Lost Figment

Tag: Ryss

  • Chapter 8 – An Unexpected Family

    9 – 14 Kingsway 9:29

    They secured passage on a boat quickly, to Ariana’s relief. She didn’t want to linger at the docks any longer than necessary. Even though Cullen assured her that Michael would be tied up with assigned duties for the day, she couldn’t shake her unease. The idea of being caught now, after the quiet, heartfelt moments they’d shared—their laughter, the way he’d said her name, Maker—was unbearable. The last thing she wanted was to lose him or be forced to run again.

    As the boat drifted southward across the still waters of Lake Calenhad, Cullen seemed more at ease than she’d ever seen him. The tension that usually marked his posture softened, replaced by a quiet curiosity. His questions grew more personal, his curiosity about her life in Ostwick bubbling over. He asked what exactly she was running from, and how she had come to be here. He leaned back, his hands resting casually on the edges of the boat as he glanced at her. “So,” he said with a small grin, “is Ryss even your real name?.”

    Ariana chuckled, a playful gleam in her eye “Fine. Let me introduce myself properly.” Straightening her posture and adopting an exaggeratedly formal tone, she said, “Lady Ariana Ryss Trevelyan, youngest daughter of Bann Charles Trevelyan of Ostwick…” Her voice trailed off as she broke into laughter, unable to maintain the facade.

    Cullen laughed along with her, though the words lingered in his mind. Trevelyan. A noble house, one with significant ties to the Chantry. He remembered Greagoir’s words about her family. He couldn’t shake the feeling of intimidation. She wasn’t just anyone—she was nobility, someone raised in a world of titles, balls, and expectations. And here he was, a Templar from a modest farming family, with no claim to status or wealth. Maybe I was right, he thought, his smile faltering for just a moment. Someone like her deserves more than someone like me could give her. Yet the way she looked at him, her eyes warm and inviting, stirred a hope he struggled to suppress.

    Their journey continued, and for the first time, Ariana felt the weight of secrecy lift. She told him everything. She spoke of the ambush at the party, her mother’s relentless obsession with status, the engagement to Frederick, and her reasons for fleeing.

    At the mention of her engagement to Frederick, Cullen’s expression tightened imperceptibly. She didn’t seem to notice, lost in her own recounting. But inside, a hint of jealousy stirred. He reminded himself that she had rejected that life, that she had chosen freedom over duty. Yet the thought of her being tied to another man, of her belonging to a world where she’d be caged by expectations, left an ache he couldn’t quite ignore.

    He shifted slightly, his gaze falling to the water as she continued. The idea of Ariana in another man’s arms, as someone else’s wife, twisted something deep within him. He hated the thought of her being stripped of her independence, of that light in her eyes being dimmed by obligation. But alongside his jealousy was an even stronger feeling—admiration. She had fought for her freedom, risked everything to carve her own path. And she had trusted him enough to share that with him.

    When she finished, silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Cullen glanced back at her, watching as the sunlight danced across her features. He wanted to tell her how incredible he thought she was, how much he admired her strength and courage. But the words caught in his throat, trapped by doubt and a fear of overstepping.

    Instead, he said softly, “You’ve been through so much… and yet you’re still standing. That’s no small thing.”

    She turned to him, her smile soft but genuine. “And yet,” she said, her tone teasing, “I seem to have a habit of getting myself into trouble.”

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, if trouble comes looking for you, at least you’ll have someone watching your back.”

    Ariana’s heart fluttered at his words, the quiet sincerity in his voice leaving her momentarily speechless. She looked out over the water, unsure if he realized the effect he had on her. She wasn’t sure where this connection between them might lead, but for now, she was content to let the journey carry them forward.

    ~~~

    By the time nightfall came, the boat reached the shores of Redcliffe, its silhouette striking against the dusky sky. The village was nestled against the rocky cliffs that gave it its name, the towering red stones almost glowing in the fading sunlight. A castle loomed above on the bluffs, its dark outline a reminder of the land’s history. Below, the village lights twinkled warmly, smoke curling from chimneys as residents went about their evening routines. The tranquil waters of the lake reflected the orange and pink hues of the sunset, creating a scene so picturesque that Ariana paused for a moment to take it all in.

    “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe.

    Cullen smiled, his gaze shifting from the view to her. “It has its charm. Wait until you see Honnleath, though. It’s simpler, quieter.”

    They disembarked and made their way into the village, the cobbled streets uneven beneath their boots. Despite the late hour, the streets were still lively with merchants packing up their wares and villagers finishing their chores. The air smelled of wood smoke, baked goods, and the faint tang of the lake. They found a modest inn near the center of the village, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze, depicting a hound curled by a fire.

    Inside, the inn was warm and welcoming, the hearth blazing and casting golden light across the room. The innkeeper greeted them with a cheerful smile, showing them to a small but clean room with two beds and a shared nightstand between them. Once they’d stowed their belongings, they made their way downstairs for dinner.

    The common room was lively but not overly crowded, the hum of conversation and occasional laughter creating a cozy atmosphere. They found a table near the hearth, where Cullen ordered a hearty stew, fresh bread, and mugs of ale for them both.

    As they ate, their conversation turned easily to their respective lives.

    Ariana shared more about her time in Kirkwall, her stories colored with humor and intrigue. She spoke of her adventures and the people she’d met, careful not to delve too deeply into Varric’s affairs or name him outright. Instead, she focused on the friendships she’d forged and how they had helped her navigate a city as chaotic as Kirkwall.

    Cullen listened intently, his expression warm as he absorbed her tales. “Kirkwall sounds… overwhelming,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I don’t know if I could handle a place like that.”

    She smiled. “It’s not for everyone. It took me a while to adjust, but once I did, it felt like home. Well, as much as anywhere can feel like home when you’re running.”

    He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “It sounds like you found people who cared about you there. That’s rare.”

    In turn, Cullen spoke about what awaited her in Honnleath, his voice softening with fondness. He described the village as small and unassuming, nestled among rolling hills and sprawling farmland. “It’s peaceful,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “The kind of place where nothing really changes, and everyone knows each other.”

    He went on to talk about his siblings, especially his older sister, Mia. “She’ll probably be the one asking all the questions,” he warned with a teasing smile. “She’s relentless when it comes to details, so… brace yourself.”

    Ariana laughed, her curiosity piqued. “And your other siblings?”

    “Branson, my younger brother—he’s the practical one. Always busy, always helping out around the farm. And then there’s Rosalie, the youngest. She’s got more energy than anyone I’ve ever met.” His expression softened as he spoke, a rare glimpse of vulnerability that made her heart ache a little.

    “You must miss them,” she said gently.

    “I do,” he admitted. “I don’t write as often as I should, and Mia never lets me forget it. She’ll probably have a lecture ready as soon as I walk through the door.”

    Ariana smiled, finding comfort in the way he spoke about his family. It was clear that, despite the distance and the demands of his duties, they were still a source of strength for him.

    As their conversation wound down, the innkeeper brought over a plate of honey cakes as a complimentary treat. They shared the dessert, their laughter and easy banter filling the space between them. For a moment, it felt as though the weight of their respective worlds had lifted, leaving only the simple joy of each other’s company.

    By the time they returned to their room, the village had quieted, the only sounds the occasional murmur of voices from the common room below and the distant call of an owl. As Ariana settled into bed, her thoughts lingered on Cullen’s stories, the warmth in his voice, and the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She fell asleep with a smile, feeling, for the first time in a long while, that she wasn’t running alone.

    ~~~

    They set out at dawn, the rising sun painting the horizon in hues of gold and pink as they began their journey. Two days of travel lay ahead, and the rhythm of their steps fell into an easy cadence. Conversation ebbed and flowed between them, punctuated by stretches of comfortable silence. Ariana marveled at how natural it felt to be around Cullen. She didn’t feel the need to perform or prove anything. She could just be herself.

    By evening, they found a clearing to make camp, the open space framed by tall pines and the soft glow of the setting sun. Cullen busied himself building a fire, the steady scrape of flint and steel filling the air. Ariana sat nearby, unpacking her belongings, though her movements were absentminded. Her thoughts drifted to his stories about Mia—his fiercely protective sister. She imagined the questions Mia might ask, the way she might see right through Ariana’s carefully guarded exterior.

    But it wasn’t just Mia that troubled her. Ariana couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at her, the weight of the danger she brought with her. Mercenaries, hired by the Duke of Markham, were actively searching for her. If they tracked her here… Cullen had a family that loved and depended on him. What right did she have to jeopardize that?

    Am I selfish for staying? she wondered, her fingers mindlessly smoothing and folding her blanket.

    The fire sparked to life, its warm glow spreading across the clearing, but Ariana didn’t notice. She was too lost in her thoughts, her mind a tangle of fear and self-recrimination.

    Cullen had been watching her for a while, his task finished. He noticed the way her eyes seemed distant, her movements slower, as if she were caught in some invisible struggle. He recognized that look—the heavy weight of worry dragging someone down. He couldn’t stand to see it in her.

    “Ariana?” he called softly, his voice breaking through the haze of her thoughts.

    Her head snapped up, startled. “What? Oh… yes, sorry,” she stammered, blinking as if waking from a dream. “Did you ask me something?”

    Cullen moved closer, his worry deepening. “You seemed… far away,” he said gently, kneeling down beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    The question, so simple yet so sincere, brought a lump to her throat. Before she could stop herself, tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t even know what she was crying over—whether it was the exhaustion of the journey, the constant fear of being caught, or the overwhelming relief of having someone who cared enough to ask.

    “Ariana—what’s wrong?” Cullen’s voice was filled with alarm, and before she could answer, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a protective embrace. She buried her face against his shoulder, letting his warmth and steady presence soothe her.

    “I’m sorry,” she whispered between shaky breaths. “I don’t even know why… I just—” Her voice cracked, and she pulled back slightly, wiping at her cheeks. “I’m worried, Cullen. About all of this. About your family. About what I might be dragging you into.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed as he listened, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone steady, encouraging her to continue.

    “I’m being hunted,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “There are mercenaries looking for me—hired by the Duke of Markham. I don’t know what they’re capable of, how far they’d go. If they find me, if they follow me to your family…” Her words came in a torrent, the weight of her fears pouring out all at once. “I shouldn’t have come with you. It’s not fair to you or your family.”

    Cullen reached for her hands, his grip firm but gentle, grounding her. “Ariana, listen to me,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “You’re not dragging me into anything I can’t handle. You do remember I’m a Templar, right? I’m trained for this—for protecting people, for standing up to anyone who threatens them.”

    “But your family…” she began, her voice filled with worry.

    “My family can take care of themselves,” he interrupted, his expression softening. “And I won’t let anything happen to them. Or to you.”

    Ariana searched his face, her eyes glistening with doubt. “How can you be so sure?”

    “Because I’m here,” he said simply, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. You’re not alone anymore.”

    His words washed over her, soothing her frayed nerves. She let out a shaky breath, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

    They sat there in silence for a while, the fire crackling softly beside them. Without thinking, Ariana leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Cullen held her, realizing only then the faint, comforting scent of cinnamon in her hair. It was a simple detail, but it stirred something unexpectedly gentle in him. Bringing one hand up, he cradled her head, letting his fingers brush over her hair.

    In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the mercenaries, not the uncertainty of tomorrow. For now, Ariana was safe. And Cullen, holding her close, felt a quiet determination settle in his chest. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them—because she was worth it. Because she was his.

    As the stars began to appear overhead, Cullen whispered, “You’re incredible, Ari. Even when it’s your life and your fate at risk you’re worried about everyone else.”

    The nickname startled her, but it brought a warmth to her chest she couldn’t deny. She tilted her head to look up at him, her smile soft and genuine. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, her voice light with affection.

    The world around them faded into the background as they sat together by the fire, the night wrapping them in a cocoon of quiet intimacy. For the first time, both of them felt as though they had found something worth holding onto. Without realizing it, she drifted off, nestled into the space between his shoulder and neck, and Cullen let her rest there, feeling the warmth of her body against him.

