.”

    Ariana’s brow arched as a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course they did, they’re both Antivan.”

    Hawke chuckled, shaking her head. “I would’ve paid to see Cullen’s face.”

    Ariana laughed softly, she could definitely imagine the exchange and Cullen’s frustration with whatever it was that Valentina and Lamberto said.

    “For now,” Varric replied, his tone turning more serious, “no one seems to have a clear lead on where to find the White Wolf. Lay low,” Varric advised. “The more visible the White Wolf is, the harder it’ll be to keep the Rangers safe. Meredith’s got eyes everywhere, and if she catches wind of anything…”

    Ariana sighed, her hand brushing through her hair as she leaned against the counter. “I’ll keep a low profile,” she said finally. “For now. Guess it’s up to you, Champion of Kirkwall…”

    But her mind remained tangled in conflict. Cullen—the man she trusted above all others—was now unknowingly searching for her other self. The irony gnawed at her, but the ache in her chest was harder to ignore. Safe as she felt in his presence, she couldn’t shake the fear of what would happen if he ever uncovered the truth.

    ~~~

    Ariana sat in the library, the late morning light filtering through the tall windows. The room, usually a sanctuary of quiet reflection, felt oppressive today. The weight of recent events bore down on her shoulders as she stared at the half-written letter in front of her, the ink still glistening faintly. Her pen hovered over the parchment, but the words refused to come.

    Isabel entered the room, a warm cup of tea in hand. She placed it gently in front of Ariana before taking the seat across from her, her expression calm yet thoughtful. “No one could have seen this coming, child,” she said, her voice steady and comforting. “You couldn’t have predicted the Qunari would try to take the city. And Meredith… well, she is the sort who sees every crisis as an opportunity. This was a convenient coincidence for her. She likely had contingency plans ready long before this.”

    Ariana exhaled sharply, setting the quill down with more force than intended. Frustration etched lines into her otherwise composed features as she stared at the unfinished letter. “Linnea did, she had just told me a few days before the Qunari were growing anxious. We just saw it too late.,” she said, her voice heavy with self-reproach. “But Meredith… if she has consolidated this much power, what does that say about how effective I’ve been here?”

    “That she consolidated it before you even got here,” Isabel replied pointedly, leaning forward. Her tone softened, but her words remained firm. “You’re not responsible for this any more than you were for the Blight. You cannot take on the world alone, no matter how much you might want to.”

    A bitter chuckle escaped Ariana as she shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “No, I just want to stop it from falling apart.”

    Isabel’s gaze lingered on her, quiet understanding in her eyes. Ariana sighed and picked up the tea, the warmth of the cup grounding her momentarily. She took a slow sip, savoring the calming taste before setting it back down. “I need to get word to the Divine. And Riley…” She hesitated, her fingers drumming lightly against the table. “If this is heading where I think it is, we’ll need to start evacuating a lot more mages than we have been. I’ll need the Divine’s permission—and more Rangers in Kirkwall.”

    Isabel tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment before she nodded. “It’s a dangerous move,” she said, her tone measured. “But if anyone can manage it, it’s you. Write to the Divine. Tell her everything. If she sent you here, then she knew this might happen.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed as she considered Isabel’s words. “Riley is going to kill me,” she said, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at Isabel. “I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t show up herself.”

    Isabel’s lips curved into a small smirk. “Riley might curse you for the work you’re about to pile on her,” she replied, her tone teasing. “But she believes in you and what the Rangers stand for.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, shaking her head as a flicker of warmth broke through her otherwise somber demeanor. “She’s going to have a few choice words for me in her reply, no doubt.”

    “And every one of them well-deserved,” Isabel quipped, her laughter light but genuine. “But she’ll do what needs to be done, just as you will.”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, her hazel-green eyes thoughtful as they wandered to the parchment in front of her. “One of the healers at the Circle recognized me,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter. “He thanked me for saving his friend. Said he wouldn’t let me die.”

    Isabel’s expression sobered, her brow furrowing slightly. “He knows who you are?”

    Ariana nodded, her gaze distant. “I didn’t know how to respond. But in that moment…” She paused, her voice growing steadier. “It reminded me why we’re doing this. Why we have to keep fighting. If not us, then who?”

    Isabel reached out, placing a comforting hand over Ariana’s. “You’ve done more for this city than most would dare to dream. Don’t lose sight of that.”

    Ariana squeezed Isabel’s hand briefly before turning her focus back to the letter. Determination replaced the doubt in her eyes as she dipped her quill into the ink. “Then I guess it’s time to put all of this into motion,” she said resolutely. “Let’s hope the Divine is as prepared to act as we are.”

  • Chapter 31 – The Battle to Come

    14 Wintermarch – 20 Drakonis 9:34

    Over the next few months, Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea executed their roles with precision and care. Recruiting, training, and gathering information became the lifeblood of the Rangers’ operations, each task carried out in the shadows of Kirkwall’s chaotic streets. Their new base, the warehouse near the docks, provided the perfect cover—a fortress hidden in plain sight.

    Ariana’s voice echoed through the warehouse during one of their first meetings, her tone firm but calm. “If you are caught,” she told the gathered recruits, her gaze sweeping across their faces, “you’re not Rangers. You’re free agents working for yourselves. No one here will acknowledge you.”

    There were murmurs of agreement, though unease lingered in the air. To Ariana, it was essential to strike a balance between pragmatism and reassurance. “That said,” she continued, her voice softening, “I promise you this: if you ever get into trouble, I will come for you. Hawke will come for you. We won’t leave you behind.”

    The tension eased slightly, though the weight of the task ahead was evident in their expressions.

    She paced slowly, her boots clicking against the warehouse floor. “No heroics, ever,” she added, her tone sharpening again. “It is hard—I know it is—to see someone dragged off in chains. But we cannot openly oppose the Templars. Not yet. We have to be smarter, or we lose everything.”

    The recruits nodded, though Ariana could see the conflict in their eyes. They had sworn their loyalty to her, to the Rangers’ mission, but loyalty didn’t make the task any easier. For some, the restraint she demanded felt like a betrayal of the cause they had signed up for. For others, it was a sobering reminder of the dangers they faced.

    Hawke and Varric had been invaluable in connecting the Rangers to the Mage Underground. Through them, Ariana had gained access to hidden networks and crucial contacts—people who had spent years working in secrecy to protect mages from the Templars’ reach. Trust came slowly, but with Hawke’s reputation and Varric’s silver tongue, introductions were made, and the groundwork was laid.

    Still, Hawke couldn’t help but voice her frustrations one evening at the Hanged Man. “We’re dancing around the problem, Ariana,” she said, leaning across the table. “The mages need more than whispers and hiding places. They need to be saved.”

