Tag: Valentina

  • Chapter 44 – A Place Among the Pack

    29 Wintermarch – 21 Bloomingtide 9:35

    Linnea stood in the shadowed corner of a Lowtown courtyard, her wagon parked nearby, laden with crates and bundles wrapped in coarse fabric. Her voice carried easily over the hum of the market as she bartered with a scruffy dockworker.

    “Grain and salted fish—that’ll see you through the week,” she said, handing over a bundle. “Keep your coin. Just bring me news from the docks next time.”

    The man nodded in thanks before disappearing into the crowd.

    Michael, standing nearby, caught the exchange. The practical kindness in her tone and manner stood out in a place like this. His curiosity stirred, he approached cautiously, his armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Merchant, is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.

    Linnea glanced at him, her sharp green eyes assessing. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Depends on who’s asking,” she replied, leaning against the wagon. “What are you in the market for?”

    Michael tilted his head, studying her. “You’re offering charity in Lowtown. That doesn’t seem like a typical business model.”

    Linnea chuckled softly. “Not charity—just fair trade. Everyone’s got something to offer, even if it’s not coin.” She gestured to her wares. “Grain, meats, cloth… basic supplies. Nothing flashy, but enough to get by.”

    Michael’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded. “Seems practical.”

    Linnea raised an eyebrow. “And you? What’s a Templar doing wandering Lowtown? Out on patrol?”

    Michael hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. Before he could answer, Linnea continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No, not a patrol. Templars don’t patrol alone…”

    “I was passing through,” Michael said carefully, his tone measured.

    “Uh-huh,” Linnea replied, clearly unconvinced. She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “An off-duty Templar in full armor in Lowtown? Either you’re hopelessly lost, or you’re looking for something that could be trouble.”

    Michael blinked, startled by her sharp perception. He couldn’t help but chuckle faintly. “Fair point,” he admitted, his tone softening slightly.

    Linnea straightened, brushing her hands off on her tunic. “Let me guess,” she said lightly. “You’ve been up in the Gallows too long. Can’t stand the air up there.”

    Michael’s smile faded, and his jaw tightened. “Something like that.”

    She didn’t press, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Rough work, I hear,” she said instead, her tone neutral but inviting. “The Gallows. Can’t imagine it’s easy.”

    Michael hesitated, then exhaled heavily. “It’s not,” he said, the words coming slower now. “The mages… they’re terrified. No matter how hard I try to show them I’m not like the others, they don’t see it. They just… see another Templar waiting for them to fail.”

    Linnea nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s a heavy burden to carry,” she said quietly. “You ever tell anyone that?”

    He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Not really.”

    “Well, now you have,” she replied simply, offering a faint smile. “Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to strangers.”

    They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the bustling noise of the courtyard fading into the background. Linnea busied herself adjusting the straps on one of her bundles, giving Michael the space to gather his thoughts.

    “It’s wrong,” he said suddenly, his voice low but firm. “The way they’re treated. Some of them haven’t done anything wrong, and yet they’re punished for the smallest things. It’s not justice—it’s control. And it’s breaking them.”

    Linnea’s sharp gaze flicked to him, her expression unreadable. “And it’s breaking you,” she said softly.

    Michael looked away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Maybe.”

    “Sounds like you’re carrying a lot,” she said, her tone gentle but pointed. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

    He frowned, his hands clenching slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t keep standing by and doing nothing.”

    Linnea nodded slowly, as if weighing his words. “Well,” she said lightly, adjusting the bundle once more, “if you ever need supplies—or someone to talk to—I’m around. You know where to find me.”

    Michael’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly.

    As he turned to leave, Linnea watched him go, her sharp eyes thoughtful. The cracks in his armor were there—small but widening. He wasn’t ready yet, but he was closer than she’d expected. The seeds were planted. Now, it was just a matter of time.

    ~~~

    Over the next few weeks, Michael began to frequent Linnea’s wagon. It had become a quiet ritual—stopping by on his way to or from the Gallows, Ariana’s estate, or the Hanged Man. Their conversations drifted easily, covering everything from mundane trade details to the weight of Michael’s daily struggles. Linnea, ever patient, let him talk, offering little more than a knowing smile or the occasional well-placed question. But here and there, she dropped hints—subtle mentions of her connections and the shadowy trade in secrets that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

    The chill of an early evening breeze swept through Lowtown, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and the distant hum of market chatter. Linnea stood beside her wagon, her hands deftly rearranging the bundles of goods with practiced ease. Her sharp green eyes flicked toward the edge of the square as Michael’s armored form appeared, his steps heavier than usual.

    “Back so soon?” Linnea called without looking up, her tone casual. She hefted a sack of grain onto the wagon and brushed her hands off on her trousers.

    Michael slowed as he approached, his expression tight. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted, his voice low. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not in threat, but as if seeking reassurance.

    Linnea paused, her head tilting slightly. “Rough day?” she asked, her voice light but laced with curiosity.

    Michael gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “Something like that.”

    She leaned against the wagon, crossing her arms. “So, what’s weighing on you this time, Templar? Did another merchant give you trouble over tolls, or is it something bigger?”

    Michael hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced around the courtyard. His voice dropped as he stepped closer. “There’s a mage in the Gallows,” he said, each word careful and deliberate. “He’s about to undergo the Rite of Tranquility.”

    Linnea’s expression didn’t waver, but her sharp eyes locked onto his. “I’ve heard of that,” she said carefully. “Not a fate I’d wish on anyone.”

    “He doesn’t deserve it,” Michael continued, his voice laced with urgency. “He’s done nothing wrong—nothing to warrant this. It’s the Knight-Commander. She’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She’s making an example of him.”

    Linnea leaned back against the wagon, crossing her arms as if mulling over his words. “And what is it that you need from me?”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, his frustration clear. “I’ve heard things. Rumors about a… group. People who help mages escape. I need to know if it’s true. If someone can get him out.”

    Linnea studied him for a moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm. Finally, she sighed, her tone thoughtful. “That’s dangerous talk, Templar.” she said softly. “You’re sure you want to go down this road?”

    “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Michael shot back, his voice firm. “He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”

    Linnea’s expression softened, though her tone remained cautious. “And what makes you think anyone would trust you? A Templar?”

    Michael’s hand fell from his sword hilt, clenching into a fist at his side. “Because I’m not like them,” he said fiercely. “I joined the Order to protect people, not… not this.” His voice faltered, the weight of his disillusionment evident. “I can’t stand by and watch another innocent life destroyed.”

    Linnea let the words hang in the air for a moment before nodding slowly. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s say I know people who could help. It’s not as simple as asking for a favor. They’ll need to trust you. That takes time.”

    Michael’s eyes flashed with determination. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

    Linnea straightened, her smirk faint but encouraging. “Good. Then listen carefully. Keep your eyes and ears open. Let me know if you hear anything about other mages in danger. And stay out of trouble—you bring heat down on yourself, and no one’s going to stick their neck out for you.”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

    Linnea waved him off with a casual gesture. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a long road ahead, Templar.”

    As Michael turned and made his way back into the streets, Linnea’s sharp gaze followed him. She’d seen something in him—a fire that could either burn away his doubts or consume him entirely. Either way, she knew this was the moment to move.

    Later that evening, back at the warehouse, Linnea found Ariana waiting, the White Wolf’s cloak draped over her shoulders. Linnea relayed the conversation in hushed tones, her words deliberate and measured.

    Ariana listened intently, her expression unreadable. When Linnea finished, the White Wolf nodded, her voice calm but resolute. “We help him. Carefully. If he’s serious, this could change everything.”

    Linnea’s smirk returned, her respect for Ariana’s caution clear. “Understood, Wolf. I’ll keep pushing, but I won’t rush him.”

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on the map spread across the table, her fingers lightly tracing one of the Gallows’ marked routes. She exhaled softly, her expression resolute. “Find out when the Rite is scheduled,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Let’s try to save this mage if we can.”

    Linnea nodded, her tone equally serious. “I’ll get it done.”

    The White Wolf’s cloak shifted slightly as Ariana leaned forward, her focus sharp. The shadows of Kirkwall stretched long, but the game was far from over. If the time came to act, she would ensure they were ready.

    ~~~

    The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of oil lamps and aged wood. Michael sat at a small table in the warehouse, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the edge. Linnea stood nearby, her posture casual but her watchful eyes betraying her vigilance. Faint murmurs drifted from the hidden corners of the warehouse, a reminder of its many secrets.

    The door creaked open, and Michael immediately straightened. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his sword, but Linnea shot him a pointed look, her expression a silent warning to stay calm.

    A figure entered, cloaked in white fur that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The hood obscured their face, leaving only the sharp glint of daggers visible at their sides. The White Wolf.

    Michael’s breath caught, his heart pounding. The stories hadn’t done them justice. The White Wolf radiated a quiet power, their movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. They paused near the far wall, their presence filling the room without a single word.

    Linnea stepped forward, her tone easy but with an edge of command. “This is the one,” she said, gesturing toward Michael. “The Templar who wants to help.”

    The White Wolf tilted their head slightly, their hooded gaze fixed on Michael. He felt an inexplicable weight in that silent scrutiny, as though they could see straight through him.

    Michael swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I… I need your help. There’s a mage in the Gallows. They’re about to perform the Rite of Tranquility. It’s wrong, and I can’t…” He hesitated, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t let it happen.”

    The White Wolf remained silent, their stillness more commanding than any words. Michael’s skin prickled under the intensity of their unseen gaze. He glanced at Linnea, searching for some kind of response.

    Linnea crossed her arms, her tone neutral but sharp. “And why come to us, Templar? Why not handle it yourself?”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, his voice gaining an edge. “Because I’m not enough. I’ve tried—talked to anyone who’d listen—but it’s not enough. Meredith’s grip on the Gallows is unrelenting. If I make one wrong move, I’ll just end up another pawn in her game.” He hesitated, his next words heavier. “But I can’t openly defy her. If Meredith suspects anything, she’ll go after my sister.”

    Linnea’s eyes flicked toward the White Wolf, her expression briefly unreadable. The Wolf, however, remained still, their face shrouded in shadow. After a moment, they gave a slight tilt of their head—a silent acknowledgment of Michael’s words.

    Michael exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “She brought me here to keep Ariana in line, but I see now… it’s more than that. Meredith doesn’t just want to control her. She wants to break her. And I can’t—I won’t let that happen.”

    Linnea studied him for a long moment, then turned her attention fully to the White Wolf, her posture subtly questioning. The Wolf straightened, their cloak shifting slightly as they took a deliberate step forward. Though their face remained obscured, their presence filled the room.

    Linnea’s tone softened, though it retained its edge. “So, you’re not just fighting for the mages,” she said quietly. “You’re fighting for her.”

    Michael’s eyes burned with quiet resolve. “She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. I… wasn’t always the brother she needed me to be and… I won’t let harm come to her again.”

    The White Wolf gave another slight nod, their silent approval palpable despite their lack of words. Linnea turned back to Michael, her voice steady. “Then you understand what’s at stake. There’s no room for error, Templar. You follow our lead, no questions, no deviations.”