    ~~~

    As the morning light filtered through the canopy of trees, Ariana stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she was disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings catching her off guard. This isn’t my bedroll, she realized, blinking as memories from the previous night began to surface. The warmth of the campfire, the steady rhythm of Cullen’s voice, and then… Ari. She smiled softly, recalling the way his voice had caressed the nickname, how it had felt like something intimate, uniquely hers.

    Pushing herself up, she glanced around the camp. Cullen was nowhere in sight, but her pack was neatly propped against a nearby log, clearly packed and ready for the day ahead. She couldn’t help but notice the care in the way it was arranged, a small detail that made her chest tighten with warmth. She wandered over to the remnants of the fire, crouching down to feel the lingering heat in the coals, her fingers stretching toward it as if to draw strength from its fading warmth.

    “Good morning, Ari,” came Cullen’s voice from behind her, steady and warm like the morning sun itself. “You’re awake. Did you sleep well?”

    She turned, startled but instantly comforted by his presence. Meeting his gaze, she found herself momentarily caught by the way he looked at her—gentle, attentive, as though she were the only thing in his world at that moment. Her lips curved into a smile, and she let out a soft breath. “I did,” she said, her voice carrying a warmth that mirrored his. “Thank you, Cullen… again.”

    His expression softened, and he nodded as if satisfied by her response. “Good. If you’re ready, we should get moving.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on her as though reluctant to break the quiet serenity of the morning. “If all goes well, we’ll make it to Honnleath by dinnertime.”

    They fell into step beside each other as they resumed their journey, the rhythm of their strides synchronizing with an effortless ease. Conversation came naturally, interspersed with comfortable silences that felt as meaningful as the words they shared.

    They talked of many things—her love of astronomy, the way the night sky had always called to her. Ariana recounted how, as a child, she would lie in the grass, staring up at the constellations, imagining the stories they held. She spoke of her father’s tales, a blend of truth and whimsy, and how she used to trace the patterns of the stars with her finger, pretending they were guiding her.

    “So, the Visus constellation,” Cullen said, his curiosity piqued. “You’re saying a twinkling star told you to ‘run’?” His tone was teasing, but the kindness in his eyes tempered it.

    “Yes,” she replied, laughing softly. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But that night, it felt like guidance. I needed a sign, something to give me courage, and it was as if the stars themselves answered.”

    Cullen glanced upward, his gaze following hers to the faint outlines of constellations barely visible in the daytime sky. “I don’t think it sounds ridiculous at all,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Sometimes, we all need a sign to remind us we’re on the right path.”

    His words lingered between them, a quiet reassurance that made her smile.

    The hours passed quickly as they walked, their conversation weaving a tapestry of shared stories and gentle laughter. As the light began to fade, the silhouette of Honnleath appeared on the horizon, nestled against the rolling hills like a storybook village.

    Cullen slowed his pace as they approached, a mix of excitement and nervousness flickering in his expression. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at her. “It’s Saturday night, so my family should all be there.”

    Ariana’s gaze fell on the cozy stone cottage he pointed out, its thatched roof framed by ivy that crept up the walls. Warm light spilled from the windows, casting a welcoming glow over the tidy garden. She felt her breath hitch as a knot of nerves tightened in her chest. “Your whole family…” she murmured, almost to herself. “Well, that doesn’t sound intimidating at all.”

    Cullen’s laugh broke the tension, the sound rich and warm, cutting through her apprehension. It pulled a smile from her despite herself, and she turned to him, her nerves easing under the weight of his reassuring presence.

    “You’ll be fine, Ari,” he said, his voice steady and confident. He rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Trust me. They’re going to love you.”

    She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at his confidence. “You seem very sure of that,” she said, a teasing note in her voice.

    “I am,” he replied simply, his gaze holding hers. And in that moment, she believed him.

    With a deep breath, Ariana squared her shoulders and nodded. Together, they made their way toward the cottage, the warmth of its light and the promise of what lay ahead filling the air between them.

    ~~~

    As Cullen stepped through the doorway, the familiar warmth of his parents’ home wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. The rich aroma of baking bread filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of herbs and the soft hum of voices coming from the kitchen. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until now—the cozy simplicity, the unspoken love woven into every detail of the home. Before he could fully take in the scene, his mother spotted him.

    “Cullen!” Marion’s voice was full of joy as she hurried over, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You’re finally here! Mia told us you might make it, but I wasn’t about to believe it until I saw you with my own eyes. It’s so good to see you.”

    “Good to see you too, Mother,” Cullen said, his tone softening as he returned the hug. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

    Ariana lingered in the doorway, her pack still slung over her shoulder, unsure if she should step in or wait for an invitation. She watched the scene unfold, a smile tugging at her lips. There was something achingly pure about the way Marion held Cullen, about the way the family rose from their seats to greet him. It was so different from what she had known growing up, where even familial affection had to be carefully measured, never displayed in front of guests. This was open, unreserved, and unapologetic.

    Mia was the next to greet Cullen, her arms wrapping around him in a fierce hug. “Took you long enough,” she teased, pulling back to look at him with a mock scowl. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten your way home.”

    Rosalie and Branson followed, their greetings full of laughter and warmth, their voices chiming in as they joked about how Cullen still owed them a game of cards. Ariana watched it all, her heart twisting slightly as she realized how different family could be.

    It wasn’t long before Mia’s sharp gaze flicked toward the doorway, landing on Ariana. Her eyebrows arched slightly, her expression shifting to one of curiosity and intrigue. “Well, well,” Mia said, folding her arms. “And who might this be?” Her tone carried a playful lilt, but her eyes were already assessing the unexpected guest.

    Cullen glanced over his shoulder, suddenly remembering Ariana’s presence. He gave her a small, apologetic smile before gesturing for her to step inside. “Everyone,” he said, his tone steady despite the faint blush creeping up his neck, “this is Ariana. She’s… a friend I met while traveling.”

    Mia tilted her head, her smirk deepening as she looked between Cullen and Ariana. “A ‘friend,’ you say? You mean she’s not one of your Templar comrades?”

    Cullen sighed. “No, Mia. Not everyone I know is a Templar.”

    Ariana took a small step forward, offering a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she said. “Cullen has told me so much about his family.”

    “He has, has he?” Mia replied, her tone full of mischief. “Well, now I have to know what he’s been saying.”

    “Mia,” Cullen interjected, his voice carrying a faint edge of warning, though his expression remained patient. “Ariana’s been traveling for a while, and I offered to help her reach her destination. That’s all.”

    Marion, ever the peacemaker, stepped in with a warm smile, pulling Ariana into a hug before she could protest. “Don’t mind Mia,” she said kindly. “I’m Marion, and that’s my husband, Stanton. You’re most welcome here, dear.”

    Ariana blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the embrace. It wasn’t often that anyone outside of Isabel and her father, and Varric if he was being sentimental, offered her such unrestrained warmth. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice sincere.

    “Here, let me take that for you,” Stanton offered, gesturing to her pack. “You must be tired after traveling.”

    Before Ariana could respond, Mia interjected with a sly grin. “So, Ariana, where are you headed next?”

    Ariana hesitated, glancing at Cullen before answering. “Honestly… I’m not sure yet,” she admitted. “I came to Ferelden looking for a fresh start, and Cullen has been kind enough to help me find my way.”

    Mia tilted her head, her curiosity unabated. “A fresh start, huh?” she mused, her tone laced with meaning. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

    “Mia,” Cullen said firmly, his voice cutting through the playful interrogation. He gave her a pointed look, though his tone remained light. “Let her breathe. She’s been on the road for weeks.”

    Marion clapped her hands together, redirecting the conversation. “Enough questions for now,” she said with a warm smile. “Come, sit. Dinner’s ready, and it won’t do to let good food go cold.”

    They all moved to the table, the atmosphere shifting to one of lively conversation and laughter. As the meal progressed, Ariana found herself relaxing, her initial nerves melting away under the warmth of the family’s welcome. Marion made a point to include her in every topic, subtly drawing her out without prying. Stanton, meanwhile, regaled them with stories of Cullen’s childhood, much to his embarrassment.

    By the time the plates were cleared, Ariana felt something she hadn’t expected—belonging. This family, with their easy affection and genuine kindness, had welcomed her as one of their own, even if only for a short while. And as she caught Cullen’s gaze across the table, the soft smile he gave her made her heart swell with a quiet hope she couldn’t quite name.

    ~~~

    After Cullen’s family insisted she take his room, Ariana had tried to argue, but no one—not even Cullen—would hear it. Marion’s firm but gentle insistence left no room for debate. “A guest should never sleep on the floor,” she’d said with a warm smile, ushering Ariana toward Cullen’s room while Cullen, slightly embarrassed, busied himself with helping Stanton clear the dishes.

    Over the next few days in Honnleath, a gentle rhythm developed. Cullen’s leave had been perfectly timed, as his father had been needing an extra set of hands to repair the fence that bordered their garden. Each morning, after breakfast, Cullen joined his father outside, the two of them working in the cool, quiet hours while the sun began its steady climb. Ariana often sat nearby with Marion and Rosalie, helping to mend clothing or prepare vegetables for the day’s meals. Despite the simplicity of these tasks, there was something grounding about the routine, a sense of stability that Ariana hadn’t realized she’d missed.

    After midday, when the work was done and the family had settled for a brief rest, Cullen and Ariana would set off on walks. He showed her every nook and cranny of the village, from the shaded groves where he’d played as a boy to the hidden trails that wound their way through the fields and hills. The scenery awed her; the land seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, a patchwork of green and gold under the summer sun. To the west, the Frostback Mountains loomed, their jagged peaks a stark contrast to the gentle slopes of the Hinterlands to the east.

    One evening, as they sat on a weathered stone wall overlooking the village, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, Ariana gazed at the distant mountains with a look of quiet wonder. “Growing up here seems… like it would be magical,” she said softly, her voice carrying a wistfulness that made Cullen’s chest tighten.

    He chuckled, though her words gave him pause. “I suppose it might have been,” he admitted, glancing at her. “To me, it was just… home. Normal. I never really thought of it as anything special.”

    She smiled, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. “It’s special,” she said, almost to herself. “I can see that now.”

    Cullen studied her as she spoke, the fading light casting a soft glow over her face. In Honnleath, she was different—more at ease, more herself. The tension he’d seen in her before, the constant vigilance, had melted away. Here, she was simply Ariana, free to laugh, to marvel at the world around her, to exist without fear. Watching her now, he thought of the stories she’d shared about her father and their time together, the joy she’d found in simpler moments. This was who she was meant to be.

    For a fleeting moment, the thought struck him again: What if she stayed? Honnleath was quiet, safe, far removed from the chaos of her past. His family had already taken to her—Marion doted on her like another daughter, and Rosalie had even asked Ariana to teach her how to braid her hair the way Ariana wore hers. If Ariana stayed, she could find peace here, a chance to build a life free from the weight of expectation.

    But the thought came with its own complications. He couldn’t ask her to stay—not like this. Their friendship was still so new, so fragile. Suggesting she remain might feel like an obligation, or worse, a claim. And what would his family think? Or hers? He sighed, forcing himself to let the thought drift away for now.

    “Cullen?” Her voice broke through his reverie, drawing his attention back to her. She was watching him curiously, her brow furrowed. “I thought I lost you there for a moment.”

    He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he said, his gaze flicking to the mountains. “I was just trying to see them the way you do—as if for the first time.” He looked back at her, his smile softening. “Maybe you’re right; perhaps it was magical. I guess it’s easy to take something for granted when you’ve seen it every day of your life.”

    Ariana’s smile widened, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Well, I think it’s magical,” she said, her tone teasing. “Even if you don’t.”

    He chuckled, standing and offering her a hand. “Come on,” he said. “We should head back before dinner. Mother won’t be happy if we let the food get cold.”

    She laughed, taking his hand as he helped her down from the wall. Her fingers lingered in his for a moment longer than she intended, and as they began walking back toward the village, she couldn’t help but wonder if there might be a way to stay here, in this quiet, beautiful place. To stay with him.

    By the time they reached the house, the familiar hum of conversation greeted them, the warm glow of candlelight spilling from the windows. Marion was already bustling around the kitchen, her laughter mingling with Stanton’s deep voice and the cheerful chatter of Rosalie and Branson. As Cullen opened the door and ushered Ariana inside, he felt a strange, quiet contentment settle over him. For now, everything felt right. And as they joined his family at the table, their smiles and laughter filling the room, he allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that it might stay that way.