    Ariana sighed, nursing her drink. “You think I don’t want to save them all? But we can’t. Not like this.”

    “We could do more,” Hawke pressed. “We should do more.”

    Ariana set her glass down, her gaze meeting Hawke’s directly. “What would you have us do, Hawke? Break into the Gallows and free all the mages? Are you prepared for that? Are they prepared for that?”

    Hawke hesitated, her jaw tightening. “If it comes to that… yes.”

    Valentina, seated nearby, raised a skeptical brow. “And then what? Meredith will hunt every last one of them down. The mages, us, anyone who so much as looks like they helped.”

    “We can’t stop her with a prison break,” Linnea added, her tone calm but firm. “Not without losing everything we’re building here.”

    “So what’s the plan then?” Hawke shot back, frustration bubbling beneath her words. “We just keep sneaking a handful of mages out at a time while Meredith makes more Tranquil every day? How long before there’s no one left to save?”

    Ariana exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “We don’t have the numbers yet. Not for a full-scale fight. Not for the kind of war you’re talking about.”

    “And we are preparing for that war,” Valentina interjected, her voice steady. “Every recruit, every mage we save, every piece of information we gather—it all leads to the same place. But we can’t rush it.”

    Hawke shook her head, but Varric, who had been quietly nursing his drink, finally spoke up. “She’s right, Hawke. If you want this to work, we have to play the long game. And believe me, I hate waiting as much as the next dwarf, but we don’t have the luxury of charging in crossbows blazing.”

    Hawke’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining from her posture. “I just… I hate this. Watching it happen, knowing we can do more.”

    “So do I,” Ariana said quietly. “But if we fight too soon, we lose. And if it comes to that, if we do need to fight…” She paused, her gaze sweeping across the table, resting on each of them in turn. “The full force of the Silver Rangers will stand with the mages. We’ll fight for them, and for anyone else who cannot fight for themselves.”

    The words settled heavily over the group, a quiet promise that they all understood. The lines had been drawn, even if the battle hadn’t begun yet. For now, their only weapon was patience.

    Varric broke the silence with a wry smile, raising his glass. “Here’s to patience. Not exactly my favorite thing, but it gets the job done.”

    Ariana smirked, lifting her glass. “To patience.”

    The group joined the toast, the clinking of glasses briefly cutting through the somber air. In the distance, the sounds of Lowtown’s chaos echoed faintly, a reminder of the city they were trying to save—one step, one life at a time.

    ~~~

    A few days later, Ariana met Linnea in one of the smaller rooms off the main floor of the warehouse. It was quieter there, away from the hum of training and the murmur of scouts exchanging updates. Ariana leaned against the edge of a battered table, arms crossed, her expression calm but expectant.

    “What do we know about Cullen?” Ariana asked, her voice low but steady. “How much does he seem to know about what’s happening?”

    Linnea shifted her weight, her tone measured as she replied, “As best as I can tell, he’s not directly involved. He hasn’t attended any of the more… questionable raids or interrogations. And the people I’ve spoken to don’t recall seeing him in situations where Tranquility was being administered.”

    Ariana nodded, though her brows furrowed slightly. “But he’s not completely unaware.”

    “No,” Linnea admitted. “From what I’ve pieced together, he knows it’s happening. When it’s reported to him, it’s usually framed as a necessary action—mages too dangerous, too unstable, or caught dabbling in blood magic. He doesn’t seem to question it too much.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened as she processed the information. It was both a relief and a frustration. Cullen wasn’t actively part of the atrocities, but his acceptance of them—however justified they might seem to him—meant there was little chance of swaying him while he remained under Meredith’s influence.

    “Anything else?” Ariana asked, her voice soft but tinged with an edge.

    Linnea hesitated for a moment before continuing. “There’s something else. Not about Cullen or the Templars, but it could become a bigger problem for us. The Qunari.”

    Ariana straightened, her attention sharpening. “What about them?”

    “There have been more confrontations,” Linnea said, her expression darkening. “Merchants in Lowtown are reporting stolen shipments, sailors are complaining about dock interference, and there have been skirmishes in the alleys near the Qunari compound. It’s not just petty disputes anymore—the Arishok is getting… anxious.”

    Ariana frowned, rubbing her temples as she considered the implications. “Do we know what’s pushing him? Or what he’s waiting for?”

    Linnea shook her head. “Not yet. But he’s been more visible, and his people are growing restless. If something doesn’t change soon, they may decide to force the issue.”

    “Force the issue?” Ariana repeated, her tone skeptical but wary.

    Linnea nodded. “If they’re holding out for something—a solution, a negotiation—and it doesn’t come? They won’t stay passive forever. And if the Arishok loses his patience, it won’t just be the docks that feel it. It’ll be the whole city.”

    Ariana exhaled heavily, the weight of Linnea’s report settling over her. “Do you think they’ll target us?”

    “I don’t think they’ve noticed us,” Linnea replied. “But if Kirkwall descends into chaos, it’ll affect everyone—including us. It’s something to keep an eye on.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her mind already racing with possibilities. The Qunari were a force she couldn’t afford to underestimate, and if their growing tension turned into action, it could throw everything off balance. The Rangers were barely holding their own against the Templars’ vigilance—another front, especially one as volatile as the Qunari, could be disastrous.

    “Keep me updated,” Ariana said firmly. “I want to know if the situation changes. And see if you can get someone closer to the docks to keep watch.”

    Linnea nodded. “Already done. We’ve got a few people embedded with the merchant caravans, keeping their ears open.”

    “Good,” Ariana said, her expression hardening. “We’ve got enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is a war with the Qunari on top of everything else. I’ll talk to Hawke, see what she knows.”

    As Linnea left to continue her work, Ariana remained in the quiet room, her thoughts heavy. Between Cullen’s precarious position, the Templars’ actions, and now the brewing tension with the Qunari, Kirkwall felt like a city sitting atop a powder keg. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that the spark was coming sooner than any of them were prepared for.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s boots echoed against the polished stone streets of Hightown, the gilded façade of Kirkwall’s wealth a stark contrast to the shadows she had just left behind in Lowtown. Her thoughts churned with Linnea’s warning about the Qunari, a tension simmering in her chest. Whatever the Arishok sought, Ariana suspected it would mean trouble for everyone in the city—mages or not.

    Arriving at Hawke’s estate, she knocked sharply and was ushered inside by the household staff. The warmth of the home, filled with signs of life and personality, was a welcome reprieve from the cold unease in her mind.

    “Well, well, what brings Lady Ariana Trevelyan to my humble estate?” Hawke teased as she appeared at the top of the stairs, descending with an easy, confident grace.