    Michael’s gaze flicked between the two, his jaw tightening before he nodded. “I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

    Linnea stepped aside, her arms crossed. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

    The White Wolf moved fluidly toward the door, their presence lingering even as they disappeared into the shadows. Michael watched them go, a strange mix of awe and trepidation settling over him. Whatever he’d just stepped into was far larger than himself—and more dangerous.

    But for the first time, he felt he wasn’t facing it alone.

    ~~~

    The estate was quiet in the late evening, the soft glow of lanterns casting warm light across the polished floors. Ariana sat in the library, a book in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in some time. Her thoughts had drifted between Cullen, the Rangers, and Michael. She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Michael’s words echoed in her mind, sharp and unrelenting. He was trying to protect her? All this time, she had been worried about him, about keeping him safe.

    She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed the faint sound of footsteps until Michael appeared in the doorway.

    “Michael?” she said, closing the book and setting it aside. “What are you doing here so late?”

    Michael hesitated, his expression uncharacteristically grave. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and lingering near the threshold before sitting across from her. His movements were deliberate and heavy, as if the weight of his thoughts had seeped into his very being.

    “I needed to see you,” he said quietly, his hands clasped together tightly. “Before… well, just in case.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed, her heart sinking at the gravity in his tone. “What do you mean ‘just in case’? Michael, what’s going on?”

    He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of resolve and hesitation. “Ari, you’re the only family I have here. The only family that’s cared for me,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “And I need you to know that… that I love you. I’ve always admired your strength, even when I didn’t understand your choices. I just… I need you to hear that.”

    Her chest tightened, and she leaned forward, placing a steadying hand over his. “Michael, you’re scaring me. What’s happening? Are you in trouble?” But Ariana already knew.

    Michael shook his head, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “No. Not yet. But I’ve made a decision… that goes against the Order. I can’t tell you more than that, Ari. It’s safer if you don’t know.”

    Ariana’s heart sank as his words confirmed what she already suspected. She didn’t need him to spell it out—she knew he was talking about the Rangers, about the mage they were planning to save. Her thoughts raced, a mixture of pride and fear swirling within her. He had chosen a path that could ruin him, and yet… it was the right one.

    “Michael…” she started, her voice trembling, but he cut her off.

    “No, listen to me,” he said firmly, his grip tightening on her hand. “I don’t know what will happen, but I need you to stay safe. Don’t get involved, no matter what. Promise me.”

    She held his gaze, her mind whirling as she tried to think of a way to reassure him without revealing too much. If she pushed too hard, he might suspect. But the idea of him facing this alone, unaware of the support already at his back, made her stomach churn.

    “I can’t promise you that, Michael,” she said softly, her voice tinged with love and defiance. “Not if it means losing you.”

    He exhaled, a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t expect you to, but I had to try. Just… be careful. You’re all I have left.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her mind already forming a plan. She wouldn’t let him walk into this blind. The White Wolf would be there, watching, ensuring that no harm would come to him. He wasn’t alone—whether he knew it or not.

    As Michael stood to leave, she reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Michael, you don’t have to do this alone,” she said carefully, her tone gentle but weighted with meaning.

    He paused, his expression softening. “I know,” he said after a moment, though the words seemed more for her sake than his. “But this is something I need to do.”

    Ariana watched him go, her heart heavy yet resolute. She sat back in her chair, staring into the dim light of the library as her thoughts churned. He didn’t know it yet, but the White Wolf would be there always. She would make sure of it. Whatever he faced, she would ensure he came through it safely. No harm would come to her brother—not while she had the power to stop it.

    ~~~

    The Rangers moved swiftly through the shadows of Lowtown. The group was small but highly coordinated—Linnea and Riley at the forefront, their movements purposeful and silent. Ariana, cloaked as the White Wolf, brought up the rear, her dual daggers sheathed but ready, her senses on high alert.

    Their target was a secluded Templar holding facility used to house mages before they were transported to the Gallows. A young elven healer named Siona, the mage in question, had been taken just days ago. Linnea’s network had confirmed she was scheduled for the Rite of Tranquility within the week.

    Ariana’s mind raced as they approached the facility, her thoughts circling back to Michael. His desperation, resolve, and the quiet fear he tried to mask weighed heavily on her. She’d made her choice: no harm would come to him tonight. No matter what.

    The group halted in the shadows of an alleyway, the facility’s stone walls looming ahead. Linnea motioned for Ariana to step forward, her voice a mere whisper. “We counted four guards, rotating shifts. Standard patrol patterns. Riley and I can take the east entrance. That leaves the west gate for you.”

    Ariana nodded, her expression unreadable beneath the hood. “We’ll rendezvous inside. No unnecessary risks. We extract the mage and vanish.”

    “Got it, Wolf,” Riley replied, her voice steady but carrying a flicker of excitement. She thrived on missions like these, where the stakes felt tangible and the victories immediate.

    The team split seamlessly, each pair melting into the shadows. Ariana moved toward the west gate, her heart pounding in rhythm with her light, calculated steps. The weight of her daggers was a comforting presence at her sides, though she hoped she wouldn’t need to draw them.

    The cold stone wall pressed against her as she reached the door, a sliver of light spilling out from beneath it. She glanced back once, ensuring the path was clear, then pulled a lockpick from her belt. The lock yielded quickly beneath her practiced hands, the faint click echoing louder in her ears than it had any right to.

    The interior was as oppressive as she’d imagined—cold stone walls damp with condensation, and the faint hum of muffled voices echoing down narrow corridors. She moved silently, her steps precise and deliberate. Linnea and Riley had already cleared the east-side guards, leaving the west quiet for now.

    She found the cell easily enough. Siona sat on a wooden bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her wide eyes darting nervously to the sound of approaching footsteps. When she saw the cloaked figure before her, her gaze filled with equal parts fear and curiosity.

    “Who—?” Siona began, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “Quiet,” Ariana said firmly, her voice low but not unkind. She crouched by the cell door, working the lock with deft movements. “We’re here to get you out.”

    Siona hesitated, her fear momentarily holding her rooted in place before she rose slowly to her feet. “Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why are you helping me?”

    Ariana didn’t answer immediately, her focus on the lock. When the door swung open with a soft creak, she finally looked up. “Because no one deserves to lose themselves,” she said simply.

    Siona’s fear softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of hope. She nodded and followed as Ariana gestured for her to stay close.

    Linnea appeared at the end of the corridor, signaling that the path was clear. “Riley’s covering the exit,” she whispered.

    “Good,” Ariana replied. “Let’s move.”

    The group slipped out into the night, the cool air a stark contrast to the facility’s oppressive interior. Riley was already waiting near the entrance to Lowtown’s network of hidden passages, her sword drawn but resting casually against her shoulder.

    “No sign of reinforcements,” she reported, her tone clipped. “Let’s keep it that way.”

    The journey to the safe house was uneventful, though Siona’s wide-eyed gaze darted nervously between her rescuers and the labyrinthine alleys. As they neared the safe house, she finally found her voice. “Who are you people?”

    Ariana glanced over her shoulder, her face hidden in shadow beneath her hood. “People who believe you deserve more than this city would give you,” she said simply.

    Siona didn’t respond, but her posture eased slightly, and her steps were less hesitant.

    The safe house was a modest structure, its worn exterior blending seamlessly into the surrounding buildings. Inside, a small group of Rangers waited, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of a single lantern. Linnea guided Siona inside, her voice low as she reassured the frightened elf.

    Ariana lingered by the doorway, pulling her hood down as she turned to Riley. “Make sure she gets to the rendezvous point for her transport out of Kirkwall,” she instructed, her voice quiet but firm. “She can’t stay here.”

    Riley nodded, her expression serious. “And Michael?”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze distant. “We keep him out of this. He doesn’t need to know what happened tonight.”

    “Understood,” Riley replied, though her sharp green eyes lingered on Ariana for a moment, as if searching for something unspoken.

    As the others busied themselves inside, Ariana leaned against the cold stone wall outside, her breath misting in the night air. The mission had gone smoothly, but her mind refused to settle. One life saved, one mage spared—but how many more remained trapped in the Gallows? How many more could she save before the weight of it all crushed her?

    She pulled her cloak tighter around her, her thoughts circling back to Michael. I hope this gives him some peace, she thought, her resolve hardening. For now, it was enough. But the White Wolf would always be waiting, watching, ready for the next fight.

    ~~~

    Ariana sat on the window ledge, her gaze distant as she looked out onto the courtyard. The faint rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of nightbirds offered a rare moment of serenity, but her thoughts refused to settle. Their mission had been a success—a mage freed from the Gallows, rescued from the Rite of Tranquility. It was a victory, yet it felt too small against the vastness of what still needed to be done. One mage saved, but so many still remain, she mused, her fingers lightly tracing the spine of the book she hadn’t opened.

    Michael’s boots echoed faintly in the hallway, pulling her from her thoughts. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, his expression lighter than she’d seen in months. He looked… peaceful.

    “Michael,” she greeted, closing the book and setting it aside. “You’re back.”

    He nodded, stepping into the room with an ease that seemed almost foreign. “I’m fine,” he said immediately, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Better than fine, actually.”

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “You seem… different,” she remarked cautiously. “What happened?”

    Michael shrugged, his movements relaxed and unguarded. “I guess I’ve been doing some thinking,” he replied vaguely. “And… I’ve made some decisions I’m finally at peace with.”

    Her brows furrowed slightly. “That’s cryptic, even for you,” she teased, though her tone carried a note of curiosity. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

    Michael chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Ari. Really. Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

    His refusal to elaborate made Ariana’s mind race, but she chose not to press further. Instead, she gestured toward the chair across from her. “Stay a while,” she said softly. “Talk to me. About anything you want.”

    Michael hesitated for a moment before settling into the chair, his armor faintly clinking as he leaned back. “Alright,” he said, his tone lighter. “What do you want to talk about?”

    Ariana smiled faintly, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “The Order… it can’t have always been this bad.,” she suggested. “Are there any good memories?”

    Michael’s expression softened, a flicker of nostalgia passing through his eyes. “There was a time,” he began slowly, “when I believed the Order was everything it claimed to be. I remember my first day at Kinloch Hold—how proud I felt, how certain I was that I was doing something important, something noble.” He chuckled, the sound tinged with bittersweet remembrance. “I didn’t see the cracks then. I only saw the ideals.”

    Ariana listened intently, her gaze steady. “What changed?”

    He sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of the armrest. “It wasn’t one thing,” he admitted. “It was a thousand little things—the way some Templars spoke about mages, the way fear and suspicion seeped into every interaction. It wore me down, piece by piece.”

    There was a pause before Ariana spoke again, her voice quieter. “But there must’ve been good moments too.”

    Michael’s lips curved into a small smile. “There were,” he agreed. “I remember sparring with Cullen in the courtyard. He always managed to push me harder than anyone else, even though he was the new recruit. I remember being impressed by him. And there was a mage—Elenna. She used to create little light shows after curfew, just to make the younger apprentices laugh.” His smile faded slightly. “She was made Tranquil after an incident in the library. Something about unsanctioned use of magic.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened, her heart aching at the quiet pain in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

    Michael shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Ari. It’s the system. But sometimes, I wonder if I could’ve done more—if I should’ve seen things sooner.”