    ~~~

    The next morning, after breakfast, Ariana stepped outside to sit on a bench in the yard. The early sunlight bathed the fields in a golden glow, and a soft breeze carried the scents of wildflowers and freshly turned earth. From where she sat, she could see Cullen working alongside his father, the two of them repairing a section of the fence. She let her thoughts drift, her gaze softening as she observed their easy camaraderie, the quiet understanding between father and son.

    She marveled at how natural it seemed—the bond Cullen had with his family. This is what it’s supposed to feel like, she thought wistfully, her chest tightening with a mixture of longing and sadness. Memories of her own father surfaced unbidden, his kind smile, his strong presence, the warmth he’d brought to even the coldest of Ostwick winters. Her heart ached for him, for the home she’d left behind.

    She tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly, her eyes beginning to sting. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears to stay hidden, but they kept coming, spilling over despite her efforts. She was so absorbed in her emotions that she didn’t notice Marion approach until the older woman gently settled onto the bench beside her.

    “Are you alright, child?” Marion asked softly, her voice steady and comforting, like the sound of rain on a quiet evening.

    Ariana blinked, startled, and hastily wiped at her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing a practiced smile. “Just—lost in thought.” But her voice wavered, betraying her.

    Marion gave her a knowing look, one that immediately unraveled Ariana’s attempt at composure. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” Marion said gently. “I’ve lived long enough to know when someone is carrying more than they’re ready to share.” She paused, her gaze kind but perceptive. “Cullen didn’t tell us much about you, and that’s alright. But I can see you’re not a common traveler.” Her eyes drifted over Ariana’s hands, smooth and uncalloused, and the way she held herself with unconscious grace. “You haven’t been on the road for long, have you?”

    Ariana felt her cheeks flush. Marion’s observation was accurate, but there was no accusation in her tone, only curiosity and care. Ariana hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, but something about Marion’s presence felt safe, reassuring. “No,” she admitted quietly. “Not long at all.”

    Marion didn’t press further, waiting patiently until Ariana felt ready to continue. After a moment, Ariana let out a shaky breath. “I miss my father,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He was… everything. My guide, my anchor. He always seemed to know what to do, no matter how difficult things became.” Her lips trembled as she spoke, but she pressed on, finding comfort in the act of sharing. “We’d spend hours together—training, reading, talking about the stars. He made me feel like anything was possible.”

    Marion listened intently, her expression softening as she placed a gentle hand over Ariana’s. “He sounds like a remarkable man,” she said warmly.

    “He is,” Ariana replied, her voice tinged with sorrow. “But the last time I saw him… he told me I had to leave. That it wasn’t safe for me to stay.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “I didn’t want to go. But he insisted.” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “He looked so… tired that night. Like he was carrying the weight of the world. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

    Marion squeezed her hand gently, her heart aching for the young woman beside her. “It’s clear he loves you dearly,” she said softly. “Sometimes, the hardest thing we can do for those we love is let them go.”

    Ariana nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I know,” she murmured. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

    Marion leaned closer, wrapping an arm around Ariana’s shoulders. “You’re carrying a lot,” she said gently. “But you’re stronger than you know. And whatever brought you here, know that you’re safe now.”

    Ariana’s eyes welled again, but this time, the tears were accompanied by a faint smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice steadying.

    Her gaze drifted back to Cullen, who was working with focused determination, his sleeves rolled up and his brow furrowed in concentration. As if sensing her attention, he looked up, meeting her eyes across the yard. A small, shared smile passed between them, and for a moment, the weight on her chest seemed a little lighter.

    Marion followed her gaze, her own smile growing as she observed the unspoken connection between them. “He’s always been a good one, my Cullen,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. “Strong, loyal, but always with the softest heart.”

    Ariana’s cheeks warmed, and she looked away, her smile lingering. “He is,” she said quietly, the words carrying more meaning than she intended.

    Marion chuckled softly, patting her hand. “Whatever it is you’re looking for, Ariana, I hope you find it. And I hope you know that you’re welcome here as long as you need.”

    Ariana’s heart swelled with gratitude as she turned to Marion, her voice filled with quiet sincerity. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough.”

    Marion smiled, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “You already have, my dear.”

    Marion felt her heart swell with happiness, seeing not only the light in Ariana’s eyes as she watched Cullen but also the way her son’s gaze softened in return. She could feel that whatever the two were to each other now, they were meant to be—destined to find their way to each other, whether they realized it yet or not.

    ~~~

    As the day went on, their routine flowed much as it had the past few days. That evening at dinner, Cullen and Ariana said their goodbyes to his family. They lingered at the table longer than usual, filling the room with warmth and laughter as they exchanged stories and memories. Ariana found herself swept up in the familial energy, marveling at the easy rhythm of their conversations and the genuine affection they shared.

    When the meal ended, Marion surprised Ariana with a small bundle of supplies—a loaf of fresh bread, some dried fruits, and a neatly folded scarf. “Something to remember us by,” she said with a kind smile, her eyes twinkling with a knowing warmth. Ariana couldn’t find the words to thank her and settled for an embrace, her heart swelling with gratitude.

    Cullen watched the exchange with a quiet smile, his chest tightening. He felt a flicker of something he couldn’t name—pride, perhaps, or a sense of belonging. Whatever it was, he knew this was a moment he would carry with him for a long time.

    At sunrise, they were both ready to leave. Cullen took one last look around his childhood home, letting the familiarity wash over him. It was a rare kind of peace, one he hadn’t felt in years. As he turned to Ariana, he saw her lingering near the gate, the morning light casting a golden glow over her figure. She glanced back at him with a smile, and together, they began their journey back to Redcliffe.

    The road stretched out before them, and the morning air was cool and crisp. Their conversation meandered easily, weaving between shared memories of the past few days and playful banter. Cullen recounted his time repairing the fence with his father, exaggerating his struggles to draw a laugh from Ariana.

    “I swear, I felt more sore after that than I ever have from training,” he admitted with a chuckle.

    Ariana stifled a laugh, her lips twitching as she teased, “Maybe you are not training hard enough. I thought Templars were supposed to be strong.”

    Feigning indignation, Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what you think? Perhaps you should train with me, Lady Trevelyan. I’d like to see you keep up.”

    She smirked, her tone playful. “Keep up? You would be the one struggling, Templar. Trust me.”

    Their exchange continued, laughter mingling with the rustling of leaves around them. When Cullen slipped and reminded her, “Well, I managed to catch you, after all,” he immediately winced, realizing the potential sting of his words.

    But Ariana’s smile never faltered. She shrugged, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I got sloppy. It won’t happen again, I promise,” she quipped, her smirk widening. “I’ve been training my skills longer than you’ve been in the Templar Order.”

    Cullen was intrigued, his curiosity piqued by her confidence. He remembered the way she had moved that day—quick, deliberate, and precise. “Is that a fact?” he mused aloud, stopping to face her. Bowing slightly, he extended his hand. “Would you care to put your skill to the test, Lady Trevelyan?”

    She laughed, catching his meaning. “Why, Ser Cullen, I fear I might have an unfair advantage over you. I would not want to claim victory on such grounds.”

    “What ‘unfair’ advantage could you possibly have, my lady?” he asked, joining her at her side again as they resumed walking.

    “Firstly, my daggers are in my pack, and you are not wearing armor,” she replied, matter-of-factly, giving him a playful smile. “And I was trained to dodge, not to wear armor.”

    Cullen’s hearty laugh filled the quiet morning air, and they carried on, bantering back and forth until the trees thinned, and they arrived at the same small clearing they had camped at before. It felt only natural to stop there for the night. Cullen set to work building a fire while Ariana prepared a small meal from the supplies she had packed.

    As the day wore on, they arrived at the same clearing they had camped in before. It felt natural to stop there for the night. Cullen set to work building a fire, the familiar task grounding him, while Ariana unpacked a simple meal from their supplies. They ate in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire a soothing backdrop to their shared stillness.

    Cullen stole a glance at her as she gazed into the flames, her face softened by the flickering light. There was a quiet strength in her—a resilience that fascinated him. She carried herself with the grace of nobility, but her spirit was untamed, unyielding. He wondered about the stories she hadn’t shared, the layers of her that still remained a mystery.

    Ariana, for her part, felt the weight of the road settling over her again. The last few days had been a reprieve, but now, as they journeyed back toward the uncertainty of her future, she felt the familiar restlessness creeping in. And yet, here, by this fire, with Cullen’s steady presence beside her, she felt an unexpected sense of peace. It wasn’t something she could explain, but it was there—a warmth that went beyond the fire, a quiet certainty that she wasn’t alone.

    As the fire burned low, Cullen leaned back as he gazed up at the stars. “You know,” he said quietly, breaking the silence, “I think you’re the first person I’ve met who really makes me see the world differently. I’ve lived in this part of Ferelden my whole life, and yet walking these roads with you, it’s like I’m seeing it all for the first time.”

    Ariana turned to him, her eyes searching his face. She saw the sincerity in his expression, the unspoken emotions that lingered in his words. Her heart swelled, and for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine—just for a moment—what it might mean to stay by his side.

    “Cullen,” she began, her voice soft, “you have no idea how much your kindness has meant to me. These past few days… Thank you.”

    Their eyes met, and in that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet connection that had grown between them. Neither of them spoke again, but as the night stretched on, the silence was filled with the unspoken understanding that this—whatever it was—was only the beginning.

  • Chapter 6 – A Templar and a Noble

    13 – 14 August 9:29

    The next morning, Cullen found her waiting by the docks, her gaze focused on the lake as the early morning light reflected off its surface. She looked calm, even peaceful, her guarded expression from their first meeting replaced by a quiet confidence. The sight stirred something in him, a strange mixture of admiration and protectiveness.

    “Ready to go?” he asked, approaching her with a smile.

    She turned to him, her hazel-green eyes catching the light, and for a moment, Cullen felt as if the world had stilled. Her smile was faint but genuine, and she nodded. “Lead the way.”

    They walked south along the lake’s edge, their conversation flowing naturally. Cullen found himself laughing more than he had in years, her wit and curiosity pulling him into topics he hadn’t thought about in ages. When they reached the fallen trees blocking the path, Cullen instinctively stepped forward, intending to help her, but stopped when she effortlessly vaulted over the branches. He paused, watching her, a flicker of surprise and admiration crossing his face.

    She moved with precision, her steps quick and balanced, her form almost graceful. Not a mage, he thought again, still trying to piece together the mystery of who she was. But she wasn’t just anyone, either—there was a refinement to her movements, but also a strength and resourcefulness he couldn’t ignore. It made him even more curious, and he realized that he wasn’t here to investigate her anymore. He was here because he wanted to be.

    The ruins appeared as they rounded a bend in the path. Small and overgrown, they were more remnants than a structure, but her face lit up the moment she saw them. She quickened her pace, her excitement infectious as she hurried toward the crumbling stone.

    Cullen leaned against a crumbled pillar, watching as she moved through the ruins with an energy that was contagious. Her fingers traced faded symbols on the ancient stone, her voice rising and falling as she mused aloud, alternating between speaking to him and losing herself in her thoughts.

    “See this here?” she said, pointing to a partially eroded carving. “It’s Elven, or at least inspired by it. But this curve—it’s more human in style. Maybe adapted for trade or… or diplomacy?” She tilted her head, her hazel-green eyes alight with fascination. “It’s like a blend of cultures, like they tried to preserve the old but couldn’t resist making it their own.”

    She moved to another section, crouching to examine a jagged pattern etched into the base of a stone. “And this… it looks like it might be Fen’Harel again. But why here? It’s so far removed from most Elvhenan sites.”

    He found himself unable to look away, caught in the way her voice shifted between excitement and wonder, her focus so intense that she seemed to forget the world around her. The dim light filtering through the canopy above made her features even more striking, the way her dark hair framed her face, the faint flush of her cheeks from the exertion of their walk.

    And then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

    Ariana froze mid-thought, her fingers still hovering over the stone. She turned her head, startled, her expression somewhere between confusion and curiosity. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and a soft laugh escaped her lips as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I… me? Why?”