    Ariana couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension momentarily lifting. “Right, yes, it’s very quaint. You should be jealous of mine,” she replied, her sarcasm sharpened by exhaustion.

    “Oh, absolutely. The unmatched splendor of a noblewoman’s estate. How do you even bear it?” Hawke deadpanned, gesturing dramatically.

    Their banter carried them into the sitting room, where Hawke poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Ariana. It was a familiar ritual, one that hinted at the ease of their friendship. Yet, as Ariana swirled the wine in her glass, her focus drifted back to the unease sitting heavy in her chest.

    “What do you know about the Arishok?” she asked, her voice cutting through the warmth of the moment. “I’m hearing rumors he’s looking for something and seems to be getting restless.”

    Hawke’s sigh was long and heavy, her shoulders sinking under the weight of what she knew. “Unfortunately, I know more than I’d like,” she admitted. “If your spymaster is reporting this, it’s worse than I thought. Let me start from the beginning.”

    Ariana leaned forward slightly, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass as Hawke began to speak.

    “They arrived in 9:31,” Hawke explained, her tone measured. “The Qunari. They came for one reason: a stolen relic called the Tome of Koslun. According to their leader, they can’t return home without it. They’ve been looking for it ever since.”

    Ariana frowned. Four years of waiting in this city, observing its dysfunction, its corruption—what toll had that taken on them? She could see the frustration on Hawke’s face, her usual bravado replaced with a rare seriousness.

    “The Tome,” Ariana repeated softly. “Do we know what it is? Why it’s so important?”

    “Not exactly,” Hawke admitted. “But whatever it is, it’s sacred to them. Without it, they’re stuck here, and Kirkwall is… well, let’s just say it’s not to their taste.”

    Ariana nodded, but her thoughts were already racing. The Qunari’s code, the Qun, demanded discipline and order. Kirkwall was chaos incarnate. How much longer could they endure this city’s rot before something gave?

    “They’ve had their share of grievances here,” Hawke continued, her expression darkening. “I’ve had to step in more than once to keep things from boiling over. There was the matter of saar-qamek, for example.”

    “Saar-qamek?” Ariana asked, unfamiliar with the term.

    “It’s a formula for a poisonous gas,” Hawke clarified, her tone darkening. “The Qunari use it sparingly, as a weapon of war. Someone in Kirkwall stole it thinking it was the formula for gaatlok—an ambitious merchant trying to sell it to the highest bidder. By the time I tracked it down, it was too late. It had already been released in a side alley in Lowtown.”

    Ariana’s eyes widened, a wave of unease washing over her. “It was released? What happened? How many—”

    “Not as many as you’d think,” Hawke interrupted. “But still too many. The Qunari killed the ones responsible, but it was chaos. People choking, dying, and all because someone decided they could profit from selling the Qunari’s weapons.” Hawke’s voice carried a bitter edge as she took a sip of her wine.

    Ariana swallowed hard, her mind reeling with the implications. “I didn’t hear about this.”

    “It happened while you were gone,” Hawke said softly, “It was over quickly, and the city moved on. As it always does. But it was… bad. Really bad.”

    Ariana closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the scene: the narrow, crowded streets of Lowtown filled with people gasping for breath, collapsing as the poisonous mist spread. She felt the weight of her absence keenly, even if it was irrational.

    “And the Qunari?” she asked, her voice tight.

    “They were furious,” Hawke admitted. “But I think they blamed the thieves more than the city itself. At least that’s what I told myself when I gave the formula back to them. They’re… restrained, but only because they’re focused on the Tome. That restraint won’t last forever.”

    Ariana nodded grimly, her thoughts churning. The Qunari had already endured so many provocations—how much more would it take to push them over the edge?

    “Then there was the Qunari delegation,” Hawke continued, her voice growing colder. “A group of Qunari went missing when they were on their way to meet with the Viscount. They were ambushed and killed.”

    Ariana’s breath caught. “By who?”

    “A Templar,” Hawke said grimly. “He bore the Grand Cleric’s seal.”

    Ariana’s jaw clenched. The implications were staggering. “A Templar? And the Qunari know?”

    “They do,” Hawke confirmed. “The Arishok didn’t retaliate, but I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to. I think the only reason he held back was because it wasn’t part of their mission. They’re here for the Tome, and until they have it, they’ll endure.”

    Endure. The word felt like a warning. The Arishok’s restraint was commendable, but Ariana doubted it was limitless.

    “And then there’s Seamus,” Hawke said, taking a long sip of her wine before continuing. “The Viscount’s son. He converted to the Qun not long ago. He believed in what they stood for—order, fairness. It cost him his life.”

    Ariana’s eyes widened. “Seamus was killed because of his beliefs?”

    “Because of Mother Petrice,” Hawke corrected, her voice laced with disdain. “She orchestrated it. A senseless death to stoke hatred against the Qunari. The Viscount is furious, but he’s powerless to do anything. The city is on edge, and the Qunari are angrier than ever.”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, the weight of these revelations pressing down on her. Each piece of the puzzle painted a picture of a city teetering on the edge of chaos. And then Hawke dropped the final blow.

    “There’s one more thing,” she said, her tone resigned. “I know where the Tome of Koslun is. Or rather, was. I know who has it.”

    Ariana leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Who?”

    Hawke hesitated, then said, “Isabela.”

    Ariana stared at her, disbelief flashing across her face. “Isabela? You’re saying she has the Tome?”

    “She’s the one that stole it,” Hawke admitted, her voice heavy with frustration. “And now she’s gone.”

    “Gone?” Ariana’s voice rose. “You’re saying she took the Tome of Koslun and disappeared? And you’re just telling me this now?”

    “And… I recently helped her acquire a ship,” Hawke replied, ignoring the accusatory tone. “She could be anywhere by now.”

    “This isn’t good, Hawke.” Ariana’s voice was sharp, her mind racing. “You’re telling me we have nothing to offer the Arishok to make him leave?”

    “We don’t,” Hawke said bluntly. “And I didn’t tell you because it had nothing to do with the mages.”

    “And yet it could threaten our entire operation if this city falls to chaos! I don’t think a Qunari invasion is what the Divine had in mind when she asked us to save the mages.” Ariana shot back, standing abruptly and pacing the room. The tension in her chest had hardened into something sharp and unyielding. She turned to Hawke, her voice low and cold. “We’re sitting on a powder keg, Hawke. If the Arishok loses patience, it won’t just be about the their relic anymore.”

    “I know,” Hawke said quietly, her tone lacking its usual defiance.

    Ariana stared at her, frustration and fear warring within her. This wasn’t just another problem to solve. This was a storm, brewing just beyond the horizon, and she had the sinking feeling it was about to break.