    They fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of unspoken regrets settling between them.

    After a moment, Michael looked at her, his expression lighter. “Remember when we were kids, and you used to sneak out to the stables to ride that old mare Father said was too stubborn to train?”

    Ariana laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension. “How could I forget? She threw me into the mud more times than I could count.”

    “And you always got back on,” Michael said, his tone warm with admiration. “You’ve always been stubborn like that.”

    “Determined,” Ariana corrected with a grin. “There’s a difference.”

    Michael chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “If you say so.”

    They continued talking, the hours slipping by as they reminisced about their childhood—shared moments of laughter and mischief, the simpler times before their paths had diverged so drastically. For a while, the weight of their responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of a bond neither thought they’d ever have.

    As the first light of dawn crept through the library windows, Michael rose from his chair, stretching. “I should go,” he said, though his tone was reluctant.

    Ariana stood as well, her smile soft. “Thank you for staying,” she said quietly.

    “Thank you for listening,” Michael replied, his voice equally soft.

    As she watched him leave, Ariana felt a flicker of relief herself. She could trust him. He wouldn’t expose the White Wolf or the Rangers, not even to her. That was all the answer she needed now. He’s keeping his own secrets now, she thought, Maybe that means he’s finally finding his way. Maybe I was right to trust him.

    ~~~

    The Rangers moved with precision through the rain-soaked streets of Lowtown, their dark cloaks blending into the shadows. The steady rhythm of the rain muffled their footsteps, creating an eerie stillness in the air. Ariana, her white fur-trimmed cloak distinct even in the downpour, kept a vigilant watch from the rear. Tonight’s mission was delicate—another mage transport, another chance to weaken Meredith’s grip on the city.

    The wagon came into view, its wheels creaking under the weight of the prisoners within. Four Templars flanked it, their torches flickering defiantly against the rain. Linnea and Valentina exchanged a brief glance before slipping into position, their movements seamless. Michael followed close behind, his armor muted by the wet gloom, his focus razor-sharp.

    As the wagon slowed to navigate a sharp turn, the Rangers struck. Valentina’s daggers flashed in the dim light as she disarmed the nearest Templar, her movements precise and efficient. Linnea engaged another, her twin blades dancing as she parried and struck. Michael faced the driver, his sword clashing against the man’s blade in a fierce exchange.

    A third Templar broke free from the fray and charged toward Michael’s unprotected flank. Before Michael could react, Ariana was there. Her daggers moved faster than the rain, disarming the Templar in a fluid motion before sweeping his legs out from under him. The man hit the ground with a dull thud, unconscious before he could cry out.

    Michael turned, his eyes wide as they landed on her. The rain streaked down his face, his chest rising and falling heavily as he took in the scene—the fallen Templar, the unmistakable white of her cloak. His gaze lingered, something flickering behind his eyes as the pieces fell into place.

    “You’re safe now,” he said to the mages inside the wagon, his voice steady despite the storm. “Come with us.”

    Ariana stayed silent, her daggers already sheathed as she stepped back into the shadows. But Michael’s focus remained on her. He watched the way she moved, the silent communication between her and the others, the unmistakable authority she carried. And then, as if a veil lifted, clarity struck.

    Michael’s breath caught, and he turned to face her fully, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead. “You,” he said quietly, the word cutting through the rain like a blade. “You’re the White Wolf.”

    Ariana froze, her heart pounding as the Rangers around them stilled. Valentina shifted slightly closer to Ariana, her hand hovering near her blade, but Ariana raised a subtle hand to signal her to stand down.

    Michael’s voice softened, almost reverent. “It’s you. I knew you were involved, but… I didn’t expect this.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened as she slowly pulled her mask down, the cold rain biting at her skin. With a deliberate motion, she pulled back her hood, revealing her face.

    “Michael,” she said, her voice measured. “How did you know?”

    He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “It was everything,” he admitted, his tone low but steady. “The way you moved just now, the way you carry yourself. It’s the same look I’ve seen in your eyes when you talk about justice, about protecting the innocent. It all… it all fit.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “And saving me back there? That sealed it.”

    Ariana searched his face, her unease softening into something deeper—relief, maybe, or the quiet acceptance of the inevitable. “I wanted to tell you,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t. Not until I knew you were ready.”

    Michael’s expression softened, his voice losing its edge. “I’m not upset, Ari. If anything, I’m in awe. You’ve built something here… something incredible.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened, her voice quieter now. “It wasn’t that I thought you’d judge me,” she admitted. “It’s… I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to follow me where this path leads. That standing against the Order might be a line you couldn’t cross.”

    Michael’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

    “I didn’t want to lose you,” she continued, her tone steady despite the weight of her words. “Not as my brother, not as someone I trust. I was afraid that if I told you, it would put you in a place where you’d have to choose. And I wasn’t sure what that choice would be.”

    Michael’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Ari, I’ve already made my choice. And I’m standing here, aren’t I? I know the risks. I’m not blind to what this means.”

    She held his gaze, her unease slowly giving way to a fragile sense of relief. “You’re sure?”

    “More than ever,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ve seen too much to look the other way. I’m with you. Always.”

    Ariana turned slightly, her gaze flicking to Valentina and Linnea, who exchanged a knowing look before returning their focus to the task at hand. The White Wolf’s legend had just gained another ally—a brother who would stand beside her, no matter the cost.

    And as the Rangers melted back into the shadows, Ariana felt a flicker of hope burn within her. Together, they would face whatever came next.

  • Chapter 40 – Fractures beneath the surface

    3 – 7 Justinian 9:34

    The soft light of dawn crept into the room, spilling over the tangled sheets and casting a golden glow across the walls. Ariana sat up slowly, the heaviness of the night still lingering in her chest. She glanced toward Cullen, who was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her with a mix of tenderness and reluctance. His hair was tousled, his face softened by the faint traces of exhaustion from a night spent talking about everything they rarely dared to speak aloud.

    “You don’t have to go yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with the weight of the morning. He reached for her, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm. “Stay a little longer.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “If I stay, I’ll never leave,” she said, her tone warm but laced with an undercurrent of truth.

    “I wouldn’t mind that, we still have plenty of time,” Cullen replied, the teasing edge in his voice unable to mask the deeper emotion behind it.

    She laughed softly, the sound breaking through the heaviness like sunlight piercing a cloud. “You’re impossible,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. It was slow and deliberate, a moment she wanted to stretch forever.

    When she pulled away, his hand lingered on her wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “Be careful,” he said, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. The words were simple, but the weight behind them was anything but.

    Ariana nodded, pulling herself out of bed and crossing the room to gather her travel clothes. She donned the modest tunic and pants laid out from the previous evening, securing her boots with deft fingers. Finally, she threw on a dark blue cloak, its hood resting against her shoulders.

    As Ariana pulled her cloak around her shoulders, she glanced back at Cullen, his hair tousled, his expression soft in the morning light. A part of her yearned to stay, to let herself slip fully into the life they’d begun to build together. But another part, the part that burned fiercely beneath her calm exterior, couldn’t let go of the White Wolf. She didn’t want to. That part of her wasn’t just a duty—it was her freedom, her power, her purpose.

    The thought tugged at her like a half-forgotten melody, familiar and insistent. She loved Cullen deeply, but the quiet life he offered was only half of who she was. The other half lived in the shadows, where the White Wolf’s name still carried weight. She couldn’t give that up—not yet.

    Her smile wavered as she met his eyes, but she quickly steadied herself. This is who I am, she reminded herself. Both halves. He just doesn’t see all of me yet.

    She turned to face him, her smile soft but resolute. “I’ll be back in a few days,” she said lightly, though the ease in her tone felt like a lie even to her own ears.

    Cullen sat up fully, leaning against the headboard, his gaze following her every movement. “Promise me,” he said, his voice quieter now, “that you’ll take care of yourself. I need you to come back in one piece, Ari.”

    Her heart twisted at the way he said her name, at the vulnerability in his tone that he so rarely showed. She crossed the room in two steps, pressing a hand to his cheek and brushing a kiss against his temple. “I promise,” she whispered.

    When Ariana stepped closer to kiss his temple, Cullen caught her wrist before she could pull away, his grip gentle but firm. His thumb brushed over her pulse, lingering as though memorizing the beat. “I mean it, Ari,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself.”

    She felt the slight tremor in his hand and met his gaze, her heart clenching at the unspoken fears reflected there. He didn’t ask where she was going or what dangers lay ahead; he never did. But the questions were in his eyes, the ones he didn’t want to voice because he feared the answers.

    “I will,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. For a moment, they stayed like that, suspended in the quiet. Then, as if reminding himself, Cullen let her go, his hand falling back to his side reluctantly.

    She turned and stepped out the door, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest. By the time she reached the stairwell, her mask was firmly in place, but her heart still ached with the truth she couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

    The White Wolf had a mission, and the world outside demanded her focus, no matter what she left behind.

    ~~~

    They reached the mage transport by nightfall, the darkened sky shrouding their approach. Ariana crouched low among the trees, her dark blue cloak blending with the shadows as she surveyed the camp. A small fire crackled in the center, its light casting flickering silhouettes of armored figures. Ten Templars. Two chained mages. It was all as expected.

    Ariana’s breath caught as her gaze fell on the mages. They sat huddled together, their chains glinting in the firelight, their youth unmistakable. It wasn’t the Circle she resented—not entirely—but the inevitability of what awaited them in Kirkwall. Meredith’s shadow loomed too large, her paranoia suffocating. These mages wouldn’t find guidance or stability there; they’d find fear, and fear bred desperation.

    She adjusted her gloves, the leather creaking softly as she pulled them tighter. Her gaze swept the camp again, noting the positions of the guards, the patterns of their movements. Years of training had taught her to notice the smallest details—the way one Templar seemed to linger too long near the fire, the slight hesitation in another’s stride. These were not hardened warriors; they were soldiers following orders.

    Krieger’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp and commanding: “I can count on one hand the number who see the field the way you do”

    Valentina crouched beside her, whispering the latest report. “Keys are with the Knight-Lieutenant. The usual setup—two on patrol, the rest rotating in shifts. Mages are chained but calm. No sign of resistance.”

    Ariana nodded, her eyes never leaving the camp. “We wait until they’re asleep,” she said quietly. “We take the mages first. Disable the Templars—no killing.” Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

    Valentina raised an eyebrow. “And if they fight back, Wolf?”

    “Disarm them, you’re good at that.” Ariana replied, her tone clipped. “Most are just doing their jobs. They’re not bandits or slavers. They don’t deserve to die for this.”

    The plan unfolded smoothly. By the time the first Templar stirred, the mages were already being escorted to safety, their chains unlocked with barely a whisper of sound. The Rangers moved like shadows, disabling their opponents with practiced precision. A quick strike to the back of the knee, a twist of an arm, and the Templars fell one by one without drawing their weapons.