    Cullen’s heart stuttered as her eyes met his, wide and earnest. He felt heat rise in his face but pressed on. “The way you see things,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “The way you dive into something most people wouldn’t give a second glance… you don’t just notice the details. You make sense of them, piece them together like a story waiting to be told.”

    Her lips parted slightly, her expression shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable. “I… I guess I just never thought about it that way,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’ve always loved history. My father used to tell me stories about the past, and I suppose I just…” She gestured vaguely to the ruins around them. “I want to understand it. To preserve it, somehow.”

    He smiled, his chest tightening as he took a step closer, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the stone she’d been examining. “You don’t just preserve it, Ryss. You bring it to life.”

    Her blush deepened, and she looked away, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “You’re giving me far too much credit, Cullen.”

    “No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

    Her eyes flicked back to his, and for a moment, the ruins and the lake seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them. She opened her mouth as if to respond but hesitated, her words caught somewhere between her heart and her mind. Instead, she smiled again—small, soft, and genuine—before turning back to the carvings, her fingers gently brushing over the ancient stone as if grounding herself.

    Cullen stayed where he was, watching her, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his chest. Within only a couple of days she had managed to carve a place into his thoughts. And as he stood there, he knew he was meant to be here. With her.

    ~~~

    As they walked back toward The Spoiled Princess, their conversation turned lighter, filled with laughter and stories. Cullen told her about the strange and amusing things he’d witnessed during his time in Lake Calenhad, carefully avoiding anything that might hint at his Templar duties. She told him about her travels, though she kept much of her personal history vague. Despite the missing details, Cullen found himself enchanted by the way she spoke, the subtle humor in her words, and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

    But as they neared the docks, a voice shattered the quiet peace. “Ser! Ser Cullen!”

    Cullen froze. He turned to see a fellow Templar hurrying toward him, armor clinking with each step. His stomach dropped, and when he glanced back at her, the color had drained from her face. Her wide eyes locked on his, and in an instant, the unspoken truth hung heavy between them.

    “You’re… a Templar,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her expression shifted from shock to fear, and then to anger. “I knew it. I knew something was off.”

    Cullen stepped toward her, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Ryss—”

    “I need to go. I’m sorry. If he hasn’t seen me, please don’t tell him about me.” she pleaded with him and in an instant, she turned and bolted, sprinting toward the ruins.

    She didn’t wait for an explanation. Her survival instincts kicked in, and she turned, sprinting toward the ruins they had just left. Cullen cursed under his breath and gave chase, his training taking over. He knew the paths well, and within moments, he found a shortcut, cutting ahead of her and blocking her path.

    “Ryss, stop!” he shouted, his voice firm but desperate.

    She skidded to a halt, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Stay away from me!” she cried, her voice breaking. She tried to dart around him, but his reflexes were faster. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her to prevent her escape. She struggled fiercely, her fear giving her strength, but Cullen held firm.

    He held her firmly but gently, his voice soft as he pleaded, “Please, just stop and talk to me. Why are you so afraid of me now?” He hesitated, then asked point-blank, “Are you… are you a mage?”

    “Let me go!” she demanded, her voice choked with tears. “I am no mage, I swear it. Please, just let me go!”

    Cullen’s grip loosened slightly as her words sank in. He didn’t want to believe she was lying, and the raw desperation in her voice only deepened his confusion. “Then what are you running from?” he asked gently.

    Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps behind them made them both turn. Two Templars emerged from the trees, one of them wearing the commanding presence of a senior knight. Cullen’s stomach sank further as he recognized the man.

    “Ser Cullen,” the Knight-Templar said, his stern gaze shifting between Cullen and Ariana. “What’s going on here? Have you apprehended an apostate?”

    Ariana’s entire body tensed, and Cullen felt her tremble in his arms. His mind raced, trying to find a way to protect her. But before he could respond, the Knight-Templar’s expression changed, his eyes widening as recognition dawned.

    “Ariana?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Cullen’s head snapped toward her, his heart sinking as her name passed the man’s lips. “Ariana? Who is… you know her?” he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

    Ariana closed her eyes, her tears spilling over as she whispered, “Michael…”

    Cullen’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. Her accent, her mannerisms, her guardedness—it all made sense. He remembered Michael mentioning his youngest sister going missing a few months back, though he hadn’t given it much thought at the time. Realization struck him with a wave of guilt, and he cursed himself silently for the lies he’d told her, for unknowingly pushing her into this position.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s heart raced, but she forced herself to stand her ground, her eyes locked on Michael. He looked much older than she remembered, his face harder, the weight of his Templar vows evident in his every movement. Despite the armor, despite the authority he carried, this was still her brother. And if she could reason with anyone, surely it was him. 

    “Michael,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside her. “Is it too much to hope you’ll forget you ever saw me?” Her gaze flicked around, taking in the positions of the Templars, calculating. The odds were bleak, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

    Michael’s expression darkened, a flash of anger passing through his eyes. “Forget? Do you think this is some childish prank, Ariana? You’ve been missing for months! Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? The shame you’ve brought to our family?”

    Ariana stiffened, her jaw tightening as his words hit her. “Shame?” she shot back, her voice cold and sharp. “What shame? I did what I had to do because no one else would stand up for me. I refused to be a pawn, Michael, and I won’t apologize for that.”

    Michael shook his head, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. Mother has been beside herself with worry—”

    “Mother?” Ariana interrupted, her tone cutting. “She doesn’t care about me, Michael. She cares about appearances, about her precious reputation. What’s she worried about? That the Duchess of Markham won’t invite her to the next ball? That her social standing might take a hit because her youngest daughter dared to want a life of her own?”

    Michael flinched at her words, but his resolve didn’t waver. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, his voice clipped. “Mother is worried about you. We all are. And you running off like this has only made things worse. The Duke and Duchess feel humiliated. They’ve hired mercenaries to find you, Ariana. This isn’t just about family pride—it’s about safety. You think you’re free out here? You’re a target.”

    Ariana took a step closer, her hands balled into fists. “I’ve already spoken to Father,” she said, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “He told me to run. He’s trying to end the engagement, Michael. He understands why I did this. Why can’t you?”

    Michael’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his face before hardening again. “Father wouldn’t go against the family’s obligations.”

    “He has!” Ariana insisted, her voice rising. “You think he wants me dragged back to that gilded cage? He’s done everything he can to fix this mess without me losing the life I’ve fought so hard for. Even Frederick understands, Michael! I have a letter from him, apologizing for everything. He doesn’t want this engagement any more than I do.”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, his disbelief evident. “Frederick has always been a fool. This isn’t about him, or Father. It’s about you. You made this mess, and now you’ll face the consequences.”

    Ariana’s temper flared. “How dare you?” she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “You have no right to lecture me about family obligations. You ran away from them yourself. You joined the Templars to escape Mother’s control, and now you’d drag me back into it? You’re a hypocrite, Michael!”

    His face darkened, the hurt and frustration evident as he barked back, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I joined the Templars because it was my duty—”

    “You joined because it was your way out!” Ariana interrupted, her voice sharp with accusation. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You wanted freedom, just like I do. The difference is I won’t condemn someone else to the life I escaped from.”

    Michael’s lips thinned into a hard line. He turned to the Templar standing beside him and gave a curt nod. “Take her. We’ll bring her to the Circle until transport to Ostwick can be arranged.”

    Ariana’s heart sank as the Templar stepped forward. “No,” she said, her voice shaking with defiance. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”

    She turned, making a desperate move to run, but Michael and the other Templar, Hadley, were faster. They caught her arms, their grips firm as she struggled. “Let me go!” she shouted, her voice raw with frustration and fear.

    Michael’s expression was unreadable as he looked at her, his voice flat and emotionless. “This is for your own good, Ariana.”

    Her eyes burned with tears as she glared at him, her voice breaking. “You’re wrong, Michael. You’re so wrong.” 

    Michael didn’t respond, his face set with cold determination as he and Hadley began dragging her toward the road. As she fought against their hold, she cast one last desperate glance toward Cullen, hoping for some sign of help, of understanding. But his face was a mask of conflict, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he stood frozen in place.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s hand had gone to the hilt of his blade before he’d even realized it, his grip firm as his mind warred with itself. He wasn’t about to fight or kill his fellow Templars—that was ridiculous. He wasn’t prepared for something like that, and yet… the instinct to protect her had surged through him, pure and unbidden. He tightened his jaw, the weight of guilt pressing heavily against his chest. What am I doing?

    He had chased her, cornered her, and for what? She wasn’t a mage; he knew that much now. The look of betrayal in her eyes haunted him, cutting deeper than he’d expected. And for the first time in a long time, Cullen felt unsure of his purpose. She wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a threat. She was… what is she? A girl on the run from her own life, yes, but to him, she was more than that. She had been a friend in a moment he hadn’t realized he needed one. She had trusted him, even if only a little, and he had broken that trust.

    The anger that simmered in his chest wasn’t directed at her—it never could be. No, his fury was reserved for the others. For her family, for her brother Michael, who dragged her away as though she were some piece of property to be returned. For himself. Mostly for myself. If he had been honest with her from the beginning, if he had told her who he was, maybe she would have confided in him. Maybe she wouldn’t have bolted. Maybe she wouldn’t be looking at him now as if he had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.

    Maker, what am I supposed to do? he thought, his mind racing. His fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword, itching for some kind of action, but what could he do? He couldn’t draw his blade on Michael and Hadley—not over this. He wasn’t even sure what he was protecting her from anymore. She wasn’t a mage. She wasn’t a criminal. And yet… every fiber of his being told him she needed him.

    He felt trapped, as though the weight of nobility’s games had been thrust on him. This wasn’t about justice or duty; it was about control. Nobles and their imagined problems, he thought bitterly, his anger rising. It wasn’t enough that they dictated every aspect of their own lives—they had to drag everyone else into their messes too. And now, because of her family’s expectations, he was standing here, torn between his training and his conscience.

    He looked at her again, her face turned away, her body taut with resistance even as Michael and Hadley restrained her. The image of her earlier that day, exploring the ruins, came unbidden to his mind. She had been happy, free in a way that he doubted she had been in years, if ever. Her hazel-green eyes had sparkled with curiosity and excitement as she traced the faded symbols, her movements unguarded and her laughter genuine. She had trusted him enough to let him see that part of her, to drop her guard entirely. And now… he had destroyed it.

    The guilt twisted in his gut, sharp and unforgiving. I have to fix this, he thought, his resolve hardening. I have to help her.

    As Michael barked orders to Hadley, Cullen’s voice cut through the tense air, firm but not confrontational. “Ser Michael,” he began, stepping forward, his tone carefully measured. “With respect, I don’t believe this is the right way to handle this.”

    Michael turned to him, his expression a mixture of irritation and surprise. “What are you saying, Cullen? She’s my sister. This is a family matter.”

    “And yet you’re treating her like a fugitive,” Cullen replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s not a mage. She’s not a criminal. She’s your family. Perhaps she deserves to be treated as such.”

    Michael’s jaw clenched, his grip on Ariana’s arm tightening slightly. “This isn’t about what she deserves. It’s about what’s right for the family.”

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to Ariana, who was staring at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief. He felt his chest tighten. He had to tread carefully, but he couldn’t let this continue. Not like this. “And what’s right for her?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

    Michael hesitated, his grip loosening ever so slightly. But before he could respond, Ariana spoke, her voice shaking with emotion. “Michael, please. Just let me go. I’m not asking for much—just my freedom.”

    Her words hung in the air, raw and pleading. Cullen swallowed hard, his resolve solidifying. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he couldn’t let her down. Not again.

    ~~~

    He watched as Michael and Hadley dragged Ariana away, her protests growing quieter with each step. His mind raced, guilt gnawing at him. He couldn’t draw his weapon here, not against fellow Templars. Not over this. He had no authority, no grounds, and yet the instinct to protect her was overwhelming him.

    I’ll find another way, he resolved silently. Fighting them outright would only make things worse. Ariana wasn’t a mage. The Templars had no legitimate right to detain her, but he needed to be smart about this. Michael’s position and authority complicated everything, and Cullen knew that helping her escape now would only draw more suspicion. 