    ~~~

    Over those same months, Cullen and Ariana settled into a rhythm of sparring in the mornings, their sessions becoming a steady fixture in Cullen’s week. It was a simple routine: he would arrive at the estate shortly after sunrise, dressed in his training gear, and find Ariana already waiting for him in the courtyard, her twin daggers glinting faintly in the dawn light.

    The first few sessions were straightforward, almost nostalgic. They began with drills—blocks, parries, dodges—much like their training days near Lake Calenhad. Yet as the weeks passed, Cullen couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that she was holding back. Her movements were precise, but her attacks lacked full force. Her speed—while impressive—felt measured, like she was pulling her strikes just short of their true potential.

    Today was no different. Their blades clashed in a swift series of strikes and counters, Ariana’s agility matching Cullen’s strength. She dodged his heavier blows with ease, her footwork almost too fluid, like a dance she’d rehearsed countless times. Yet something about the rhythm felt off.

    “You’re holding back,” Cullen said abruptly, breaking their flow as he stepped back and lowered his blade.

    Ariana arched a brow, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. “I’m not holding back,” she replied evenly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze.

    “You are,” Cullen insisted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve always been faster than me, which doesn’t explain why I’ve landed multiple hits while you’ve barely landed any.”

    Her smirk faded, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she stepped forward, her blades at her sides. “I’m not pulling my punches,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re still just better trained than I am. Strength has its advantages, and speed doesn’t win forever.”

    Cullen exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on his sword. “That’s not it, and you know it. I asked you to spar with me because I need a real challenge, not someone pulling their punches.”

    He studied her closely, the tension between them palpable. There was more to her words than she was letting on, and he knew it. She was faster, more precise than anyone he’d sparred with in years, yet she kept losing to him. She was letting him win.

    “Ariana,” Cullen said, his voice softening. “If this is about me—about protecting my pride—don’t. I watched you fight those slavers. The person sparring with me isn’t that person. I want to see what you can really do.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might say something more. But instead, she raised her daggers, her stance shifting back into readiness.

    “Come on, Knight-Captain,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

    Cullen hesitated for a beat, then raised his sword. They resumed their sparring, but his mind lingered on her earlier response. She was deflecting, hiding something. The realization gnawed at him, though he knew better than to push her too far. Not yet.

    Their session ended with a swift disarm—Ariana’s daggers sent skittering across the courtyard stones as Cullen managed to pin her against the stone wall. His breath came in short bursts, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

    “You’ve improved,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But you’re still holding back.”

    Ariana smirked, her eyes meeting his. “As are you.”

    He held her for a moment longer and he thought through her words. Was he holding back as well? He was winning their matches but was he really committing to his strikes?

    Cullen stepped back, releasing her, and they both lowered their weapons. The morning sun had risen higher, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Despite the physical exhaustion, there was a lightness in their shared silence, a mutual respect that words couldn’t quite capture.

    As they sheathed their blades and gathered their things, Cullen couldn’t help but glance at her, his thoughts swirling with questions. There was so much he still didn’t know about the woman she had become. But if their sparring sessions had taught him anything, it was this: Ariana Trevelyan was not someone who would break easily. She carried her secrets like armor, and for now, he would respect that.

    But he would also be ready when she decided to share them.

    ~~~

    “It has been over two months since you returned, Ariana,” Isabel said one evening, her tone sharper than usual. They were sitting in the library, where Ariana had been poring over correspondence from Ferelden. “Two months, and you haven’t told him. You have multiple squads of Rangers training and operating within the city. The White Wolf is running operations in Kirkwall.”

    Ariana didn’t look up from the letter in her hands, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her unease. “And what exactly do you propose I tell him, Isabel?” she replied coolly. “That the Divine herself sent me to investigate Kirkwall? That Knight-Commander Meredith is under suspicion? You know as well as I do that’s exactly what I cannot do.”

    Isabel stepped closer, her frustration mounting. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ariana, and you’re both going to get hurt. Cullen cares for you, deeply. And I—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “I care for him too. You’re letting fear hold you back.”

    Ariana finally looked up, her hazel-green eyes hardening as she met Isabel’s gaze. “And what happens when I tell him everything?” she asked. “What if he decides I’m no better than any other mercenary? Worse—what if he turns me in? If he is truly loyal to Meredith, do you think he could ignore this?”

    Isabel folded her arms, her voice firm but gentle. “I think Cullen is loyal to what he believes is right, not Meredith. You of all people should know that.”

    Ariana’s shoulders slumped slightly as the weight of Isabel’s words settled over her. She had spent months agonizing over this. When she first returned to Kirkwall and sought Varric’s help to find Cullen, it had been Varric who told her how quickly Cullen had risen through the ranks since arriving in the city—how he had become Meredith’s trusted Knight-Captain. At the time, the news had both relieved and unsettled her.

    Now, after months of operating in Kirkwall, she had seen firsthand how dangerous the Templars under Meredith’s command could be. Even though Linnea’s reports suggested Cullen wasn’t directly involved, it was clear he wasn’t entirely unaware of the growing abuse of the Rite of Tranquility. He justified it when it was reported to him, didn’t question it too much. Could he really be blind to what Meredith was doing, or was he choosing not to see it?

    Her fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the letter she was holding. Maybe Isabel’s right. Maybe I am protecting myself more than him, she thought, but she immediately shoved the idea aside. She had too much to lose if she was wrong.

    “You’ve heard Hawke,” she said finally. “Even she’s struggling to hold back, and she doesn’t have the same stakes I do. The more we learn, the more the lines between friend and enemy blur.”

    “That doesn’t make them meaningless,” Isabel countered, her voice firm. “Hawke knows where she stands. Do you?”

    “Yes,” Ariana shot back, her tone angrier than she intended. “I’ll stand with the mages—and that is exactly the problem.”

    The words hung in the air, raw and unvarnished. Ariana took a deep breath, regaining her composure. She raised her hands slightly in acknowledgment, as if trying to smooth the sharp edges of her outburst.

    Her gaze dropped for a moment, her voice quieter when she continued. “I’ll tell him, Isabel. But not yet. Not until I know exactly what we’re dealing with. I have to be sure.”

    “You mean until you can justify it to yourself,” Isabel said, her tone softening but still carrying an edge. “You’re not protecting him by waiting—you’re protecting yourself. Admit it.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Isabel’s words had struck at a fear she refused to name: the fear that Cullen wouldn’t stand by her when the truth came out. That her choices—everything she had built—would drive him away. And if that happened… the thought twisted her stomach into knots.

    Isabel sighed, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms. “For your sake, and his, you’d better hope you find that information soon, child,” she said. “Because this city has a way of chewing up secrets—and the people who keep them.”