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s eyes locked onto her, his sword half-raised. “The White Wolf,” he murmured, the disbelief in his voice giving way to guarded curiosity. Ariana tensed, her hand hovering near her dagger. Her heart pounded, her mind racing through contingencies. But then he lowered his weapon, the weight of his choice evident. “I’ve heard of you,” he said, his voice softer now. “You protect them.”

    Ariana’s daggers gleamed in the firelight as she stepped forward, her posture calm but commanding. “Who’s asking?,” she questioned, her tone even.

    For a moment, he hesitated, his grip on his sword faltering. Then, slowly, he lowered his weapon.

    “I’ve heard about you,” he said quietly. “They say you protect mages. That you’re… different.”

    Ariana’s expression didn’t change, but his words struck a chord. “If you know who I am, then you know this doesn’t have to end in bloodshed,” she said. “Help me get them to safety.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded reluctantly. “Very well,” he said. “Meredith’s orders… they don’t sit right with me anymore.”

    Once the mages were safely escorted to the tree line, the Knight-Lieutenant and a younger Templar approached Ariana cautiously. Their weapons were sheathed, their hands raised in a gesture of peace, but their faces bore the weight of something much heavier: shame.

    “We want to help,” one of them said, his voice steady but quiet, as though he wasn’t quite sure the words were his to say.

    Ariana turned to face them fully, her cloak shifted lightly with the breeze, and the firelight from the camp cast long shadows across her face. Her gaze flicked between them, warm but piercing. “What?” she asked, her tone even but laced with suspicion. “Why now?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant stepped forward, his jaw set but his eyes conflicted. “Because we can’t keep pretending this is right,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We joined to protect people, not to shackle them, not to drag them to their deaths because of some Knight-Commander’s paranoia.” He gestured toward the camp, and his voice grew quieter. “This isn’t what the Order was meant to be.”

    Ariana studied him, her expression unreadable, before her gaze shifted to the younger Templar. He couldn’t have been much older than her. His hands trembled faintly at his sides, though he tried to hide it.

    “And you?” Ariana asked sharply. “Do you believe this, or are you just following him?” Her eyes darted toward the older Templar, and there was no warmth in her tone. “Because if you hesitate for even a second, you’ll be putting my people at risk.”

    The younger man’s throat worked as he swallowed, his voice soft but resolute when he spoke. “I believed in the Order,” he said, his words tumbling out. “I still want to. I thought we were doing good. I thought we were protecting people, keeping them safe. But… it’s not true anymore. Not here. Not under Meredith.” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “It’s not right. And I can’t be part of it.”

    Ariana observed them both for a moment. It was evident that this was a decision they had just made. Not a plan. “And what will you do after this?” she asked, her tone still sharp. “Desert the Order? Become fugitives? A Templar once told me it’s not that easy to leave the Order.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “We don’t know,” he admitted. “But we can’t go back. Not after this. We’ll be hanged, we know that.”

    Ariana felt a wave of something she couldn’t quite name—empathy, perhaps, though it was intertwined with bitterness. She understood what it was to walk away from something that had once defined you. To abandon everything you’d been taught to believe in and carve out a new path, not because it was easy but because it was the only thing you could live with.

    For a long moment, she said nothing, her eyes scanning their faces. There was fear there, yes, but also something stronger. Resolve. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her chest easing just slightly.

    “You’re right about one thing,” she said at last. “You can’t go back. And if you stay here, if you stay in Kirkwall, Meredith will destroy you. But if you’re serious—if you’re ready to fight for something better—you have a place among the Silver Rangers.”

    The younger Templar’s eyes widened slightly, and he exchanged a quick glance with the older man. “The Rangers?” he asked hesitantly. “You mean… you’d take us?”

    “We protect people,” Ariana said simply. “Mages, innocents, anyone who needs it. If you’re willing to put your past behind you and fight for something better, we’ll take you.” She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But don’t mistake this for a reprieve. If you betray us, if you endanger the people we protect, there will be no second chances.”

    The older Templar nodded slowly, his expression grim but resolute. “We won’t betray you,” he said. “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t ready to stand against her.”

    The younger Templar hesitated for a moment, then spoke, his voice quieter. “And… the lyrium?” he asked, the question clearly weighing on him. “If we can’t go back, we… we can’t function without it. Not for long.”

    Ariana nodded, her voice firm. “We’ll provide it. But know this: we don’t fight for coin or power. If you join the Rangers, you fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves. You fight to make things right.” She met their gazes steadily. “If that’s not something you can believe in, then walk away now.”

    The younger Templar’s shoulders straightened, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “We’ll fight,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll fight for something better.”

    The older man nodded in agreement, his voice low but sincere. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For giving us a chance.”

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You’re in for a long road. When this is done, head to Redcliffe. I’ll send word ahead. There’s a place for you there.”

    The Templars exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. As they turned to join the others, the older man hesitated. His hand lingered on the hilt of his sword, not in hostility but in thought. Finally, he turned back to Ariana, his expression shadowed with something deeper than regret.

    “There’s something you need to know,” he said, his voice low but steady. The other Templar paused mid-step, glancing between him and Ariana with wide eyes. “Consider it proof of our intentions… and a warning.”

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him with narrowed eyes. “Go on,” she said, her tone cautious.

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s shoulders straightened, the remnants of his former discipline still evident in his stance. “There’s a group,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Templars and mages, working together. In secret.”

    Ariana’s heart skipped a beat, though she kept her expression neutral. “For what purpose?” she asked, her voice carefully measured.

    “To overthrow Meredith,” he said simply. “They believe the Gallows needs to return to what it was meant to be—a place of protection, not oppression. The mages want to remain in a Circle, but one that isn’t ruled by fear. And the Templars… we’ve seen what she’s become. What she’s turned us into.”

    “You’re telling me there’s a resistance within the Gallows?” Ariana’s voice was sharp, her mind already working through the implications. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “How do you know this isn’t a trap? How do you know Thrask can be trusted?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant held her gaze, unflinching. “I can’t give you guarantees, Wolf. But I’ve seen the way he looks at the mages. He doesn’t see prisoners—he sees people. He’s not like the others.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant nodded. “Yes. But it’s young, cautious. Everyone’s afraid—afraid of spies, of Meredith’s wrath, of what happens if they fail. They’ve been gathering information, slowly, but they haven’t taken action. Not yet.”

    “And how do you know this?” Ariana pressed.

    “I was approached,” he admitted. “Before this assignment. They wanted to know where I stood. I couldn’t commit—not then. But after tonight…” He glanced back at the other Templar, who nodded in quiet support. “I’ll vouch for them. They’re genuine. They want change, not chaos.”

    Ariana’s mind raced, the implications of his words sinking in. A group like this—inside the Gallows itself—could change everything. If they truly existed, if they were truly committed, it meant that even within Meredith’s fortress, cracks were forming.

    But cracks weren’t enough. Not yet.

    “Does Meredith know?” she asked, her voice low and urgent.

    “Not yet,” he replied. “But it’s only a matter of time. If you decide to get involved, be careful. They need help, but if Meredith finds out, it’s over—for them and for you.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her mind already spinning with possibilities and dangers. “Thank you,” she said at last. “For the warning—and for your help tonight. How do I find this resistance?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant inclined his head, his expression solemn. “Find Ser Thrask, tell him I sent you.” he paused for a moment looking to towards the tree line “Thank you, White Wolf. For everything.”

    Ariana smiled “Just call me , Wolf. Everyone else does.” bowing her head slightly before continuing “When you get to the manor, look for Malcolm. He’ll understand what you need.”

    And with that, he turned and followed the other Templar toward the waiting Rangers. Ariana stood motionless for a moment, her thoughts a whirlwind of strategies and uncertainties. The Gallows, with all its darkness, might finally have a spark of hope within it.

    But hope alone wasn’t enough to win this fight. She knew that better than anyone.

    As the Rangers prepared to escort the mages and defecting Templars to safety, Ariana issued her final orders. “Take the mages to Markham. Speak to Frederick Decken, he’ll make sure they have a safe place at the Markham Circle—somewhere Meredith can’t reach them. After that, get the Templars to manor. They’ll be safe there.”

    Valentina stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “And you?”

    Ariana adjusted her cloak, the white fur catching the soft glow of dawn. “I need to get back to Kirkwall,” she said. “If Meredith or Cullen suspect anything, I need to be there to handle it.”

    Valentina hesitated, then nodded. “Understood.”

    As the group faded into the shadows, Ariana turned toward the forest, her mind heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. The Gallows were a fortress of oppression, but cracks had begun to form. She would find them, widen them, and let the light in. But the path forward was treacherous, and every step would demand precision, resolve, and sacrifice.

    The White Wolf had returned—and she wasn’t done yet.

    ~~~

    The familiar sights and sounds of Lowtown greeted Ariana as she walked through its winding streets. Despite the noise of merchants setting up their stalls and the chatter of early risers, an undercurrent of tension pulsed through the air. She felt it like a shadow trailing her—a reflection of the unrest simmering within Kirkwall’s walls. The Gallows loomed in the distance, its silhouette a constant reminder of the growing conflict.

    Ariana adjusted the hood of her cloak as she approached the Hanged Man, her steps purposeful but heavy with exhaustion. The raid had been successful, but the events of the last few days weighed on her. Still, she couldn’t afford to pause—not when there was more to unravel. If there truly was a resistance within the Gallows, it could either be the key to unseating Meredith or a spark that set the entire city ablaze.

    Inside Varric’s suite, the familiar warmth of the room greeted her. The dwarf sat at his desk, quill in hand, while Hawke lounged on the worn couch with her feet propped up on the table.

    “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal pup,” Varric said, glancing up from his work. “What brings you by today? Don’t tell me you missed us.”

    Ariana smiled faintly as she closed the door behind her. “Something like that,” she replied, shrugging off her cloak and hanging it by the door. “We need to talk.”

    Hawke sat up, her expression shifting from amusement to curiosity. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” she said dryly. “What’s going on?”

    Ariana moved to lean against the edge of the table, her hazel-green eyes flicking between them. “Have either of you heard about a resistance forming within the Gallows? A group of mages and Templars working together to… remove Meredith from power?”

    The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling over them.

    Hawke’s brow furrowed as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “A resistance? Within the Gallows?” she repeated, her voice low. “That’s… ambitious, to say the least. Dangerous, too.”

    “Very dangerous,” Varric agreed, setting down his quill. “If it’s true, it could be the start of something big—or it could end in a bloodbath.”

    Ariana nodded, her expression grim. “That’s what I’m worried about. If Meredith gets even a hint of this, she’ll come down on them hard. And if they fail…” She didn’t finish the thought, but the implication hung in the air.

    Hawke’s gaze sharpened. “How much do you know about this group?” she asked. “Do they have numbers? Leadership? A plan?”

    “Not much yet,” Ariana admitted. “Just whispers from the Templars we encountered on the road. But the fact that they exist at all is… significant.”

    Varric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Significant, sure. But also risky. If they pull it off, great—Meredith’s out, and maybe the Gallows can start to recover. But if they don’t? Meredith will use it as proof that both mages and Templars need even tighter control.”