    Cullen entered The Spoiled Princess, his frustration barely hidden beneath the composed facade he wore out of habit. As he approached the bar, Gilbert, the tavernkeep, looked up from cleaning a mug, his brows furrowing slightly at the sight of him.

    “I need to collect Ryss’ belongings,” Cullen began, his tone calm but resolute. “She’s been… detained by her brother, but she’ll want her things when she’s released.”

    Gilbert paused, confusion flashing across his face. “Detained? By her brother?” He set the mug down, leaning against the counter. “Who’s her brother, then?”

    Cullen hesitated for a moment before answering. “Ser Michael Trevelyan. A Templar stationed at Kinloch Hold.”

    Recognition flickered in Gilbert’s expression, followed by a deepening concern. “She’s nobility, then? That explains the way she carried herself, but detained by her own brother?” He tilted his head slightly. “Is she…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging, but Cullen understood what he was asking.

    “No,” Cullen said firmly, shaking his head. “She’s not a mage. It’s a complicated, unnecessary matter of runaway nobility.” His voice carried a note of bitterness that surprised even him, though he quickly masked it.

    Gilbert exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Runaway nobility, huh? Well, that’s a new one for me.” He disappeared into a back room and returned moments later with Ariana’s pack. As he handed it over, his expression softened. “She seemed like a good lass. I hope she’ll be alright.”

    Cullen accepted the pack, slinging it over his shoulder. “She will be,” he said, his voice quieter this time. But even as the words left his mouth, doubt gnawed at him. He hoped he was right.

    Gilbert studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “You’ve got the look of someone who means to help her. Just… be careful, Ser Cullen. Nobility and family disputes rarely end well for anyone caught in the middle.”

    Cullen met his gaze, appreciating the innkeeper’s insight. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’ll do what I can.”

    As he turned to leave, Ariana’s pack weighing heavily on his shoulder, Cullen felt the weight of his decision settling in. He had no clear plan yet, but he knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t let Ariana face this alone. Not if he could help it.

    ~~~

    Cullen entered Knight-Commander Greagoir’s office with a measured stride, masking his inner turmoil with an air of professional curiosity. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head, determined to ask the right questions without raising suspicion. Greagoir sat at his desk, a stack of reports spread before him, but he looked up as Cullen approached. 

    “Ser Cullen,” Greagoir greeted, his tone neutral but slightly distracted. “What brings you here?” 

    “I heard Ser Michael brought someone in earlier,” Cullen began casually, standing at attention but keeping his tone light. “His sister, I believe? I was just curious—Trevelyan is a noble name, isn’t it? From Ostwick?” 

    Greagoir nodded, setting down his quill. “Yes, the Trevelyans are well known throughout the Free Marches, particularly for their Chantry ties. Their family is quite respected, especially within the noble and religious circles. It’s wise to keep them as allies.” 

    Cullen hid his surprise behind a thoughtful expression. He knew very little about noble families—his upbringing in Honnleath had been far removed from such matters. But the mention of Chantry ties piqued his interest. “I see,” he said, pausing as if to consider. “I’ve not had much reason to learn about the nobility. Do they often involve themselves in matters with the Templar Order?” 

    “Not directly,” Greagoir replied, leaning back in his chair. “But their influence cannot be ignored. They’re close to the Chantry, and families like theirs can make things… difficult if they feel slighted. It’s better to accommodate them when possible. Hence why I agreed to hold Ser Michael’s sister. A small favor for such a family could prove beneficial.” 

    Cullen tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “I understand the importance of maintaining good relations, but if she isn’t a mage… are we even allowed to hold civilians?” 

    Greagoir’s expression hardened slightly, though his tone remained composed. “Technically, no,” he admitted. “But this is not a typical case. The Trevelyans are a family of stature. Their gratitude would far outweigh any concern over procedural details. I trust you understand the practicality of such decisions.” 

    Cullen nodded, forcing himself to appear agreeable. “Of course, Knight-Commander. I’m still learning the nuances of these situations. Thank you for clarifying.” 

    Greagoir gave a curt nod, clearly satisfied with Cullen’s apparent deference, and returned to his reports. Cullen took this as his cue to leave, inclining his head respectfully before stepping out of the office. 

    As he walked through the halls, Cullen’s mind churned with frustration. Greagoir’s explanation hadn’t surprised him, but it had cemented his belief that this wasn’t about justice or duty—it was about appeasing noble families and maintaining political alliances. Ariana’s detention was wrong, no matter how much Greagoir tried to justify it. 

    She doesn’t belong here, Cullen thought bitterly. She’s not a mage, and yet they’re holding her like she’s an apostate. 

    The questions he had asked had been enough for now. Pushing further would only draw attention to himself. For now, he had the information he needed, and his resolve to help Ariana solidified even more. She had trusted him once, and though he’d failed her then, he wouldn’t fail her again. 

    ~~~

    Cullen spent most of his shift combing for answers. Each question he asked was carefully worded, masked under the guise of curiosity about protocol or logistics. He avoided asking directly about Ariana—mentioning Michael instead—and leaned into the pretense of ignorance. It wasn’t until well into the night, when the Templar barracks had settled into a hushed calm, that he learned where she was being kept.

    One of the lower-level guards, eager to share the monotony of his post, confirmed it “Michael’s sister? Yeah, she’s in one of the temporary cells downstairs. Not much trouble, that one. Pretty quiet. I figure she’s just waiting for her noble family to sort things out.”

    The words grated on Cullen. Not much trouble. She wasn’t trouble at all. She was frightened and trapped. He nodded absently at the guard’s comments, excusing himself with a muttered remark about needing to check something before his shift ended.

    When the halls grew quiet, Cullen made his way to the lower levels, his steps deliberate and soundless. The air was cooler here, the faint smell of damp stone and torch smoke lingering in the narrow corridors. He passed the occasional guard, offering a curt nod when necessary, but most were either inattentive or asleep in their posts.

    Reaching the holding cells, Cullen slowed, his hand brushing the set of keys on his belt. These cells were meant for temporary stays—mages awaiting transfer between Circles or individuals detained for minor offenses. They weren’t designed for someone like Ariana. The thought tightened his jaw as he found her cell, pausing for a moment before unlocking the door.

    Inside, the dim light cast long shadows across the small room. Ariana sat slumped in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head resting on them. She was asleep, though her posture spoke more of exhaustion than rest. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her face, even in sleep, carried traces of tension.

    Cullen knelt beside her, his voice low and soft. “Ryss,” he whispered.

    Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, confusion clouded her face. But as recognition dawned, her expression shifted to one of hurt and wary disbelief. She stiffened, drawing her knees closer to her chest.

    “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse, the strain of the past hours evident.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his regret palpable. “I’m here to get you out,” he said firmly, though his voice faltered slightly. “I should have stopped them earlier. I should’ve helped you before this.”

    She stared at him, her eyes sharp and searching, emotions swirling behind the muted green of her gaze. “Why now?” she asked, her tone cutting, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of betrayal clung to every word.

    “Because it’s wrong,” Cullen replied, his voice steady but laced with guilt. “You don’t belong here. You’re not a mage, and this—this isn’t justice. It’s family politics, and it’s not what we’re supposed to stand for.” He paused, his gaze earnest. “I made a mistake, Ryss. I should have let you go, as you asked. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Let me help you now.”

    Her gaze softened slightly, though wariness lingered. “And what happens when Michael finds out? Or the Knight-Commander?” she asked, her voice trembling just enough to betray her vulnerability.

    Cullen straightened, his resolve hardening. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “They’ll have no reason to suspect anything until we’re long gone. I’ll deal with the consequences. But right now, I need to get you out of here.”

    For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes locked on his as she weighed his words. Hurt and suspicion warred with the faint flicker of trust that lingered between them. Finally, she stood slowly, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Her hesitation was evident as she extended her hand—not in trust, but in necessity.

    “Will you get in trouble?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, her gaze dropping as though bracing for the worst. Then she looked up again, her concern clear. “I don’t want this to ruin your life.”

    Her words struck him like a blow. He froze, her concern taking him completely off guard. How can she care about my future, he thought, when hers is the one hanging by a thread?

    “I’ll handle it,” Cullen interrupted, his voice firm but softer now. “It’s not your burden to carry. Let me worry about that.”

    She studied him, her eyes flickering with doubt and resolve. Then she gave a small nod. “Alright. Let’s go.”

    Together, they slipped into the silent corridor, their steps careful and deliberate. Cullen’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade as they moved, his body tense with readiness. He glanced at Ariana, her expression set with determination despite the fear that lingered in her eyes. Even now, she cares about what happens to me. She shouldn’t. But I’ll get her out of here, he vowed silently. No matter what it takes.

    ~~~

    Cullen guided Ariana out of the Circle and onto a small boat, the silence between them thick with tension. He kept glancing at her, hoping for some acknowledgment, but her expression was a mask—cool, unreadable, and distant. His mind churned with everything he wanted to say, but none of it felt right. He wanted to apologize, to explain why he had approached her that night in The Spoiled Princess. But confessing that it had started as an attempt to determine if she was a mage felt like it would only make things worse.

    By the time they reached the docks, she stepped out of the boat with quick, purposeful movements, putting as much distance between them as she could. Cullen secured the boat and followed her. “Ryss,” he called out, but she didn’t stop, her pace only quickening.

    Without looking back, she replied, “While I thank you for the rescue, it’s best if we part ways now.” Her voice carried an unmistakable mix of pain and anger.

    Determined, Cullen caught up to her, reaching out to grab her wrist. She pulled her arm back immediately, whirling around to face him, her hazel-green eyes flashing with fury. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “You’ve done enough.”

    He held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice softer. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

    She hesitated, her emotions a whirlwind as she weighed her options. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and walk away, to put as much distance between them as possible. And yet, there was something about his voice, about the look in his eyes, that made her pause. He had a way of disarming her that she couldn’t quite fight, and she hated that she felt compelled to listen.

    “Fine,” she said, her tone resigned but edged with irritation. “But let’s have this conversation somewhere less… conspicuous.”

    They walked away from the docks, passing The Spoiled Princess in strained silence until they found a secluded spot within the trees. There, they settled on a fallen log, the silver light of the moon illuminating her face in soft shadows. Cullen was struck again by how beautiful she was, even when her expression was guarded and her shoulders stiff with distrust.

    But tonight, he wasn’t the smooth-talking man she had met in the tavern. Words failed him, his thoughts tangled as he struggled to begin. He felt her gaze on him, expectant and sharp, and he knew he couldn’t delay any longer.

    After a few false starts, he took a deep breath and began. “When I first saw you in The Spoiled Princess, I thought… well, I thought you might be a runaway mage,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “Your demeanor, the way you carried yourself—it raised some flags for me. And, yes, I approached you with that in mind. But that changed, Ryss. That changed the moment we started talking.”

    He looked at her, hoping to find understanding in her expression, but she remained silent, her features unreadable. Pressing on, he confessed, “I should’ve told you the truth that night, but… I didn’t want to lose the chance to know you. I’ve never been as comfortable talking to someone as I am with you. I never wanted to lie, but I didn’t know how to fix it once I started.”

    Determined to prove his honesty, he unraveled the small lies he’d told her. He shared that he was born in Honnleath, not Lothering, and that he was the second oldest of four siblings. He explained how he’d begun training as a Templar at thirteen and had only been stationed at Kinloch for just over a year.

    As he shared these details, apologizing and confessing, he watched her expression slowly soften. Her guardedness began to slip away, her lips curving into a faint smile as he told her stories from his childhood and his family. The anger in her eyes faded as she listened, and he found her nodding, even laughing lightly at a few of his recollections.

    “I didn’t chase you that day because I thought you were a mage,” he said, his voice faltering. “I chased you because I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose this… whatever this is between us.”

    Ariana studied him, her gaze softening as his sincerity became undeniable. She could still feel the sting of betrayal, but she also saw the guilt in his eyes and the honesty in his words. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she sighed, her voice gentler now. “If I hadn’t panicked… none of this would have happened,” she admitted. “Maybe Michael wouldn’t have noticed me, and we could’ve just walked away.”

    The tension between them eased, the anger in her eyes fading as she allowed herself to believe him. Cullen, emboldened by her response, smiled faintly, though his heart ached with the knowledge that she couldn’t stay.