    The sound of steel clashing and shouts suddenly carried through the air, reverberating through the stone walls of Hightown. It wasn’t the muffled raucousness of a brawl spilling out from a tavern; it was different—chaotic, large, and brutal. The unmistakable sounds of a battle.

    Ariana froze, her ears straining to confirm what she thought she’d heard. Isabel turned her head sharply toward the noise, her sharp retort fading into silence. “What in the Maker’s name…?”

    Ariana stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she ran out of the room. “Stay here,” she commanded, her voice tight.

    She ran upstairs to one of the balconies, gripping the railing as she scanned the streets below. Her stomach clenched at the sight that met her eyes. Qunari. Dozens of them, heavily armed and swarming the streets of Hightown. They dragged people from buildings, cutting down anyone who resisted. Blood stained the cobblestones, and the screams of panicked citizens punctuated the air. The chaos rippled outward like wildfire, threatening to engulf everything.

    Maker… this is no random attack, Ariana thought, her chest tightening with urgency. Linnea’s warning from days earlier and the conversation with Hawke all echoed in her mind: The Arishok is getting anxious. If something doesn’t change, they may force the issue. They had seen it coming, but they were too late.

    She ran back into her room, already putting on her armor with practiced efficiency. She fastened the white fur-trimmed cloak of the White Wolf, tied a mask over the lower half of her face, and secured her weapons with a grim determination. The image staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t Ariana Trevelyan—it was the White Wolf, the leader of the Silver Rangers, a force sworn to protect the innocent.

    “Isabel!” Ariana called as she descended the stairs.

    She found Isabel in the kitchen, her face pale but her expression steady as she tried to calm the household staff. Emma clung to Isabel’s side, her wide eyes filled with fear.

    “Get yourselves and all the staff into the cellar and lock the door,” Ariana ordered, her voice firm and steady despite the turmoil.

    Isabel turned to her, her expression shifting from fear to resolve. “Ari, what is happening? The staff—some of them are out on errands—”

    “I don’t know yet,” Ariana admitted, her voice clipped as she moved to the backdoor. “The Qunari are in the streets, attacking anyone they can reach. It’s chaos out there. Go. Gather whoever is left here and get them to safety.”

    Isabel met Ariana’s gaze, her expression shifting from fear to resolve. “You can’t go alone—”

    “I can and I will,” Ariana interrupted sharply. “I need to find Hawke and Varric. The Rangers will need orders. This isn’t just Hightown—if it’s reached here, Lowtown and the docks are probably already overrun.” She placed a hand on Isabel’s shoulder, her grip firm but reassuring. “I’ll find everyone, but I need you to protect them. Now.”

    “Ari?” Emma’s voice wavered. “Come back?”

    Ariana crouched down to Emma’s level, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Of course,” she said gently, though her heart twisted at the lie. “But you need to stay with your mom, all right? She’ll keep you safe.”

    Emma nodded reluctantly, clutching at Isabel’s skirts.

    Isabel hesitated but eventually nodded. She turned to gather the staff, ushering them toward the cellar. Ariana paused long enough to see them moving, then slipped out the back door into the chill of the evening.

    The sounds of battle grew louder as she navigated the shadows of the alleys, her heart pounding with urgency. Linnea had warned her. Hawke had hoped to contain this. But the signs had been there, and they had seen it too late. Now the city was burning, and the Qunari had become the fire consuming it.

    Her steps quickened as she headed toward the Hanged Man. Hawke and Varric would be her first stop. From there, she would organize the Rangers. Her thoughts raced, calculating strategies, prioritizing tasks, but beneath the tactical focus was a single, desperate prayer:

    Maker, keep them safe. Hawke, Varric, Isabel, Emma—the Rangers, everyone. Cullen… She didn’t have time for fear, but it simmered beneath her resolve, a constant reminder of how much was at stake.

    The chaos of the city loomed ahead, but Ariana’s resolve was unshaken. Whatever was coming, she would face it. For Kirkwall. For her people. And for the chance to make it through the night alive.

  • 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 14 – Forgiveness and Guidance

    30 Solace 9:30 – 5 Harvestmere 9:33

    The scent of salt and fish hung heavy in the air as Cullen stood on the crowded docks of Jader. The chatter of merchants, the cries of gulls, and the creak of ship rigging created a cacophony that barely registered in his mind. He stood still, a stark figure amidst the chaos, his belongings slung in a worn pack over his shoulder. The insignia of the Templar Order dangled from his gloved hand, the cool metal biting into his palm.

    Behind him, the city bustled with life. Refugees from Ferelden huddled near makeshift shelters, their faces hollowed by hunger and fear. Jader had become a waypoint for those fleeing the Blight—a last chance at safety across the sea. Cullen might have admired the resilience of the people once, but now, he felt only the weight of their desperation.

    His thoughts were not on the docks or the refugees, though. His mind remained anchored to the distant towers of Kinloch Hold, the place he had sworn to protect and had ultimately failed. The uprising had shattered everything he believed in: the trust between mages and Templars, the safety of the Circle, and his own sense of purpose.

    Cullen’s grip on his pack tightened. He could still hear the screams echoing in his mind—the abominations tearing through the halls, the mages’ desperate cries, and the clang of steel as the Templars fought for their lives. It had been his duty to hold the line, to stand between chaos and order. And yet, the line had broken.

    He glanced at the insignia in his hand, its polished surface catching the sunlight. Once, it had been a symbol of pride, a reminder of his role as a protector. Now, it felt like a hollow weight, a badge of failure.

    A shout from the docks drew his attention, and Cullen turned to see a ship arriving at the pier. Its sails billowed in the wind, and the name The Dawnbringer was etched into its side. This was his passage to Kirkwall, a city that promised a fresh start—or so he had been told. In truth, he didn’t care where he was sent. As long as it wasn’t Kinloch Hold, it didn’t matter.

    The ship docked with a heavy thud, and crew members scurried to secure it. Cullen adjusted his pack and approached the gangplank, his boots thudding against the weathered wood. He stepped onto the deck, nodding curtly to the captain before retreating to a quiet corner near the stern.

    The ship rocked gently as it pulled away from the docks, but to Cullen, it felt like the world shifting beneath his feet in an unsettling rhythm. He gripped the railing tightly, his knuckles whitening as he stared out at the horizon. He had never traveled by sea before; the rivers and placid waters of Lake Calenhad were the extent of his experience. The open ocean, with its constant swells and vastness, was something else entirely.

    He swallowed hard as the ship dipped again, the wood creaking beneath his boots. His stomach churned in protest. Maker, how do people live like this? he thought bitterly, his grip tightening as another wave hit the hull. The sea spray misted his face, cold and briny, and he turned his head sharply to avoid it.