    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ariana said quietly. “Which is why I need your help. I need to know more about this group—who’s involved, what they’re planning, if they’re even capable of succeeding.”

    Hawke arched an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we do that? March into the Gallows and start asking questions?”

    “Not exactly,” Ariana replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I did get a name—Ser Thrask. He was the one who approached the Knight-Lieutenant that told me about this. Start with him?”

    Hawke’s brow furrowed, her expression shifting from curiosity to recognition. “Thrask?” she repeated, her surprise evident. “Of course, that makes sense.” Her tone carried an edge of resignation, as though the realization came with an unwelcome weight.

    “It does?” Ariana asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know him?”

    “It’s a long story,” Hawke said, exhaling sharply. “But yes. He’s helped us on a few occasions, and we’ve helped him. His daughter was a mage, and he hid her from the Circle. She…” Hawke paused, her voice faltering briefly, the memory clearly heavy. “I couldn’t save her.”

    The regret in Hawke’s eyes was stark—an unspoken burden that lingered in the quiet that followed. It wasn’t a look Ariana often saw on her face, but it was one she recognized well. It mirrored the weight she carried herself, the regret of failures that never truly faded.

    “If you couldn’t save her, no one could have,” Ariana said softly, her voice steady but gentle.

    Hawke’s eyes flicked to her, and for a moment, their shared understanding passed unspoken between them. Varric, ever the observer, broke the silence with a quiet sigh.

    “Thrask, huh?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “That complicates things, but it also makes them interesting. The man’s got convictions, I’ll give him that.”

    Hawke nodded, her expression hardening. “I’ll see what I can find out,” she said firmly. “If he’s involved, he’ll know what’s happening inside the Gallows.”

    “And if he’s not?” Varric asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

    “Then we’ll know where we stand,” Hawke replied. “And we’ll find another way.”

    Ariana pushed off the edge of the table, her posture straightening as she prepared to leave. “Good,” she said. “For now, I’ll leave this in your hands. But if you need me—or the Rangers—you know where to find us.”

    “Always a pleasure, Pup,” Varric said with a faint smirk. “Try not to get into too much trouble before we call.”

    Ariana’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “No promises,” she replied before turning to Hawke. “You’ll let me know what you find?”

    “Of course,” Hawke said, her tone lighter now. “But don’t think this gets you off the hook. If we’re jumping into the fire, you’re coming with us.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, the tension easing just slightly. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

    As she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and stepped toward the door, she felt a flicker of something akin to hope. Whatever Thrask’s role in this resistance, Hawke and Varric would find the truth. And if the time came for the White Wolf to step out of the shadows again, she would be ready.

    ~~~

    The early morning light spilled across Cullen’s desk, catching on the scattered reports and glinting off the edge of his helmet resting nearby. He rubbed his temples, the fatigue pressing heavy against him. He hadn’t slept well—not last night, not for the last few days. In truth, sleep rarely came easy when he was alone. The nightmares never really left him. They lay in wait, clawing their way back into his mind the moment Ariana wasn’t there.

    With her, the nights were quieter. The haunting images of the demons and the screams that once felt inescapable seemed more distant when she was beside him. He could feel her warmth, hear her steady breathing, and know—without question—that she was safe, alive. That none of what the demons had shown him could touch her. But without her, the shadows closed in again.

    He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. The tension he’d carried during her absence had lessened when he received word late last night that she had returned to Kirkwall. The knowledge brought relief, but not enough to banish the gnawing worry that had taken root since she’d left for Starkhaven.

    He smiled faintly at the thought of seeing her tonight. He needed to hold her, to see for himself that she was unharmed. The mere thought of her was enough to ease the tightness in his chest—until the sharp knock at the door shattered his brief moment of peace.

    “Enter,” he called, straightening in his chair.

    A Templar stepped inside, saluting sharply before speaking. “Knight-Captain, there has been an incident with the mage transport from Starkhaven.”

    The words cut through Cullen like a blade. His breath stilled for a moment, and his mind raced ahead to the worst possibilities. Starkhaven… “What incident?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

    The Templar fumbled with a report in his hands, clearly uneasy. “They were intercepted… by a group of warriors. They freed the mages.”

    Cullen rose to his feet, his expression hardening. “What?” he said, gesturing for the document.

    As he read, the knot in his stomach tightened. The details were vague but damning. A well-armed group had executed the ambush with precision. The Templars guarding the transport were disarmed and restrained, though not so securely that they couldn’t free themselves after a short time. The mages had been freed without incident. Worse, two Templars had reportedly assisted the attackers and defected.

    The report described they were led by a woman in a dark cloak. None of the Templars could provide a name or a clear description of her face. What stood out, however, was her skill. The leader had never drawn her weapons, disarming or incapacitating her opponents with pure speed and precision.

    “Dismissed,” Cullen said, waving the nervous messenger away.

    The Templar’s relief was evident as he exited swiftly, leaving Cullen alone with the weight of the report.

    Cullen set the document down, his hand running through his hair as frustration bubbled to the surface. The defection of Templars was a direct attack on the Order’s morale, a wound that could fester if not addressed. If Templars lost faith in their mission, what hope did they have to hold their position in Kirkwall, let alone in the Gallows? It wasn’t just a logistical failure—it was a symbol of the Order’s fraying integrity.

    But as troubling as the raid was, another thought gnawed at the edges of his mind: the timing. The transport had been coming from Starkhaven. Ariana had just returned from there, supposedly on business for Varric. It was too convenient.

    Could she have been involved? Could the warriors have been Rangers?

    Cullen clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. He hated that the thought had crossed his mind, hated the tiny part of him that couldn’t dismiss the possibility outright. He still didn’t know the extent of her involvment with the White Wolf or the Silver Rangers. She claimed to have friends among them but could it be more than that?

    The thought twisted in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He needed to see her, needed to ask her directly. Even as guilt clawed at him for suspecting her, he knew he couldn’t let this lie.

    He despised himself for even considering the thought, but doubt crept in like a shadow he couldn’t shake. She had told him she wasn’t involved, but how much of her life had he truly seen? Was it his duty to ask, or was it betrayal to even wonder?

    Cullen rose abruptly, grabbing his cloak. Whatever answers awaited him in Hightown, he had to have them. He needed to know. Not just for the Order, but for himself. And yet, the thought of what he might uncover left a cold knot in his stomach.

    ~~~

    By the time he reached her estate, it was still early. Isabel hadn’t even finished making breakfast yet. “Isabel, where is she?” Cullen’s tone was short, his frustration evident.

    Isabel almost flinched at his tone, which just made her cautious “Cullen, good morning” she said pointedly, clearly showing that he needed to correct his tone.

    “I’m sorry, Isabel. Good morning.” Cullen said, more softly this time though the edge of frustration still lingered “It’s… important”. He hated feeling this way. He hated the feeling of doubt, that he needed to question the woman he loved. But more than anything, he hated the thought that she could be working against him.

    Isabel sighed, studying him for a moment “She’s in the library,” she said giving him a knowing glance “But, Cullen… a conversation, not an argument” she reminded him obviously aware of where this was going.

    He took a deep breath, nodding to Isabel. He walked slowly to the library, willing himself to calm down, to let go of the frustration the report had caused him.

    Cullen hesitated just outside the library, his hand resting on the doorframe. This wasn’t how he wanted their morning to begin, but the questions clawed at him relentlessly. Every logical part of him screamed for patience, for trust, yet the doubts refused to quiet.

    As he reached the doorway, he caught sight of her curled up on one of the chairs by the fireplace, a book in her lap, and a cup of tea in her hand. He let himself just be captivated by her for a moment. Letting the sight of her still him like she always did. She was safe and unharmed.

    Almost as if she had heard his thoughts she suddenly looked up, her expression shifting quickly from surprise to joy as she realized it was him. Without warning, she immediately set her tea down and set the book aside jumping up from her chair and crossing the distance to him.

    “I didn’t think I’d see you this early” she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

    Cullen wanted to lose himself in her embrace, but he knew that if he did he wouldn’t be objective. Before she could even kiss him she grabbed her arms setting them back down at her sides “We need to talk.” his tone even but clipped.

    He watched as Ariana’s expression immediately turned to one of confusion and something else, fear maybe. He noticed the shift in her breathing, suddenly shorter, heavier breaths.

    She tilted her head slightly “Cullen, what’s wrong?” Ariana’s tone was laced with concern and uncertainty. She took a couple of steps away from him almost as if she was suddenly afraid of him, which felt like a knife through his chest.

    Cullen exhaled sharply, handing her the report. “A mage transport was intercepted,” he said, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “By a ‘well-armed group and a woman in a dark cloak’.”

    Ariana’s gaze flicked over the report, her fingers gripping the edge a little too tightly. Her eyes moved rapidly, but Cullen caught the momentary pause—too brief for anyone unfamiliar with her to notice—as if she’d found something unexpected.

    “And you’ve come to me because…?” she asked, her voice steady, though Cullen caught a faint edge to it—something strained, like the words were harder to keep level than she wanted him to know.

    “Because I know you have friends among the Rangers,” Cullen replied, his frustration seeping into his tone. “And because you just came back from Starkhaven. That transport was coming from Starkhaven.”

    Ariana’s lips parted slightly, as though caught off guard. “I’m sorry,” she said, walking past him to the table and setting down the report. “Let me see if I understand this. Because I went to Starkhaven, you think I’m involved?” Her face displayed a mixture of confusion and anger.

    “I think you know who was.” Cullen said keeping his tone even, trying to avoid escalating seeing the expression on her face.

    Tears welled up in her eyes as she put her hands on the table, reading the report over again. She looked up, bliking to seemingly get rid of the tears. “I assume you think the Rangers did this?”

    “I do” Cullen replied giving no further explanation.

    “I see nothing about the Rangers in this report. But,” she paused a moment as if trying to compose herself “even assuming it was them, why would you think I knew anything about this? My friendship with the Rangers doesn’t mean I know their every move. I know about as much of their operations as I do about your daily duties as Knight-Captain—which is to say, nothing.”

    The logic of her words gnawed at him, even as doubt lingered. She was right, of course. Just as she wouldn’t be privy to his reports or the inner workings of the Order, there was no reason she would be privy to every move the Rangers made. But the timing, the location… it felt too deliberate to dismiss. “You expect me to believe that?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “That you, of all people—”

    Ariana interrupted him before he could finish “Yes. I do expect you to believe me.” She said as she turned to look at him, the frustration and hurt in her tone evident “I also can’t help but notice that your report mentions two of your own Templars defected. Doesn’t it make more sense that they orchestrated this?”

    Cullen sighed. She was right. The report did indicate the Templars that defected helped them. Maybe if the Templars were that disappointed with the Order, with Meredith, they could have hired help. Or maybe…could the well-armed group have been more Templars?

    “Ari, you’re—” Cullen began to apologize but Ariana interrupted him before he could say anything.

    Ariana picked up the report from the table and slammed it against his chest as she walked towards the door “Good day, Knight-Captain” she said pointedly as she began walking towards the door “Let me know if there’s any other part of your job I need to do for you.”