    “So… what happens now?” he asked, his voice tentative. “Where will you go?”

    Ariana sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the dark line of trees beyond them. “My journey needs to continue. There aren’t many places left to hide around here, so… I’ll probably head toward Lothering.” She looked back at Cullen, catching the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes, and her heart clenched in response. She knew she felt the same way.

    Silence stretched between them for a moment before Ariana, sensing that this might be her last chance, decided to share more of herself with him. “You know, I’m the youngest of four,” she began, her voice soft. “In my family, that means something specific. The youngest child is usually promised to the Chantry. The oldest becomes the head of the family, the rest are married off to secure alliances. Simple, straightforward… or so it’s supposed to be.”

    Cullen tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “But… it didn’t work out that way for your family?”

    She shook her head, a faint, bittersweet smile crossing her lips. “No. My eldest brother, Mark, is the heir, of course. He’ll take over as Bann, married well, will carry on the name. But then there’s my sister Kira… she’s a mage. When her magic manifested, they sent her to the Circle. That meant she couldn’t secure alliances through marriage. And Michael…” Her voice trailed off, her expression darkening. “Michael ran off and joined the Templars. I suppose you already know how that turned out.”

    Cullen frowned, his brows knitting together as he listened intently. “And that left you.”

    “Yes,” she said with a quiet nod. “That left me. By all rights, I should have been free. Michael joining the templars met our commitment to the Chantry. Kira’s condition wasn’t mine to bear. But my mother…” Her smile twisted bitterly. “My mother would never allow that. To her, I’m not a person—I’m a tool. A means to restore what she thinks we’ve lost. She’s less worried about me than she is about her standing. She’s probably more upset about the rumors that will spread about her not raising a proper daughter.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as he watched her speak. There was a vulnerability in her words, a mixture of frustration and sorrow that he hadn’t seen in her before. She was opening up to him, sharing pieces of herself that she likely kept hidden from everyone else. And in that moment, he realized just how much she had endured to carve out her own path.

    She met his gaze, her voice quieter now. “I thought if I ran far enough, I could escape it all. The expectations, the obligations, the endless weight of what my family wanted from me. But… no matter how far I go, it seems to follow.”

    Cullen reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm, grounding her in the moment. “You’re not running anymore,” he said softly. “You’re choosing. That’s something they’ll never understand, and that’s their loss. Not yours.”

    Ariana looked at him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For saying that. For everything.”

    Her time in Kirkwall with Varric had been wonderful—she’d felt safe, happy, even at home. But what she felt with Cullen was something else entirely—something unexpected, powerful, and deeply unsettling in the best way. In just a few days, he had awakened emotions she hadn’t known existed, feelings she couldn’t ignore. Being with him felt different, like a part of her had finally found the place it belonged.

    Swallowing, she wrestled with her urge to stay. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I could stay close…” Her words trailed off but some part of her hope he understood the implication.

    Cullen’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought about asking her to stay. But he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t realistic. “You’re unlike anyone I have ever met. I will miss you,” he said simply, his voice laced with regret.

    Ariana hesitated, a thought crossing her mind—Crestwood. It was only a couple of days away on foot, far enough from Kinloch Hold but close enough that she could maybe see him from time to time. But she didn’t voice it. Not yet. She wasn’t certain what her next step should be, only that she had to keep moving forward. Perhaps, if she could find a way, she would come back.

    “For now,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I have to say goodbye. But… I hope our paths cross again someday. Maybe even soon.” She leaned closer, her hand resting on his arm, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Cullen. For everything.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as he held her arm, his fingers lingering there, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he could. As she pulled away, he released her with a slow nod, unable to find the right words to say goodbye.

    Ariana turned and began walking away, her silhouette fading into the night as she disappeared into the trees. Cullen watched her go, his heart heavy with resignation. He had known her only a few days, and yet he knew now that he would remember her for the rest of his life.

  • Chapter 5 – A New Beginning

    2 August – 12 August 9:29

    The journey to West Hill would take two to three days, depending on the weather, and Ariana once again found herself enjoying Berthold’s company. The gentle sway of the ship and the endless expanse of sea provided a calming backdrop as they talked. She shared stories of her time in Kirkwall, speaking of her friendship with Varric and the sense of independence she had started to find there. As before, she kept certain details vague, mindful of Varric’s penchant for discretion.

    Berthold, in turn, regaled her with tales of his recent voyages. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said, leaning casually against the ship’s railing, his eyes on the horizon. “Three months ago, I docked in Cumberland, and there was this merchant peddling ‘dragon teeth.’ Claimed they were talismans of protection, guaranteed to ward off everything from storms to, I don’t know, bad hair days. Turned out they were just carved chicken bones. The man sold out before the guards even got wind of it.”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “And people actually believed him?”

    “Oh, you’d be surprised, my lady,” Berthold said with a grin. “Folk’ll believe anything if it comes with a good story. Kind of like your friend Varric, I imagine.”

    “Varric would’ve at least made it entertaining,” she replied, her tone light. “And probably worth the coin.”

    Berthold chuckled, nodding in agreement. “True enough. That dwarf could sell snow to a man in the Frostbacks.”

    As they sailed closer to West Hill, Berthold offered her what little he knew about the port. “Not much to say about West Hill, really,” he admitted. “It’s small, mostly a waypoint for traders heading to Redcliffe or Denerim. You’ll find a few decent taverns near the docks, though, and the road south isn’t too dangerous—at least as long as you stay clear of the forests at night.”

    When he saw her thoughtful expression, Berthold hesitated before adding, “I wish I could introduce you to someone like Varric down there, but Ferelden’s not exactly crawling with merchant princes. Still…” He gave her an encouraging smile. “You’re not the same girl I dropped off in Kirkwall. You’ve grown a lot. I think you’ll be just fine.”

    The early morning light was breaking over the horizon when they finally reached West Hill. The air was cooler here, tinged with the earthy scent of the Ferelden coast. As they docked, Ariana felt a mix of anticipation and unease—another step into the unknown, this time without the safety net of Varric’s presence.

    As they disembarked, Berthold turned to her, his expression warm but serious. “Take care of yourself, alright? I’m usually in West Hill about once a month. If you need anything—or if you want to get word to Varric—leave it with the dockmaster here. I’ll make sure it gets to him.”

    Ariana hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quick but heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Berthold. For everything. And for leading me to Varric. I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.”

    Berthold patted her back, a bit surprised but not displeased. “Ah, now, none of that. You’ve done the hard part yourself. You’ll do fine, I know it.”

    As she stepped away, Ariana gave him one last grateful smile before turning toward the unfamiliar streets of West Hill. With her satchel slung over her shoulder and the lessons she’d learned in Kirkwall fresh in her mind, she felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

    ~~~

    West Hill truly was more waypoint than settlement, a fortress-turned-town with stout stone walls and hardy residents. Ariana’s first impression was of a place both practical and resolute, its people focused on the business of trade and travel. She found a few merchants easily enough and managed to replenish her supplies, though she marveled at how well Varric had already equipped her pack. Every item was chosen for utility, and she smiled faintly at the care he had taken to prepare her.

    The locals she spoke with were friendly and eager to share advice. They recommended a route through Crestwood, a quiet village that offered a good place to rest before heading to the docks at Lake Calenhad. From there, they explained, she could find a small but reputable tavern called The Spoiled Princess, which served travelers heading toward the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold. However, they cautioned her that the road south from the Lake Calenhad docks was sparse, with few settlements before Lothering. “You’ll want to be ready to camp in the wilderness,” one merchant warned, his expression serious.

    Ariana thanked them and spent the rest of the day exploring the modest marketplace, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling town. She secured a simple room at a local tavern for the night, its worn wooden beams and smoky hearth offering a sense of comfort. The room itself was small but clean, its single bed and modest furnishings a welcome respite before the long journey that awaited her. As she lay in bed, her thoughts wandered to the path ahead, to Crestwood, and beyond that, to the mysterious Kinloch Hold looming in her mind like a mythic beacon.

    The next morning, Ariana set off early, her pack slung over her shoulder as the road stretched out before her. The journey to Crestwood would take about two days from what she had learned. It was mostly solitary, winding through rolling fields and sparse woodlands.  The occasional traveler passed her by—merchants and farmers bound for West Hill—and she exchanged polite nods and brief words of greeting. The road was peaceful, and the sun shone brightly, but Ariana remained alert, her daggers close at hand. Kirkwall had taught her to be cautious, even in the quietest of places.

    As she walked, she couldn’t help but reflect on how vastly different Ferelden felt from the Free Marches. She had grown up surrounded by bustling estates, orderly gardens, and towering cityscapes. Here, there was nothing but open sky and endless fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of wildflowers and freshly tilled earth, a stark contrast to the salty winds of Kirkwall and the perfumed courtyards of her family’s estate.

    It’s so… open, she thought, marveling at the sheer expanse of the horizon. Back home, her world had always felt confined, hemmed in by walls both literal and figurative. Even in Kirkwall, with its towering black cliffs and labyrinthine streets, there had been a sense of structure. Here, the landscape felt untamed, almost limitless. It was beautiful in its simplicity, but it also unsettled her. The wide-open spaces made her feel small, exposed, as though she were walking under a watchful sky.

    The villages she passed through were similarly quaint, their simple homes built of wood and stone, surrounded by small farms and pastures. She noticed how the people worked side by side, their lives seemingly unhurried and focused on the land. The contrast to the bustling, chaotic energy of Kirkwall couldn’t have been more striking. For all its danger and corruption, the city had been alive with movement, its people driven by ambition, desperation, or both. Here, everything seemed slower, quieter. Ariana wasn’t sure yet if she found it comforting or alien.

    On the first night, she found herself faced with a challenge she had never encountered before: camping under the open sky. Growing up, she had always been surrounded by walls—her family’s estate, Kirkwall’s towering stone structures. Even when she had traveled with her family, they had stayed in comfortable inns, or other noble estates. The idea of sleeping alone, without shelter or guards, was both thrilling and unnerving.

    She chose a spot on a gentle hill, its crest offering a clear view of the stars above. With trembling hands, she unpacked the bedroll Varric had included in her kit and fumbled with the small flint and steel to start a fire. It took her longer than she cared to admit, but when the fire finally caught, a triumphant smile spread across her face. I did it, she thought, a small spark of pride warming her alongside the flames.

    As the night deepened, Ariana sat by the fire, her knees tucked to her chest, staring up at the vast expanse of stars. They felt brighter and more numerous here than she had ever seen in Kirkwall or Ostwick, their light unblemished by city smoke or lanterns. The Visus constellation shone prominently, its familiar shape grounding her in this unfamiliar world. She traced its outline with her finger, whispering its name as though it might grant her strength for the road ahead.

    Lying back on her bedroll, she marveled at how strange yet comforting the experience was. The night air was cool against her skin, the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves surrounding her. There were no walls, no ceilings, no constraints—just the endless sky above and the gentle sway of the grass around her. It felt freeing in a way she hadn’t expected, as though the open world was welcoming her, encouraging her to keep going.

    This isn’t so bad, she mused as she stared at the stars. For all her nervousness, there was something profoundly soothing about being out here alone, relying only on herself. It was as though the world itself was cradling her, whispering that she could handle whatever came next.

    When sleep finally claimed her, it was peaceful, dreamless, and deep. She felt truly untethered—free to rest, free to dream, free to forge ahead on her own terms.

    ~~~

    By the time Ariana reached Crestwood, her legs ached, and her supplies were slightly diminished. The village, nestled along the edge of a winding lake, was as quaint as the locals in West Hill had described. Narrow streets flanked by simple stone and timber homes bustled with quiet activity, while the laughter of children echoed faintly in the crisp afternoon air. The shimmering lake nearby, its surface dotted with fishing boats, immediately caught her eye. Beyond it, the imposing structure of a dam and the weathered remnants of an old fort stood out against the landscape.

    Curiosity tugged at her as she observed the dam, a marvel of stonework and ingenuity that seemed out of place in such an unassuming village. She made her way closer, finding a path that led to a better view. The dam stretched across the lake’s outlet, its sturdy construction weathered by time but still solid. Water spilled through controlled channels, cascading down into the valley below with a constant roar. Crestwood’s entire existence seemed intertwined with this dam—a lifeline and a symbol of resilience.