    Cullen hadn’t been prepared for the unrelenting motion of the ocean. It wasn’t just the physical discomfort—though that was bad enough—but the way it left him feeling vulnerable, like the ground beneath him was betraying him at every step. For a man who had built his life on discipline and control, the sea was a harsh and unforgiving adversary.

    He forced himself to take a steadying breath, focusing on the horizon where the sky met the water. The endless expanse of blue-gray waves mirrored his thoughts: turbulent, churning, with no clear destination. Every creak of the ship, every splash of the waves against the hull, grated on his nerves.

    Cullen withdrew from the railing and found a quiet corner near the stern, sitting heavily on a coil of rope. He pressed his palms against his thighs, willing the nausea to subside. His pack sat at his feet, the insignia of the Templar Order still clutched in his hand. He stared down at it, its polished surface catching the faint sunlight. It felt heavier than it had any right to, a weight that went beyond its physical form.

    What am I doing here? The thought came unbidden, a whisper of doubt that had been growing louder since the day he left Kinloch Hold. He clenched the insignia tightly, his jaw tightening as memories surfaced once more.

    Kinloch Hold. The faces of the mages who had trusted him, their eyes wide with fear as the abominations descended. The screams of Templars who had stood beside him, cut down one by one. And Uldred—Maker take him—his madness unleashed, his betrayal of everything Cullen had sworn to protect. The blood, the fire, the chaos—it was all still fresh in his mind, as if it had happened only yesterday.

    He allowed himself to think of her—Ariana. Her name was a wound he couldn’t help but press, a name that had become synonymous with promises left unfulfilled. He remembered the last note she’d left him, her words etched in his mind as clearly as if he were reading them again: No matter what comes, I will find you, always.

    She never had. And he had come to accept that she never would.

    Cullen clenched his teeth, his hand tightening around the insignia until the edges bit into his palm. Crestwood. That cursed village. The stories of flooding and devastation had been vague, but they had been enough. She had to have been there, caught in the chaos. He told himself this again and again because the alternative—that she had survived and chosen not to find him—was too painful to consider.

    The ship rocked again, a stronger wave this time, and Cullen cursed under his breath. He leaned back, closing his eyes and pressing his head against the cool wood of the ship’s hull. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the storm inside him, but it was an unwelcome distraction nonetheless.

    The days dragged on, each one a blur of monotonous sea and sky. Cullen kept to himself, avoiding the crew and other passengers as much as possible. He spent his time poring over Templar protocols, though the words often blurred together. His mind kept returning to Kinloch Hold, to Crestwood, to Ariana. The guilt, the loss, the regret—it all churned within him, as restless as the waves beneath the ship.

    By the time Kirkwall came into view, Cullen felt like he had aged years in the span of days. The city rose on the horizon, its black walls stark against the dull sky. The Gallows fortress loomed above the harbor, its towering statues and dark chains casting long shadows over the water.

    ~~~

    The air in Kirkwall was different—heavier, colder, as though it carried the weight of the city’s history in every breath. Cullen stepped off the gangplank, the wooden boards creaking beneath his boots, and took his first look at the infamous Gallows. The fortress loomed above the harbor, its black statues towering like silent sentinels. Chains stretched across the cliffs, their iron links swaying slightly in the breeze, an unsettling reminder of the city’s past and its stranglehold on the present.

    The Gallows wasn’t merely a prison for mages; it was a symbol, its oppressive architecture broadcasting power and control to all who entered Kirkwall. For Cullen, it was both intimidating and oddly fitting. The weight of the place mirrored the guilt he carried, the chains a visual echo of the regrets that bound him.

    A Templar representative greeted him at the docks, the exchange brisk and impersonal. Cullen followed the man through the winding streets of Lowtown, the stench of the harbor giving way to the noise of the bustling city. He noted the wary glances of passersby, the way their eyes darted toward his armor before quickly looking away. In Ferelden, Templars were protectors; in Kirkwall, they were enforcers.

    The Gallows courtyard was as stark and utilitarian as the rest of the fortress. Cullen was escorted to a waiting area where Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard stood with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on him as he approached. Her presence was striking—not physically imposing, but commanding in a way that left no room for doubt about her authority.

    “Knight-Templar Cullen,” she greeted, her voice sharp and precise. “Welcome to Kirkwall.”

    Cullen saluted, standing stiffly at attention. “Knight-Commander.”

    Meredith’s gaze lingered on him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were reading the contents of his soul. “I’ve read your record. The events at Kinloch Hold were… unfortunate. But you survived.”

    Her tone was neutral, but Cullen felt the weight of her words. He nodded. “Yes, Knight-Commander.”

    “Your experience will serve you well here,” she continued. “The Kirkwall Circle is… unique. The mages here are particularly resistant to the structure the Order provides. They must be reminded—firmly, if necessary—that the Templar Order exists for their protection as well as everyone else’s.”

    Cullen swallowed, unsure how to respond. Meredith didn’t seem to expect one. She studied him for another moment before nodding slightly, her expression unreadable. “You’ll find your quarters prepared. I expect diligence and vigilance, Knight-Templar. Kirkwall does not tolerate weakness.”

    “Yes, Knight-Commander,” Cullen replied, his voice steady despite the knot tightening in his chest.

    As she turned and strode away, Cullen felt both relief and unease. Meredith was unlike any commander he had served under—her intensity was palpable, her words calculated to leave an impression. He had no doubt she would expect nothing less than absolute loyalty.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s quarters were as cold and unwelcoming as the rest of the Gallows. The room was small, its walls bare stone and its furnishings minimal. A narrow cot, a writing desk, and a single chair comprised his new home. He placed his pack on the cot and began unpacking his belongings—what little he had.

    As he worked, his thoughts drifted to the mages he had seen during his arrival. Many had been escorted by Templars, their heads bowed and their movements wary. Their fear was familiar, reminiscent of Kinloch Hold in its final days. Here, though, it seemed ingrained, as though the mages had never known anything else.

    Cullen set his Templar insignia on the desk, staring at it for a long moment. It was a symbol of duty, of purpose. But here in Kirkwall, it felt more like a badge of control.

    The days at the Gallows settled into a grim rhythm. Patrols, inspections, and vigilance defined Cullen’s life, filling his hours and leaving little room for anything else. At first, the structure was welcome—a reprieve from the chaos of Kinloch Hold. Here, every task was prescribed, every action purposeful. It was easy to focus on the rules, to enforce the order that had failed so catastrophically in Ferelden.

    Meredith noticed his diligence almost immediately. She had a way of appearing at the edges of his rounds, her sharp gaze following him as he worked. At first, Cullen thought it a coincidence, but over time, he realized it was deliberate. Meredith was testing him, watching for cracks, for weakness.