    Cullen stood frozen as Ariana stormed toward the library door, the soft steps of her bare feet whispering against the rug. She was still in her blue house robe, the fabric trailing around her ankles, loose and familiar. He didn’t mean for it to go like this—Maker, this was not how he wanted to confront her. His heart sank as she reached the doorway.

    “Ariana, wait.”

    She ignored him.

    Before he could think better of it, Cullen strode after her, reaching out and catching her wrist. The motion was firm but careful, his gloved hand wrapping around her smaller one. Ariana stopped abruptly, her body tensing as she turned back to him. Her hazel-green eyes were alight with anger, confusion, and something else—hurt.

    “Let me go,” she said quietly, her voice trembling more than he expected. She tugged at her arm, though half-heartedly, as if she wasn’t certain whether she wanted him to release her or not.

    Cullen didn’t. “Ariana, please,” he said softly, the edge from earlier gone from his voice. His brows furrowed as he searched her expression. Maker, he hated seeing her like this—tears still shimmering in her eyes, her face pale from the heated exchange. The fact that he had been the one that caused this just made it that much worse.

    “I was wrong,” he said after a long pause, the words quiet but earnest. “I’m sorry.”

    Ariana froze. Her breath caught, her body still rigid in his grasp. She blinked, and for a moment, it was as if she didn’t know how to respond. Cullen took a breath, steadying himself. He had to say this right.

    “I wasn’t accusing you. Not really. I…” He exhaled sharply, his grip loosening but not releasing her wrist entirely. “I’ve been frustrated. The Order is… it’s fracturing, Ariana. Meredith…” He shook his head, as if even saying her name tasted bitter. “The situation has been spiraling out of control. And after the other day, blaming you was easier than… admitting the truth.”

    Ariana’s gaze softened, though her lips were still pressed into a thin line. She looked down, away from him, as if trying to compose herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, more fragile. “What truth?”

    Cullen’s gloved hand slid down her arm until his fingers brushed against hers. He didn’t know how to tell her everything—that he felt helpless in the face of Meredith’s iron grip, that every day his faith in the Order wavered further, or that part of him feared he was losing himself again. But this, he could give her.

    “That everything I’ve worked for… everything I’ve believed in… might not survive this city,” he admitted softly, his voice carrying a weight he hadn’t shared with anyone else. “And I can’t—I won’t—lose you too.”

    The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Ariana lifted her eyes to meet his again, and this time, the tears he’d seen earlier spilled over silently. She stopped trying to pull away, her shoulders slumping slightly as if the fight had gone out of her.

    “Cullen…” Her voice cracked faintly as she said his name, and that was all it took. He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid she might retreat again. But she didn’t. Instead, Ariana closed the distance herself, leaning into him and letting her head rest gently against the hard plates of his chest armor.

    Cullen’s arms encircled her, the coolness of his armor contrasting with the warmth of her body. He felt her shudder slightly as her head pressed against his chest, her breath soft and uneven. The cool leather of his gloves pressed lightly against her back as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, breathing her in, grounding himself in the warmth of her presence and the familiar scent of cinnamon. For the first time since entering the estate, he felt the weight on his chest begin to ease.

    They stood like that for what felt like forever, the silence between them no longer strained but comforting. Cullen ran a hand gently up and down her back, a soothing rhythm he hoped would steady her as much as it did him.

    “You’re right, you know,” he murmured after a while, breaking the quiet. “About the report. About… everything. I shouldn’t have brought it to you like that.”

    Ariana’s faint smile brushed against his chest. She didn’t lift her head, didn’t pull away, and for that, Cullen was grateful.

    “You’re a stubborn man, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice muffled but tinged with that teasing warmth he had missed.

    He huffed a soft, relieved laugh. “So I’ve been told.” He hesitated a moment before adding with a wry smirk she couldn’t see, “Though there are probably parts of my job where I could use your eyes. You’d likely be better at it than I am.”

    Ariana lifted her head just slightly, her hazel-green eyes peering up at him with faint amusement. “Are you saying I should take over as Knight-Captain?”

    “Maker, no,” Cullen said quickly, a half-chuckle escaping him. “But I wouldn’t mind a second opinion on certain reports.”

    Her small smile widened briefly before she leaned back into him again, letting her forehead rest against his armored chest.

    Another silence followed, but this one was easy, filled only by the steady rhythm of their breathing and the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.

    “I missed you,” Cullen said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he wouldn’t take it back.

    Ariana’s arms tightened around him in response. “I missed you too,” she admitted softly.

    For a little while, neither of them moved. The early morning light spilling through the tall windows, illuminating the quiet sanctuary they had found within each other’s arms.

    Cullen sighed, reluctantly pulling back as much as he could bear. His hands lingered on her arms for a moment longer before he spoke.

    “I need to get back to the Gallows,” he said quietly, as if he hated the words himself. “But… I’ll try to be back tonight.”

    Ariana looked up at him, her expression still soft but concerned. “You don’t sound confident about that.”

    Cullen offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure what the outcome of this report will be,” he admitted. “Meredith… will want answers. And she’ll want them now.”

    Ariana opened her mouth as if to speak, but she stopped herself, her expression clouded with worry. She nodded, reluctantly stepping back. “Be careful, Cullen.”

    “I will,” he promised softly. He hesitated before brushing his gloved fingers against her cheek, lingering for a heartbeat longer than he should have, before turning and walking toward the door.

  • Chapter 39 – The White Wolf Lives

    14 Bloomingtide – 3 Justinian 9:34

    Ariana was up before dawn most mornings now. It wasn’t just about training—it was about reclaiming the parts of herself she’d felt slipping away. The White Wolf couldn’t afford to fade, not when the world around her continued to grow more uncertain. The Silver Rangers needed their leader present, not tucked away in an estate pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And truthfully, she needed them too.

    Then, there were mornings like this one. Whenever Cullen stayed over, she never knew what the morning would look like. She certainly wouldn’t make it to the warehouse before dawn. Sometimes, they would still train together in the courtyard. She enjoyed training with him. It was different than with the Rangers. Certainly not as grueling, but aside from just getting to spend time with him, his skills were completely different and it pushed her in different ways. Even if she never let Cullen fully see the extent of her abilities.

    Then there were morning like today. The kind where he refused to let her leave the bed, not ready to let her go. They allowed themselves to get lost in each other’s embrace, sipping their coffee, just being who they were. Talking and teasing each other. Briefly allowing themselves to forget the world outside her window.

    Still, for the most part, she made a point to try never be too late to the warehouse. She wouldn’t give Valentina, Linnea, or Lamberto the satisfaction of teasing her—well, not more than they already did.

    When she finally made it to the warehouse, she found Valentina and Linnea sparring, the sharp sound of strikes echoing through the room. Lamberto was organizing equipment, though he gave her a brief nod when she walked in. It felt like stepping back into her old life, the one she missed more than she cared to admit.

    After a round of sparring with all three of them—a grueling session that left her ribs aching—Ariana found herself perched on a stack of crates, catching her breath. She wasn’t out of shape anymore, not like when she’d first started back up, but Maker, they were good.

    “Wolf, you daydreaming again?” Linnea’s voice cut through her thoughts, teasing but lighthearted.

    Ariana blinked, snapping out of her reverie. She leaned back against the crate, smirking. “Yes, well, after taking on all three of you today, I think I’ve earned a little daydreaming. Besides, I’m sitting right here. It’s not like anyone’s needed me for anything.”

    Linnea walked over, crossing her arms. “How’re the ribs feeling?”

    Ariana waved a dismissive hand. “Fine now.” She glanced around, her expression shifting to something more mischievous. “Are we going to eat soon? I’m starving.”

    “Are you ever not hungry, Wolf?” Linnea quipped, leaning against the crate beside her.

    “Sure,” Ariana replied without missing a beat. “Whenever I haven’t done anything all day, which hasn’t been the case for weeks.”

    “You getting tired yet?” Valentina chimed in from across the room, her tone smug. “Thinking about going back to the easy life of a noble?”

    Ariana shot her a mock glare, her lips twitching into a grin. “No. I am thinking we need to keep more food here. When did you all become so insubordinate?”

    “We’ve always been insubordinate,” Valentina said with a smirk. “You just got soft.”

    Ariana shrugged, unable to argue the point. She stretched her arms above her head, wincing slightly at the pull in her ribs. “But really, I’m starving. Can someone find some food anywhere in Lowtown?”

    Linnea raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with amusement. “You could just walk to the Hanged Man, you know. Varric’s probably there, and I’m sure Corff would be happy to feed you.”

    Ariana sighed dramatically, hopping down from the crates. “I miss Riley. You’re all terrible. Riley fed me without complaints.”

    Valentina and Linnea burst into laughter as Ariana grabbed her satchel and threw it over her shoulder.

    “Where are you going now?” Valentina called after her.

    “To find food and people who appreciate me,” Ariana called back over her shoulder, her tone teasing.

    “I’ll come with you,” Valentina said rushing after here

    As the door swung shut behind them, Lamberto and Linnea exchanged grins. It was good to have their commander back on a more regular basis. Ariana wasn’t just their leader—she was family. And for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were getting that family back.

    Ariana chuckled “So now that I’m leaving you want to come with me”

    “What can I say… I was hungry too.” Valentina quipped

    “And you couldn’t just get me the food and get yourself food?” Ariana chastised, though she didn’t truly mean it

    “You’ve gone soft, Wolf. Someone has to remind you what life is like” Valentina shot back

    The morning’s sparring session had been grueling but satisfying. Ariana exited the warehouse, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension in her muscles. Valentina walked beside her, her usual smirk in place as they made their way through Lowtown. The sun was climbing steadily, its golden light casting long shadows against the stone walls.

    “Maker, I’m starving,” Ariana muttered, adjusting her satchel. “I need food before I collapse.”

    “See? You’re soft,” Valentina teased, nudging her lightly. “A few rounds, and you’re already whining.”

    “Whining?” Ariana shot her a mock glare. “I could take you again right now, but I’m choosing not to because I’m gracious. Also, because I’m hungry.”

    Valentina laughed. “Sure, Wolf. Keep telling yourself that.”

    The banter eased Ariana’s mood, though she remained alert as they navigated the winding streets of Lowtown. She knew the routes well enough to avoid most trouble, but there was always the chance of crossing paths with someone she didn’t want to see at the wrong time—like Cullen.

    Her thoughts turned sharply to reality when they rounded a corner and nearly collided with him.

    “Cullen,” Ariana said, her surprise barely masked. His sharp hazel eyes swept over her, then to Valentina, lingering with a flicker of recognition. His posture stiffened, and Ariana knew immediately this wasn’t going to be a pleasant encounter.

    “I thought you were at the Gallows all day, I hadn’t expected to see you,” she said with a warm smile. Then, with a teasing edge, she added, “Unless you were thinking about coming by earlier today.”

    As soon as the Templars that had been with him left, Cullen’s demeanor shifted. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab her arm gently but firmly, guiding her into a nearby alley. His voice, low but edged with tension, cut through the air. “What are you doing here, Ari?”