    Beyond the dam, her eyes traced the silhouette of Caer Bronach, the old fort perched on a rise overlooking the lake. Its once-formidable walls bore the scars of abandonment, yet its commanding presence lingered. Ariana wondered about its history—who had lived and fought there, what battles it had seen, and why it had been left to decay. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might have been like to stand there as a defender, watching over the lake and the village below.

    The quiet hum of Crestwood drew her back from her thoughts, and she turned toward the tavern near the village center. Its wooden sign swayed gently in the breeze, and the scent of roasted meat wafted out, beckoning her inside.

    The interior was warm and inviting, with a roaring fire crackling in the hearth. Wooden beams, darkened by age, stretched overhead, and the scent of stew and freshly baked bread filled the air. Locals sat at scattered tables, speaking in low, familiar tones. It was humble, unpretentious, and utterly different from the bustling energy of Kirkwall or the rigid formality of her childhood in Ostwick.

    After securing a room for the night, Ariana sat at a small table and allowed herself to savor a meal of hearty stew, fresh bread, and cider. She listened to the villagers’ conversations—simple talk of fishing, harvests, and the occasional trouble with wolves in the hills. It was a far cry from the politics and intrigue of Kirkwall, yet there was something soothing in its simplicity.

    Later, as she settled into her room, her thoughts lingered on the dam and the fort. Crestwood seemed like a place where history slept, its scars visible but unspoken. In its quiet way, it reminded her of herself—a place defined by what had come before but still standing, still enduring.

    As she lay in the modest but comfortable bed, the realization struck her like a sudden gust of wind. Kinloch Hold. That’s where Michael is stationed.

    Her heart skipped a beat. Michael—her older brother, the one who had always tried to run around after her trying to keep her out of trouble when they were kids. The one who had chosen his own path by joining the Templar Order, defying their mother’s expectations. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? Should she try to see him?

    The thought filled her with equal parts excitement and dread. If anyone would understand her decision to run, it would be Michael. But then again, he had chosen the Chantry, which was another path of their obligations. She had chosen to run from all obligations… What if he didn’t understand? What if his loyalty to the family and the Chantry outweighed his understanding of her choices?

    I have time to think about it, she told herself, trying to push the uncertainty aside. A couple of days, at least. I’ll decide by the time I reach The Spoiled Princess.

    With the thought lingering, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep. As dreams claimed her, she saw images of the dam, the fort, and Kinloch Hold rising above the lake—a path both uncertain and promising stretched before her.

    ~~~

    Ariana awoke in her small room at the Crestwood tavern to the soft light of dawn filtering through the simple wooden shutters. Rather than setting out immediately, she decided to take a day to explore the village and its surroundings. There was something about Crestwood that intrigued her—its combination of serene beauty and hints of a storied past.

    She made her way to Caer Bronach, the old fort perched on the hill overlooking the village. The climb was steeper than she had expected, but when she reached the top, the view took her breath away. The lake stretched out before her, shimmering in the morning light, and the entirety of Crestwood lay nestled in its shadow. She wandered through the fort’s weathered ruins, running her fingers along the moss-covered stone walls and imagining the stories they held. 

    The fort’s strategic position made it clear why it had once been so important. She could picture the defenders stationed here, watching over the lake and the dam, protecting the village below. Despite its current state of abandonment, it still felt alive with echoes of the past. Ariana found herself lingering, taking in the quiet majesty of the place as the wind rustled through the grasses growing between the stones. 

    After exploring the fort, she descended back toward the dam. The closer she got, the more impressive it appeared. The sound of rushing water filled her ears, and she paused on the path to marvel at its construction. It was a feat of engineering she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around—a symbol of both resilience and survival. The dam had clearly withstood the test of time, much like the people of Crestwood themselves. 

    As the sun dipped lower, she returned to the village, stopping by a small marketplace to replenish her supplies. She exchanged polite conversation with the merchants, finding them straightforward and unpretentious. They reminded her of the people she had encountered in Lowtown—not as hardened, perhaps, but with the same practical air of those who knew how to endure life’s challenges. 

    That evening, back at the tavern, Ariana allowed herself one last quiet meal by the fire. Her thoughts drifted to the road ahead—to Lake Calenhad, The Spoiled Princess, and the possibility of crossing paths with her brother. 

    The next morning, Ariana set out southwest from Crestwood, her pack secured and her spirits steady. The locals had told her the journey to the Lake Calenhad Docks would take two days if she kept a steady pace. She followed the well-trodden road, which wound through rolling fields and patches of forest. 

    The air was crisp, the scent of earth and greenery filling her lungs as she walked. This was the longest stretch of uninterrupted travel she had undertaken since leaving Ostwick, and she found herself thinking back to how her journey had begun. She smirked at the memory of boarding Berthold’s ship, expecting her path to be defined by sea travel and bustling cities. Now, here she was, trekking through the Ferelden countryside, surrounded by nothing but open land and endless sky. 

    I suppose this is where the real adventure begins, she thought with a chuckle, adjusting the straps of her pack. 

    The first night, she camped again beneath the stars, her fire crackling softly as she sat cross-legged on her bedroll. She stared at the constellations, tracing their shapes and feeling a familiar comfort in their presence.

    By the afternoon of the second day, Ariana caught sight of the shimmering expanse of Lake Calenhad. The docks came into view shortly after, bustling with activity as boats unloaded their cargo and passengers disembarked. She paused at the edge of the road, taking in the scene.

    Among the crowd, she spotted a few figures in familiar armor—Templars. Her breath caught for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considered her options. So much for avoiding Michael entirely, she thought, a flicker of nervousness running through her. Still, she reminded herself that she had resolved not to seek him out. If their paths crossed by chance, she hoped he wouldn’t turn her in, but there was no sense in tempting fate. 

    Carefully keeping her distance from the Templars, she approached The Spoiled Princess, a modest but well-kept tavern near the docks. Its wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, and the sound of laughter and conversation drifted from within. She stepped inside, scanning the room before heading to the bar. 

    “What can I get you?” the tavernkeep, Gilbert, asked, his tone brisk but not unfriendly. 

    “Just some bread and cheese, please,” Ariana replied, keeping her voice calm. 

    Gilbert returned a moment later with her order, along with a small goblet of wine. She discreetly counted out 30 coppers from her pouch and handed them over before choosing a seat in a quiet corner of the room. As she ate, she kept her back to the wall, her eyes scanning the room as Varric had taught her. 

    The Templars remained near the door, engaged in their own conversation and paying her no mind. Ariana allowed herself to relax slightly, though she remained vigilant. Her journey had been long, and she was sore and weary from the road, but she felt a flicker of satisfaction knowing she was one step closer to the life she was trying to build for herself. 

    Just a few days here, she thought, finishing the last of her meal. Enough to rest, resupply, and decide my next move. 

    ~~~

    Unbeknownst to Ariana, someone had been watching her closely since the moment she stepped into The Spoiled Princess. Seated quietly at a table near the door, Ser Cullen Rutherford, an off-duty Templar, had a practiced eye for anyone who looked out of place. From the instant she walked in, he noticed something unusual about her demeanor.

    She moved with a confidence that was subtly at odds with her circumstances. Her dark brown hair, pulled back into a loose braid, was slightly disheveled from travel but still carried an air of care. Her attire was practical—well-suited to the road—but far too fine to belong to an ordinary traveler. The leather of her boots and the detailing on her belt hinted at wealth, yet they bore the marks of days, perhaps weeks, on the road.

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the way she surveyed the room. She wasn’t just looking around; she was assessing, her gaze lingering on the Templars by the door, the barmaid refilling mugs, and the men hunched over their dice games in the corner. Her posture was relaxed but ready, her movements deliberate. To most, she might appear unremarkable—a tired traveler seeking food and rest. But Cullen had spent years honing his instincts, and this girl didn’t fit the mold of anyone who simply stumbled into a tavern.

    Her eyes caught his attention next. Her eyes, a vibrant mixture of green hues and flecks of gold, held secrets untold, beckoning anyone who dared to look closer. He couldn’t place her age exactly—late teens, perhaps—but those eyes told a story of someone who had seen more than their share of the world. They flicked briefly toward his table before returning to the room, missing nothing.

    He noted her pack, set down beside her chair with a care that spoke of experience. It wasn’t just tossed aside like most travelers would do. No, she placed it where it could be reached quickly. The small details painted a picture, one that Cullen found increasingly intriguing: a girl of noble bearing, on the road alone, carrying herself like someone who had learned vigilance the hard way.

    And yet, there was an unguarded moment as she sat back, sighing softly. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as if the weight of the journey had momentarily slipped from her. It wasn’t weakness, Cullen realized, but resilience—someone holding herself together because she had no other choice.

    Cullen’s curiosity deepened as he continued to observe her. A runaway? he wondered. But there was something more to her than that. Her wariness, in particular, caught his attention. Her gaze lingered on the Templars stationed by the door—not too long, but just enough for him to notice. It wasn’t the casual glance of a traveler unfamiliar with the Order’s presence. No, this was different. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly, and her posture shifted, her body angling subtly away from them, as though she were instinctively trying to avoid drawing their attention. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but Cullen’s trained eyes caught it.

    She’s wary of Templars, he realized. And that was enough to set his thoughts racing. Was she a mage on the run? It would explain her caution, the deliberate way she scanned her surroundings, and the telltale guardedness in her eyes. Her refined movements and confident bearing spoke of a noble upbringing, but the way she carried herself now—always alert, always calculating—suggested someone who had been living outside of their comfort zone for some time.

    Fortunately, Cullen was out of uniform, his civilian clothes blending him into the room. He leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze linger just enough to study her without being overt. The Templar in him needed to question her, to understand why she seemed so out of place. The man in him simply wanted to know her story.

    Cullen leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully. If she is a mage, she’s done well to stay under the radar. There were no outward signs of magic—no nervous twitches, no hurried movements—but that only made him more intrigued. Most young mages would falter under scrutiny, but she moved with a calculated confidence, as though she’d been coached.

    He tapped his mug softly against the table, the sound deliberate but light enough not to draw attention from anyone but her. Ariana’s eyes flicked toward him, a brief flash of confusion crossing her face before her expression smoothed. No panic, no recognition—just mild curiosity. That, more than anything, confirmed his suspicion: she wasn’t accustomed to seeing Templars or their like, at least not enough to fear them outright.

    Rising to his feet, Cullen straightened his tunic and approached her table with a measured, friendly stride. He smiled, adding just the right amount of charm to his tone. “Mind if I join you?”

    ~~~

    Ariana held the stranger’s gaze for a moment before nodding and motioning for him to sit. She couldn’t help but notice how striking he was—short, curly blond hair that seemed effortlessly tousled, hazel eyes that held a quiet intensity, and a broad, well-built frame that suggested strength and discipline. Despite herself, her gaze flickered downward for a brief moment, and she realized with embarrassment that she had bitten her lip. Get a grip, Ariana, she scolded herself. He’s just a man, not the Maker come to life.

    His disarming smile and easy manner threw her off for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, gesturing to the seat across from her. “If you wish,” she said simply, her tone calm and neutral.

    As he sat, he gave her a friendly smile, his eyes studying her with a subtle curiosity. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, his tone warm and conversational, as though it were the most casual observation in the world.

    “Just passing through,” she replied, keeping her voice measured, then turned the question back on him. “Are you from around here?”

    “Cullen,” he introduced himself, offering only his first name and skillfully sidestepping her question. “And you?”

    She hesitated. Something about his response—or lack thereof—set her on edge. He hadn’t answered her question directly, instead giving her his name and deftly steering the conversation back to her. The maneuver was smooth, practiced. Clever, she thought. And probably hiding something.

    “Ryss,” she said finally. Her smile was polite, but her tone carried an edge of suspicion.

    Cullen inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her answer. His gaze lingered, not in an intrusive way but with a kind of quiet curiosity. She could feel him assessing her, trying to piece her together, and it only made her more cautious. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down now—not when she was this close to leaving Kirkwall behind for good.