    “Knight-Templar,” she said one evening, her voice cutting through the dim light of the Gallows courtyard. “You handled that incident with the apprentices well today.”

    Cullen nodded, his expression neutral. Earlier, he had defused a brewing altercation between two mages—a quiet rivalry that had threatened to escalate into something more dangerous. The solution had been straightforward: a reminder of the rules, enforced with a calm but unyielding presence.

    “Thank you, Knight-Commander,” he replied.

    Meredith stepped closer, her expression calculating. “You didn’t hesitate. You acted decisively but without unnecessary force. That is precisely what Kirkwall needs.”

    Her approval was rare, and Cullen felt a flicker of satisfaction. But there was something else in her tone—something he couldn’t quite place. He dismissed the thought and returned to his patrols, unaware that her gaze lingered on him long after he had gone.

    As the weeks turned into months, Cullen’s reputation among the Templars grew. He was efficient, disciplined, and thorough—traits that earned him both respect and wariness. Among his peers, he was seen as a model Templar, someone who followed orders without question and never faltered in his duties. Among the mages, he was regarded with a mix of fear and grudging acknowledgment. He was fair, but he was unyielding.

    Cullen himself remained distant. He had little interest in forming friendships or alliances, preferring to keep his focus on the task at hand. His colleagues invited him to join them in the dining hall or to share a drink after patrols, but he always declined. The truth was, he didn’t know how to connect with them anymore. The weight of his experiences at Kinloch Hold and his unspoken grief for Ariana made it impossible to relate to their casual camaraderie.

    Meredith seemed to approve of his isolation. She saw in Cullen someone who was not distracted by personal ties or divided loyalties. She began to involve him in more significant matters, pulling him into private meetings and consultations about the Circle’s operations.

    “I need someone I can rely on,” she told him one evening as they reviewed the security reports. “Someone who understands that strength is not optional in Kirkwall. It is a necessity.”

    Cullen nodded, his expression grim. “I understand.”

    Meredith’s presence became a constant in Cullen’s life. She would call him to her office late in the evenings, poring over reports and discussing strategy. She spoke of the dangers of unchecked magic, of the need for unwavering resolve. Her words were sharp and unyielding, her conviction absolute.

    “Magic is a tool, Knight-Captain,” she told him one night, her tone matter-of-fact. “And like any tool, it can be dangerous if wielded without control. That is why we are here. To ensure it is wielded properly—or not at all.”

    Cullen nodded, though her words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t disagree, not entirely. But there was a severity to her views that unsettled him, a coldness that left no room for compassion.

    Still, he respected her. She had taken a broken Circle and turned it into something functional, something strong. He wanted to believe that strength was the answer, that it could prevent another Kinloch Hold. And if he harbored doubts, he kept them to himself.

    ~~~

    The morning sky was a wash of dull gray, the kind of overcast that muted everything beneath it. Cullen stood in the courtyard of the Gallows, his armor polished to a shine, though it did little to brighten the somber atmosphere. The air was cold, carrying the briny tang of the sea, and the steady creak of chains in the distance provided an unrelenting backdrop to the day.

    A handful of senior Templars stood gathered, their postures formal and their expressions unreadable. The ceremony was brief—there was no fanfare, no celebration. In Kirkwall, even promotions were marked with the same grim efficiency that defined the city.

    Knight-Commander Meredith stepped forward, her stride confident and purposeful. She held the insignia in her gloved hand, her sharp gaze meeting Cullen’s as she pinned it to his chest. The cold metal pressed against his armor, a weight that felt heavier than it should.

    “You’ve earned this, Cullen,” Meredith said, her voice low but commanding. “But remember: this is not an honor. It is a responsibility.”

    Cullen inclined his head. “I understand, Knight-Commander,” he replied, his tone steady despite the tension coiling in his chest.

    Meredith’s expression softened slightly, though it carried none of the warmth such a gesture might have implied. “Walk with me,” she instructed.

    They moved through the Gallows’ outer corridors, their boots echoing against the stone floor. The corridors were lined with high arches, their shadows stretching long in the dim light. The faint hum of the sea and the occasional cry of gulls filtered through the open spaces, but otherwise, the silence was oppressive.

    As they walked, Meredith began to speak, her words as measured and deliberate as her stride. “Kirkwall is not Ferelden, Knight-Captain. The mages here are unlike those you’ve encountered before. They are bold, defiant, and clever in their defiance. They will push you to the edge, test every boundary you set.”

    She paused, glancing at him. “You cannot falter. They need to see that you are unshakable.”

    Cullen nodded, his mind already turning to the mages he had observed during his time in the Gallows. Their fear was palpable, but it was not the quiet, submissive fear he had known at Kinloch Hold. Here, it burned hotter, like a smoldering ember waiting for the right moment to ignite. He had seen it in their eyes during inspections, in the way they avoided meeting his gaze but bristled under the weight of the Templars’ authority.

    “They are afraid,” Cullen said finally. “But fear doesn’t seem to temper their defiance. It only hardens it.”

    Meredith gave a faint, humorless smile. “Precisely. That is why strength must always be met with strength. Leadership is as much about perception as it is about action. Show them strength, and they will think twice before challenging you.”

    They continued walking, the cold stone beneath their boots a stark reminder of the fortress’s purpose. The chains swayed in the distance, their groaning creak punctuating the silence.

    “And the other Templars?” Cullen asked after a moment.

    “They will follow your example,” Meredith replied without hesitation. “You set the tone now, Knight-Captain. If they see doubt in you, they will question their own resolve. But if you lead with strength, they will stand behind you without hesitation.”

    They emerged onto one of the Gallows’ high arches, the view opening up to the city beyond. Kirkwall stretched out before them, its stone walls and narrow streets winding toward the harbor. The city was alive with movement, but from this vantage point, it looked more like a labyrinth—claustrophobic and unyielding.

    Meredith gestured to the expanse below. “Look at it,” she said, her tone sharper now. “Kirkwall thrives on control. Without it, this city would devour itself. Chaos is always waiting, just beneath the surface. We are its keepers, Knight-Captain. Never forget that.”

    Cullen’s gaze lingered on the city, his eyes tracing the paths he had come to know during his time here. The weight of the new title pressed heavier on his chest as Meredith’s words settled in. Control. Order. Those were the ideals he had clung to since Kinloch Hold, but here, they felt more like chains.

    “I won’t, Knight-Commander,” he said finally, his voice steady.

    Meredith turned to leave but paused, placing a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was firm, almost a warning. “I have faith in you, Cullen,” she said, her tone softer but no less commanding. “Don’t make me regret it.”