    “It’s not strange for me to be in Lowtown, is it? I was heading to the Hanged Man” she said quickly, her tone light as she attempted to diffuse the tension.

    “It’s not where you are,” Cullen replied, his voice clipped. “It’s where you’re coming from.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. “The warehouse district? You’ve seen me down here before. I’ve told you I check on shipments now and then.”

    “And her?” Cullen asked sharply, his gaze shifting to Valentina. “Why is she with you?”

    Valentina’s hand drifted toward her daggers, but Ariana motioned subtly, silently urging her to stand down. “She’s a friend,” Ariana said evenly. “One of the people who saved me during the Blight, actually.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his sharp gaze cutting back to Ariana. “I’ve seen her before,” he said, his tone laced with suspicion. “At the docks a few months ago and again during the Qunari uprising. Always standing between me and the White Wolf. Now, she’s here with you.”

    Ariana’s heart sank, but she kept her expression neutral. “She’s passing through Kirkwall,” she replied, her tone calm. “We’ve kept in touch since the Blight. Is that really so strange?”

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “So the Rangers have been here in Kirkwall, and you knew?” His voice was low, but the accusation was clear.

    Ariana opened her mouth to respond, but Cullen shook his head sharply, cutting her off. “You knew,” he said again, his tone growing heavier with disappointment. “And you didn’t tell me.”

    “Cullen,” she said softly, taking a step closer. “It’s not like that. I—”

    “Enough.” His voice was quiet but firm, carrying a weight that stopped her mid-sentence. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but the hurt in it was unmistakable. “Is this what it will always be? Another secret? Something you’re orchestrating, trouble you’re getting into that you won’t tell me?”

    Ariana opened her mouth to retort, but he pressed on, his gaze flicking back toward the docks. “I know… I can’t imagine what you did to survive. What it must have taken to make it through a Blight, alone.” His voice cracked slightly, but he steadied himself, meeting her gaze. “I just wish that whatever it was didn’t have to live in the space between us now. Whatever it is, please… just be careful.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened. She could see the pain in his eyes, the strain of her lies and half-truths weighing on him. For a moment, she wanted to tell him everything—to explain who she was, what she was doing, and why she had to keep it from him. But the words wouldn’t come.

    Cullen studied her in silence, then finally shook his head. “Be careful, Ari,” he said, his tone weary but resolute. Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his cloak sweeping behind him as he disappeared around the corner.

    Ariana stood rooted in place, watching Cullen’s retreating figure as his words carved into her like blades. Be careful. He might as well have said goodbye.

    Her chest tightened as frustration bubbled up, threatening to spill over. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. “Wolf?” Valentina’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, sharp but concerned.

    “I’m fine,” Ariana replied, her voice taut. “Let’s just go.”

    Valentina fell into step beside her, quiet but watchful. As they wove through the winding streets of Lowtown, the city’s usual hum of life felt distant, muted. The weight of Cullen’s disappointment clung to her, each step heavier than the last.

    She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Maker, she hadn’t wanted this—this growing chasm between them, built on half-truths and omissions. Yet every time she tried to protect him, she seemed to push him further away.

    As they neared the warehouse, Valentina broke the silence, her voice low but firm. “You know this can’t last, right?”

    Ariana glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly. “What can’t last?”

    Valentina shrugged, her smirk softened by a rare note of seriousness. “Playing both sides. Hightown noble one day, White Wolf the next. Sooner or later, the walls between those lives are going to come crashing down.”

    Ariana’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightening. “I’ve managed so far,” she said evenly, her tone guarded.

    “For how much longer?” Valentina countered, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “You’re good, Wolf, but even you can’t keep this up forever. You knew that when you started.”

    Ariana didn’t answer, her lips pressing into a thin line as they reached the warehouse door. She hesitated for a moment, Valentina’s words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.

    “I’ll deal with it,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, but resolute.

    Valentina sighed softly, stepping past her and pushing the door open. “You’d better,” she said over her shoulder. “Because the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to hit when it all comes crashing down.”

    Ariana followed her inside, the familiar scent of wood and steel offering a fleeting sense of comfort. But as the door shut behind them, Valentina’s words lingered, heavy in the air.

    She had always known the truth of it, even if she hadn’t wanted to face it. The life she was leading wasn’t sustainable. And the cracks in the facade were already beginning to show.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s boots echoed against the cobblestones as he made his way back to the Gallows, his thoughts heavy and tumultuous. The usual bustling noise of Kirkwall seemed distant, muffled by the weight of the conversation he’d just had with Ariana. The cool morning air did little to clear his mind, his focus consumed by the unsettling questions she had left behind.

    It wasn’t just Ariana’s evasiveness—it was the stark realization of how much he didn’t know. He’d long suspected she kept secrets, but now the depth of them loomed before him like a shadow he couldn’t outrun.

    She rarely spoke of her time in Ferelden, and when she did, her stories were little more than fragments—a vivid inn she had stayed at, a chance meeting with a wandering merchant. They were safe, fleeting glimpses that skirted the edges of what he truly wanted to know: how she had survived the Blight, and who she had become in its shadow.

    She had been just a girl when he last saw her at Lake Calenhad. Scared, defiant, and determined not to let her life be dictated by anyone. And yet, when she arrived in Kirkwall years later, she was so different. That determination was still there, but it had sharpened into something more focused, more relentless. Reckless, he might have said before—except recklessness didn’t quite fit.

    Recklessness implied a lack of thought, a disregard for consequences. But Ariana wasn’t reckless. She was deliberate, calculating even, and Cullen couldn’t decide if that made her actions more or less dangerous.

    And today, with that woman at her side…

    Cullen’s jaw tightened. He had seen her before, during the Qunari uprising, standing between him and the White Wolf. And again at the docks, her sharp eyes tracking him like a hawk. The way she moved today, walking beside Ariana with the ease of a trusted companion, spoke volumes. This wasn’t just someone passing through Kirkwall.

    He clenched his fists, the memory of their last encounter flashing through his mind. The slavers on the Wounded Coast. Ariana had been unarmed, yet she moved like a predator, her strikes efficient and lethal. She hadn’t hesitated. There had been no doubt in her movements, no fear. Just precision.

    That wasn’t something one learned from mere survival.

    Those moments had shown him how capable she was—but they had also left him wondering. Who had taught her to fight like that? Who had turned a frightened, defiant girl at Lake Calenhad into someone who could stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Hawke and Varric?

    And then there was the Qunari uprising. Cullen’s chest tightened as he thought of that night.  Ariana had nearly died during that chaos. She had thrown herself into the fight without hesitation, as if she didn’t know how to do anything else. One thing he realized now was that he didn’t know just how many Qunari Ariana had cut through. He hadn’t thought about it because of her injuries, but if she fought through Kirkwall alone that night and survived… that was more than most Templars and City Guard had been able to do.

    Unless she didn’t face them alone. The White Wolf.

    The name echoed in his mind, heavy with suspicion and a growing unease. He remembered the fight at the docks—how the White Wolf moved with precision, their strikes calculated and deliberate. At the time, he had been in awe of their skill, the way they commanded the battlefield without hesitation. But now, those memories intertwined with images of Ariana—her stance during sparring sessions, the way she shifted her weight before striking. Cullen could see it clearly: the echoes of the White Wolf in her stance, her strategy, her calculated adaptability.

    It wasn’t just a coincidence.

    The movements were too similar, the foundation unmistakable. The White Wolf’s technique was more refined, but he could see the echoes of it in Ariana’s form. If the White Wolf wasn’t a distant figure she admired, then who were they to her? A mentor? A savior?

    He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching as the pieces began to fall into place. If Ariana had trained under the White Wolf, then she wasn’t just connected to the Rangers—she was deeply entwined with them. The woman he loved, the one who had fought beside him and shared his bed, had a life he could barely comprehend. And yet, she had kept it from him.

    Why?

    Mercenaries can’t be trusted.

    His own words echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. He had dismissed her, challenged her convictions, and unknowingly reinforced the wall she had built between them. She had tried to tell him, to bridge the gap, but his reaction had likely driven her further into secrecy.

    His chest tightened as guilt seeped in. He had wanted to protect her, to keep her from danger, but in doing so, had he only pushed her away? Had he made it impossible for her to trust him with the truth?

    If Ariana had trained under the White Wolf, then her connection to the Rangers ran far deeper than he had realized. And if she truly was a part of that world, he didn’t know how to reconcile it with the woman he loved.

    But one thing was clear: she wasn’t just the defiant girl he had saved all those years ago, nor was she simply the woman who had stolen his heart. She was something more—someone shaped by battles and shadows, by alliances he could barely comprehend.

    And as much as it scared him, Cullen knew one thing with certainty: he couldn’t lose her again. But to protect her, he needed to understand her.

    Even if the truth unraveled everything he thought he knew about her—and himself.

    ~~~

    The warehouse was quieter than usual when Ariana stepped inside, her footsteps echoing faintly in the cavernous space. She didn’t stop to greet anyone, her gaze locked ahead. Her heart felt like a lead weight, her mind a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and pain. The memory of Cullen’s disappointment was fresh, and it stung sharper than any blade. But it wasn’t just him—she was furious with herself. For the lies, for the carelessness, for the pain she had caused.

    Without a word, she crossed the room to the training area, her hands moving with mechanical precision as she grabbed three wooden swords from the rack. Linnea and Lamberto, standing nearby, fell silent as they noticed her storm past, their conversations forgotten. Valentina, trailing behind Ariana, shot them a knowing glance. Something had gone wrong.

    Ariana turned sharply, throwing a sword to each of them before tossing one to Valentina. They caught the weapons on instinct, their expressions shifting from confusion to wary understanding as they registered the fire in her eyes.

    “Let’s go,” Ariana said curtly, her voice brooking no argument.

    Lamberto raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Linnea. “You’re serious?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

    “Does it look like I’m joking?” Ariana snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut.

    Linnea arched an eyebrow, her smirk subdued but present. “You’re angry,” she observed, her voice calm but not without a hint of curiosity. “What’s this about, Wolf?”

    Ariana’s hands tightened on the wooden sword, her knuckles white. “Are we doing this, or are you going to stand there all day?” she growled.

    Linnea sighed, stepping forward and adjusting her grip on the sword. “Alright, Wolf. But don’t cry when we break you.”

    “Try it,” Ariana shot back, stepping into the center of the training area, her stance already shifting into readiness.

    The three circled her, each taking measured steps. Lamberto moved first, feinting high before aiming a sharp strike at her side. Ariana didn’t flinch.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    The words echoed in her mind, the voice as sharp as ever. Her body moved before her thoughts could catch up, sidestepping the strike and bringing her own sword down to tap Lamberto’s wrist, forcing him to retreat. Valentina lunged in next, her strike more aggressive, but Ariana spun past her with fluid precision, her blade sweeping toward Valentina’s side.

    Focus, Ariana. You’ve got the instincts.