    Cullen leaned back slightly, adopting a more relaxed posture, though his mind was anything but. “I’m from Lothering,” he offered casually. “Passing through on merchant business.”

    Ariana’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, though she caught herself in time. Merchant? The word felt foreign coming from someone like him, with his clean, upright bearing and sharp, deliberate movements. No merchant she had ever met carried himself like that. Soldier, maybe. Or something close.

    She continued to nod politely, keeping her face neutral, but the realization dawned on her like a warning bell: Templar. Her stomach tightened. If she had any lingering doubt, it faded as she noticed the subtle way his gaze shifted over her—calculated, observant. He wasn’t just chatting with a stranger; he was assessing her, picking up on the same cues she worked so hard to hide.

    Don’t panic. He doesn’t know anything yet, she reminded herself. She’d been careful not to use her first name or reveal too much, but if this man had even the faintest connection to Michael, her cover could crumble faster than she could react.

    Deciding to pivot the conversation, she leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but pointed. “So,” she said, her hazel-green eyes meeting his with quiet insistence, “what is it that you really do? Because I’ve met plenty of travelers and merchants, and you… don’t quite seem like any of them.”

    Cullen’s easy smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of hesitation passing over his face before he quickly recovered. She had him cornered, and they both knew it. He couldn’t exactly come out and say he was a Templar—not without tipping his hand entirely. But he also couldn’t let the question hang unanswered.

    ~~~

    Cullen sighed inwardly, recognizing he had to tread carefully. The sharpness in her gaze told him she wasn’t someone who could be easily deceived. “Alright,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned forward, offering a faint smile. “You caught me. I wasn’t entirely honest.”

    He paused, as if weighing his words, then continued. “I do some work on the side—security, mostly. Mercenary work, if you want to put a name to it. Not always the kind of thing people look kindly on, so I tend to avoid leading with that.” He glanced at her, his expression contrite but with a touch of charm. “I didn’t want to ruin the chance to strike up a conversation. After all, it’s not every day someone like you walks into a place like this.”

    Cullen let the compliment hang, watching her reaction closely. It wasn’t entirely untrue—she was striking, not just in appearance but in the way she carried herself. Still, he was testing her, gauging whether flattery would lower her guard.

    Ariana tilted her head slightly, her hazel-green eyes narrowing in playful skepticism. “Mercenary work, you say?” she replied, her tone almost teasing. “I suppose that explains why you don’t quite look like the merchants I’ve met.”

    He chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air. “It’s honest work, even if it doesn’t come with much prestige. Keeps me on the move, at least.”

    She studied him for a moment, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. “Alright, I’ll forgive you—for now. But only because you’ve managed to make this conversation interesting.”

    Cullen grinned, the tension easing between them. “I’ll take what I can get.” He allowed a moment of silence to settle, then leaned forward again, his expression turning thoughtful. “But since we’re being honest, what about you? You don’t exactly blend into a place like this. And if I’m not mistaken, that accent isn’t Ferelden.”

    Ariana tensed ever so slightly, though her composure remained intact. Her mind raced, sifting through Varric’s lessons. Simple enough to satisfy, or complicated enough to be interesting. She took a measured breath, meeting his gaze with just the right touch of vulnerability. “If you must know,” she began softly, “I’m running from family obligations. Nothing scandalous, just… expectations I didn’t want to live up to. I’m looking for a fresh start, somewhere I can make my own decisions for once.”

    Her words were careful, deliberate, but the subtle tremor in her voice gave them an authenticity Cullen found difficult to doubt. He nodded, leaning back slightly as he considered her answer. “I can understand that,” he said, his tone sincere. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is figuring out who you are apart from what everyone else wants you to be.”

    Ariana’s eyes flickered with surprise, her defenses momentarily softening at his empathy. “Exactly,” she murmured, her voice almost wistful. She quickly recovered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not easy, though. Starting over.”

    “No, it’s not,” Cullen agreed, his gaze steady. “But it’s brave.” His words were simple, but they carried weight, and Ariana seemed to warm to him as she heard them.

    Their conversation carried on, the initial wariness between them giving way to a cautious camaraderie. Cullen found himself genuinely captivated by her—her wit, her poise, the way she carefully chose her words without seeming guarded. She was unlike anyone he had encountered, and the more they talked, the more his curiosity grew.

    But amidst the ease of their exchange, Cullen’s original purpose remained. He still wasn’t certain of who—or what—she was. Her grace and caution hinted at someone accustomed to maneuvering within noble circles, yet she carried herself with the practiced vigilance of someone on the run. Not a typical mage, he thought, but the possibility lingered at the back of his mind. For now, though, he chose to let the conversation unfold, knowing that the truth, whatever it was, would eventually reveal itself.

    As he listened, his initial calculation began to waver. Protectiveness crept into his thoughts, unbidden but undeniable. Whatever she was running from, he found himself wishing to keep it far from her, to ensure she stayed safe. It was a surprising and uncomfortable feeling, one he wasn’t sure what to do with—but for now, he simply listened, letting the evening pass with the quiet intrigue that only she seemed capable of stirring.

    ~~~

    Ariana wasn’t sure when the conversation had shifted from polite exchanges to something deeper. It had started simply enough—Cullen pointing out the safest routes through Ferelden, Ariana sharing what little she knew about the area from Berthold. But as the hours passed, their topics expanded, covering everything from local myths to far-off tales of adventure.

    Ariana shared one of Berthold’s more colorful stories about a pirate who claimed to have found a cave filled with lyrium, only to lose it after a tidal wave swept his ship away. Cullen chuckled at the absurdity, leaning forward slightly as he replied, “Sounds like the kind of tale people tell after one too many pints. But who knows? Ferelden has its share of hidden treasures.”

    He went on to recount a story of his own—a rumor about an abandoned village in the Bannorn where the wind carried strange whispers through the trees. “Superstition, probably,” he said with a grin. “But it kept the local merchants from using the road nearby for months.”

    They fell into a rhythm, trading stories, neither fully realizing how much of their guard had slipped. Cullen’s anecdotes, while careful not to reveal his Templar affiliation, often carried a sense of duty and discipline that Ariana couldn’t ignore. And yet, there was something undeniably warm about him—a charm she found herself drawn to despite her better judgment.

    At one point, as Cullen laughed at her incredulous reaction to one of his tales, Ariana caught herself staring. Maker, he’s handsome, she thought, her gaze lingering on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The realization jolted her, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself. Stop it. This isn’t safe. She forced herself to focus on her drink, pretending she hadn’t just entertained the thought.

    But as they continued talking, Ariana couldn’t help but feel comfortable in his presence—a rare feeling since she’d left Kirkwall. There was something steady about Cullen, something she couldn’t quite place but trusted instinctively. It was a dangerous thought, she knew, but it lingered nonetheless.

    The spell was broken when Gilbert cleared his throat, pulling them both back to reality. Ariana glanced around, startled to find the tavern nearly empty. She exchanged an embarrassed smile with Cullen, who seemed just as surprised.

    Gilbert approached, and Ariana realized she still needed to secure a room. “Do you have any rooms available?” she asked.

    The tavernkeep nodded. “Two silver a night.”

    She reached for her pouch, handing over the coins with ease. Cullen watched her, his initial suspicions softening. A runaway mage would have been far more cautious about spending, and her demeanor didn’t carry the telltale edge of someone hiding from the Circle. While she was clearly running from something, Cullen was increasingly convinced it wasn’t the Order.

    Rising from his seat, Cullen gave her a respectful nod. “Goodnight, Ryss,” he said, his tone genuine. “If you’re still here in a couple of days, I’d like to see you again.”

    Ariana couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “You know where to find me,” she replied softly.

    As he left, Ariana felt a strange mix of relief and reluctance. She reminded herself of the risks—Templars frequented this place, and staying too long could draw unwanted attention. Yet, as she climbed the stairs to her room, she found herself hoping she’d have just one more evening like this before she moved on. Just one more, she thought, though she knew better than to make such promises to herself.

    ~~~

    Ariana spent the next two days settling into a rhythm at The Spoiled Princess, letting herself recover from the journey and acclimate to the peacefulness of Lake Calenhad. Each morning, she strolled along the lake’s edge, marveling at the stillness of the water and the way the sunlight danced across its surface. It was nothing like the bustling chaos of Kirkwall or the carefully manicured beauty of Ostwick’s courtyards. It was untamed, vast, and utterly serene.

    But her thoughts kept drifting back to Cullen. There was a comfort in his presence that she couldn’t shake, an unexpected connection that made her feel safe yet unsettled. It was dangerous, this feeling—this pull toward someone she barely knew. He’s handsome, kind, and easy to talk to, she admitted to herself, biting the inside of her cheek. But then she’d remind herself of the risk. What if he’s not who he says he is? What if he’s been hired to find me?

    The thought made her stomach twist, yet it was impossible to reconcile with the Cullen she had spoken to. He had been so genuine, so disarming, that she couldn’t bring herself to believe he meant her harm. Still, caution whispered at the edges of her mind.

    On the third evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Ariana returned to the tavern, half-hoping she’d find him there again. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the lake, and she tried to keep her expectations in check. But as soon as she stepped inside, her eyes landed on him, seated at the same corner table as before. He looked up, his face breaking into a warm smile when he saw her.

    “Mind if I join you?” she asked, echoing their first meeting.

    He couldn’t help but smile. “Not at all.”

    They fell into conversation as easily as before, their words weaving through stories and anecdotes, each feeling the same unspoken ease that had drawn them together. Ariana found herself sharing more of Berthold’s tales, this time about a merchant who claimed to have bartered with a spirit for eternal good luck—a story that earned a hearty laugh from Cullen.

    “I’ll have to remember that one,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Though I’m not sure I’d take my chances with a spirit, even for good luck.”

    Their banter flowed naturally, but as the evening deepened, Ariana’s curiosity sharpened. “You mentioned you’re a mercenary,” she said, her tone casual but her gaze searching. “Have you ever been hired to track someone down?”

    Cullen’s easy demeanor faltered for a split second, his mind scrambling for a response that wouldn’t give away his true identity. “That’s not really my line of work,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I deal more with… protecting assets, ensuring goods make it where they’re supposed to go.”

    Ariana nodded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. Something about the way he deflected made her wary, though she knew better than to press. “I see,” she said simply, keeping her expression neutral.

    As their conversation moved on, she found herself asking another question, this one slipping out before she could stop herself. “Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?”

    The question startled her as much as it did him. She immediately regretted it, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Why did I ask that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She bit the inside of her cheek, berating herself for letting her curiosity get the better of her.

    Cullen tilted his head slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his expression softened. “No,” he said after a moment. “No one waiting for me.” He hesitated, then added with a small smile, “And you?”

    Ariana’s lips quirked into a faint, almost wistful smile. “No,” she replied quietly. “Not anymore.”

    The silence that followed was comfortable, though heavy with unspoken thoughts. Ariana chastised herself again for the fleeting thrill she felt at his answer. This can’t go anywhere. I can’t let it. Yet, despite her better judgment, she was drawn to him.

    As the tavern began to empty, Cullen leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but steady. “I’d like to show you something,” he said, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “Down by the shore tomorrow morning, if you’re willing.”

    Ariana hesitated, but only for a moment. “Alright,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ll meet you at the docks.”

    Their parting smiles lingered, and as she made her way upstairs to her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow would bring something she wasn’t entirely ready for—something that both excited and terrified her in equal measure.

  • Chapter 2 – A Sleepless Night

    2 Bloomingtide 9:29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Perhaps this is my only chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

    Father,

    I’m sorry. Please don’t be disappointed. I couldn’t bear it, but I also can’t bear to remain here.

    I don’t yet know where I belong, but I know it’s not as Frederick’s wife, as the next Duchess of Markham.

    I know life isn’t a fairy tale, but I think that there’s still more to it than this. I need to find the adventure that I know is somewhere out there waiting for me. With any luck, maybe I’ll even find my knight in shining armor who will come to my rescue when I need him…

    You have always supported me in the past, and I’m sorry I have to do this, but I know you can’t support me this time even if you were willing.

    I hope you can forgive me, Father.

    I love you. 

    Ariana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Frederick,

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

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

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

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

     Take care of yourself.

     Ariana

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

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

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

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