    Cullen remained by the arch as Meredith’s footsteps faded into the distance. He looked out over Kirkwall, his thoughts lingering on the mages below. The Gallows was a prison, but the city itself didn’t feel much freer. He thought of the mages he’d seen earlier, their eyes filled with defiance that the Templars were determined to crush.

    He had once believed that the Templar Order existed to protect—to shield the innocent from harm and guide mages who needed their help. But here, the lines between protection and oppression blurred until they were indistinguishable. It was a darkness he wasn’t sure even he could navigate.

    Meredith’s words lingered in his mind, a constant reminder of her expectations. She had called him strong, unyielding, necessary. But as he sat in the quiet of his quarters, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was all he had become—a tool for order, forged by tragedy and guilt.

    His hand drifted to his neck, his fingers brushing against the Halla pendant that hung there  …you spend so much of your life protecting others.. he remembered her words as if she had spoken them yesterday. He held the pendant between his fingers, the smooth surface grounding him as memories flooded back.

    He remembered her smile, her laughter, the fire in her eyes when she spoke of helping others. She had stayed in Ferelden to face a Blight, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Her strength had been compassion, her resolve driven by the need to help others.

    Would she have understood the choices he had made? The compromises? Or would she have questioned them?

    Cullen sighed, his grip tightening on the pendant. “You would have hated this place, Ari,” he murmured, his voice low. “You’d have hated me for staying.”

    He turned away from the city, his expression hardening as he stepped back into the cold corridors of the Gallows. There was no room for sentiment here. Kirkwall demanded strength, and strength was all he could offer.

    ~~~

    One evening, after a particularly difficult day, Cullen found himself wandering the streets of Hightown. The Gallows had felt suffocating, its chains and cold stone walls closing in on him more than usual. His feet carried him toward the Chantry almost unconsciously, drawn to its towering facade and the promise of something—anything—that might ease the weight on his shoulders.

    The interior of the Chantry was quiet, the warm glow of candles casting soft light over its ornate architecture. Cullen hesitated in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the empty pews. The silence was different here, less oppressive. It felt like a space where the noise in his mind might quiet, even if only for a moment.

    Grand Cleric Elthina appeared at the far end of the hall, her movements unhurried and her expression serene. She noticed Cullen immediately, her gaze kind but inquisitive as she approached.

    “Knight-Captain,” she greeted, her voice gentle but steady. “What brings you here?”

    Cullen inclined his head, unsure how to explain. “Forgiveness,” he said finally, the word heavy on his tongue. “And… guidance.”

    Elthina studied him for a moment, then gestured for him to sit. “The Maker listens, Knight-Captain, even when we do not have the words to ask for what we need.”

    That first visit was brief, but it marked the beginning of a new routine. Cullen returned to the Chantry in the evenings when the halls were empty, seeking solace in the quiet and in the Grand Cleric’s patient counsel. He prayed for forgiveness—for Ariana, for the mages at Kinloch Hold, for the choices he made every day in Kirkwall. And he prayed for strength, to carry the weight of his duties without faltering.

    As the weeks passed, Cullen’s visits to the Chantry became more structured. He found comfort in the ritual of it: the quiet walk through Hightown, the dim light of the sanctuary, the murmur of his own prayers. It was the one part of his week that felt untainted by the shadow of the Gallows.

    He began to frequent Café d’Or after his visits, slipping into a quiet corner and ordering the same meal each time—potato and leek soup with a glass of wine. It wasn’t much, but the simple routine gave him something to hold onto, a thread of normalcy in an otherwise grim existence.

    His schedule began to solidify, dictated by the demands of the Gallows and his own need for reprieve:

    – Monday and Thursday evenings saw him at the Chantry, speaking with Elthina when she was available or praying in solitude.

    – Wednesday and Saturday nights, he allowed himself a quiet meal at Café d’Or, away from the weight of the Gallows.

    – Sundays, he ended his week with one final visit to the Chantry, seeking clarity for the days ahead.

    ~~~

    The rhythmic clang of boots echoed faintly through the Gallows as Cullen finished his rounds. The corridors were quiet, the cold stone walls lit only by the flickering glow of torches. He’d walked these same paths countless times, his duties in Kirkwall now as familiar as breathing. The routines that had once felt oppressive now passed without thought, each day blending seamlessly into the next.

    But tonight felt different.

    As Cullen returned to his quarters, a strange heaviness settled over him. He lit the small candle on his desk, its warm light doing little to dispel the shadows creeping at the edges of his thoughts. He sat heavily in the chair, pulling off his gloves and running a hand through his hair. His eyes fell to the Halla pendant resting against his chest, its pale surface catching the light. His fingers brushed over it absently, the familiar motion both comforting and painful.

    The date whispered in his mind, unbidden. 5 Harvestmere. He stilled, the realization hitting him with the force of a blow. Ariana’s birthday.

    His chest tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. For a long moment, he let himself remember her—not the fading memories he often revisited, but something more vivid. He could almost hear her laugh, that bright, carefree sound that had always felt so at odds with the darkness they had faced together. She had always found light where he couldn’t, always believed there was something worth fighting for.

    He let his mind wander, imagining what he might have planned for her if she were here. There were ruins along the coast, just beyond Kirkwall—a place he’d come across during a patrol some time ago. The stone structures were ancient, their carvings worn by time and sea. He’d thought of her when he’d seen them, the way her eyes had always lit up at the promise of discovery.

    She would have loved those, he thought, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. He pictured her standing there, her expression full of wonder as she traced her fingers over the weathered stone. He could almost hear her voice musing out loud as to the purpose of the ruins, the symbols, and trying to explain the history to him.

    The smile faded as quickly as it had come. His chest tightened, and he drew in a shaky breath. The ruins weren’t for her. Not anymore. There would be no more birthdays, no more plans. She was gone, and the ache of that truth pressed down on him like the weight of the Gallows itself.

    He closed his eyes, his hand tightening around the Halla pendant. “You’re not here,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “And you never will be again.”

    The thought struck him harder than it should have after all this time. He had carried her memory like a flame in the dark, something to keep him going when nothing else could. But the flame was fading, smothered by the weight of duty and the passage of years.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, forcing himself to straighten. He let the pendant fall against his chest, its weight familiar but no longer comforting. “I need to let you go,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly.

    He stood, blowing out the candle and plunging the room into shadow. The Gallows felt colder tonight, its silence deeper, but Cullen welcomed it. He couldn’t hold onto her anymore—not when the life he lived now had no room for the ideals she had embodied. Not when she deserved to be remembered with something more than regret.

    As he lay down on the narrow cot, his mind refused to quiet. The ruins lingered in his thoughts, the faint image of her smile haunting him as he drifted into a restless sleep.