    The sparring intensified. Linnea joined the fray, her movements sharp and probing, testing Ariana’s defenses. But Ariana wasn’t just defending—she was hunting. Every step, every strike was calculated, her focus honed to a razor’s edge. She blocked Linnea’s strike with a harsh parry, forcing her opponent to stumble back.

    You don’t fight to survive, Ariana. You fight to win.

    Her breath came in sharp bursts, but she didn’t falter. When Valentina tried to flank her, Ariana pivoted and caught her blade mid-swing, twisting it free and disarming her with a fluid motion that left Valentina scowling. Lamberto came at her again, his movements heavier but powerful. Ariana ducked beneath his swing and swept her leg out, knocking him off balance. He landed with a thud, muttering a curse under his breath.

    “Too slow,” Ariana hissed, her voice cold and clipped. Her ribs ached, her muscles burned, but she pushed through it. She needed this. She needed to feel alive again.

    Linnea and Valentina exchanged a quick glance, their expressions hardening. They moved in unison, Valentina striking high while Linnea swept low. Ariana’s body twisted, narrowly avoiding the coordinated attack.

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

    The words drove her forward. She caught Linnea’s low strike with her blade, deflecting it, while stepping into Valentina’s guard and shoving her back with her shoulder. Valentina stumbled, just long enough for Ariana to press her advantage.

    “She’s fast today,” Linnea muttered under her breath, her tone laced with a hint of disbelief.

    “Fast?” Valentina shot back, picking up her sword. “She’s alive again.”

    The heat of exertion blurred the edges of her thoughts, but it wasn’t enough to drown the nagging doubts that clung to her. Cullen’s voice echoed in her mind, the weight of his hurt and confusion pressing against her resolve.

    The sparring intensified. Ariana moved with a ferocity and grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her movements a seamless blend of instinct and precision. Every strike she made was calculated, every dodge perfectly timed. Her opponents were holding back initially, worried about pushing her too hard after the past few months.

    But it became clear almost immediately that they didn’t need to hold back.

    The woman in front of them wasn’t the Ariana Trevelyan who had been growing comfortable in Hightown, grappling with courtly politics and the trappings of nobility. This was the White Wolf, the leader who had carved out a name for herself in blood and fire, the one who had once stood on the edge of death and refused to fall.

    Valentina adjusted her stance, lunging forward with a more aggressive strike. Ariana dodged smoothly, slipping past the attack and tapping Valentina’s shoulder with the flat of her hand.

    “Try again,” Ariana said, her voice cold and clipped.

    Linnea swung in next, testing Ariana’s reactions with a feint followed by a low sweep. But Ariana wasn’t fooled. She leapt over the sweep and retaliated with a sharp jab that forced Linnea to stumble back.

    The clash of wood on wood filled the warehouse, each sound a testament to Ariana’s relentless determination. By the end, sweat dripped from her brow, her breath coming in harsh gasps. But her eyes were sharp, burning with an intensity that left no room for doubt. She disarmed Valentina once more, forced Linnea into retreat, and ended with Lamberto on his knees, his weapon knocked to the floor.

    Ariana countered everything they threw at her. The sparring match was fierce, but it was clear who was in control.

    By the time they stopped, all four of them were breathing hard, sweat gleaming on their brows. Ariana lowered her hands, her chest heaving, but her eyes were sharp, burning with an intensity that made Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto pause.

    “Better?” Valentina asked, her tone cautious but not unkind.

    Ariana nodded curtly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Better,” she said, though her voice betrayed a lingering edge of frustration.

    The Rangers said nothing more, their silence filled with understanding. They didn’t need to speak; they could see it. Ariana wasn’t the noblewoman of Hightown or the White Wolf of legend. She was both, and neither, and something in between. But above all, she was theirs—and that was enough.

    As she wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned against the training rack, a flicker of clarity broke through the haze of her frustration. She wouldn’t let her doubts or mistakes define her. She had a responsibility—to herself, to the Rangers, and to those who relied on her.

    Whatever storm lay ahead, she would face it head-on. The White Wolf wasn’t gone. She was still here. She always would be.

    ~~~

    The warehouse was dimly lit, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the crates and training equipment. Ariana remained seated at the makeshift planning table, her fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood as she listened to Linnea’s report. She was tired, more mentally than physically, but the thought of returning home—of putting on the facade of Ariana Trevelyan, the noble—felt heavier than the weight of her exhaustion.

    “They’re about three days out,” Linnea said, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity. “What do you want to do?”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. Her mind raced, calculating routes, estimating time, and considering contingencies. “We need to intercept them as far from Kirkwall as possible,” she replied. “If we leave at dawn, we should be able to reach them by the end of the day—still two days from Kirkwall and any potential Templar reinforcements.”

    Linnea nodded, but before she could respond, Lamberto interjected, his arms crossed. “We? You’re not sending out a squad?”

    Ariana’s sharp gaze flicked to him, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You said ‘a couple of transports.’ How many Templars are we looking at?”

    “Scouts are reporting almost ten,” Linnea answered.

    “Then, yes,” Ariana said firmly. “I’ll need a squad.”

    Her words hung in the air, heavy with finality. The three exchanged glances, and then Valentina’s grin broke the silence. “So, the Wolf’s finally coming out of her den.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, the sound dry but genuine. “Maybe more like peeking. But if you want to frame it that way…” She let the sentence hang, shrugging lightly. “I won’t stop you.”

    Linnea tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s really going on, Wolf? You don’t usually seem this… tense.”

    Ariana sighed, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the table. “The shadows,” she said softly, her voice tinged with weariness. “I’m tired of them.”

    The words hung in the still air, and no one asked her to elaborate. They didn’t need to. The shadows weren’t just the places they moved through to avoid detection—they were the weight of her secrets, the tightrope she walked between Hightown’s glittering pretense and the deadly reality of the Rangers’ work. They all felt it, but for Ariana, it had become a suffocating burden.

    After a pause, she straightened, the faintest edge of determination returning to her expression. “Prep a squad,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Have them meet me outside the Hightown gates first thing.”

    Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto nodded in unison, already moving to gather what they needed. Ariana rose from her seat, grabbing her cloak and satchel in one fluid motion.

    “Wolf,” Valentina called after her as she reached the door. Ariana paused, glancing back. “It’s good to have you back.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “We’ll see if I can keep up,” she replied, her tone laced with wry humor.

    As she stepped into the cool night air, Ariana felt a flicker of relief. The plan gave her something tangible to focus on, a purpose beyond the turmoil in her heart. But as her boots echoed softly against the cobblestones of Lowtown, she knew the hardest part of the night still lay ahead. Isabel would likely be waiting for her, as she always did when Ariana returned late. And tonight, like so many others, Ariana wasn’t sure she could hide the weight of her burdens from the person who knew her best.

    ~~~

    The late-night silence of the Trevelyan estate felt heavier than usual as Ariana rounded the corner into the kitchen, her words rushing ahead of her. “Sorry I’m late. Needed to handle something. Can you pack me a bag? I leave at dawn—”

    She stopped abruptly. Isabel stood by the counter, her sharp green eyes fixed on Ariana with a mix of concern and irritation, but it wasn’t just Isabel who made her falter. Cullen sat at the table, his posture rigid, his hazel eyes dark with unreadable emotion. The tension between them was immediate, like a cord pulled too tight.

    “Where have you been, child?” Isabel’s sharp tone cut through the tension like a blade.

    Ariana hesitated, glancing between the two of them. “The Hanged Man,” she said quickly. “Catching up with Varric.”

    “So you ate, then?” Isabel pressed, her brow furrowing as she studied Ariana more closely. It was clear that something wasn’t adding up, and Ariana knew it.

    “Not really, no,” Ariana replied, her voice trying for lightness but faltering. “I could still use some dinner.”

    Isabel gave her a hard look but finally nodded. “Very well. Sit down. I’ll get your food ready.” She busied herself in the kitchen, though her gaze flicked to Ariana now and then, still skeptical.

    Ariana dropped into a chair across from Cullen, feeling his eyes on her. She tried not to let her unease show, but the way his gaze lingered told her he wasn’t buying her story.

    “You’ve been there all day?” Cullen asked, his tone neutral, though there was a sharpness underneath. “Because you look like you’ve been in a fight.”

    Ariana’s heart sank, but she forced herself to smile. “Around Lowtown mostly,” she said, her tone breezy. “Not a fight. A few sparring rounds with Isabela…we may have gotten carried away with it. She’s certainly not one to back down.”

    The lie burned her more than she expected, and for a moment, she couldn’t meet his eyes. It was subtle, but she could feel the weight of his disappointment.

    Cullen leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped on the table. “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

    “Only for a few days,” Ariana said quickly, keeping her tone as soft and reassuring as she could manage. “Just going to Starkhaven.”

    “What’s in Starkhaven?” Cullen pressed, though he immediately seemed to regret the question, as if expecting no real answer.

    “A favor for Varric,” she lied smoothly. “He needs some support from nobility to close a business deal he’s been working on.”

    Cullen’s expression hardened slightly, and before she could say more, he stood abruptly. “I should let you get some rest, then,” he said, his voice strained. “I suppose…I’ll see you when you get back.”

    He turned toward the door, and Ariana felt the pain from this morning all over again like a knife her chest. The knot in her throat tightened as she watched him walk away, the man she loved slipping further from her with every step. Isabel turned, catching her eye with a knowing look that spoke volumes without a word.

    Ariana bolted up from her seat. “Cullen, wait!” she called, her voice breaking slightly as she ran after him, catching him in the hallway. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

    “Talk to me. Don’t leave like this,” she pleaded, tears brimming in her eyes.

    Cullen turned slowly, his expression pained as he met her gaze. “Ari…I…”

    “Stay,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less insistent. It wasn’t a question—it was a plea. “It’s too late to go back to the Gallows.”

    He hesitated, his eyes searching hers as if weighing his next words. Finally, he nodded, and his hand moved to her waist, pulling her close. Ariana wrapped her arms around his neck, and he rested his forehead against hers. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken emotions.

    “I should have waited for you,” Cullen finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “I should have believed that you were alive.”

    Ariana froze, his words catching her off guard. Was he talking about the Blight? Did he blame himself for her years in Ferelden?

    “Cullen, you didn’t—” she began, but he cut her off.

    “I promised you that we would face it together, and instead I left you to face that alone,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I escaped to Kirkwall. I will never know what it took for you to survive because I wasn’t there. I have no right to demand of you now that you relive it just to tell me.”

    Tears spilled over her cheeks, but she wouldn’t let him carry this guilt. She reached up, cupping his face as she kissed him, pouring every ounce of love and desperation she felt into it. At first, he hesitated, but then his arms tightened around her, as if anchoring himself to her.

    When they finally pulled apart, she rested her hand against his cheek, her voice steady despite the tears. “And I asked you to survive. You did what you had to as well. If you had stayed behind, there’s no guarantee you would have survived. And I would rather live those years over a thousand times than risk losing you to the Blight.”

    Cullen stared at her for a moment, his hazel eyes shining with emotion. Without another word, he kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if grounding himself in her. Then, without a word, he lifted her effortlessly and carried her toward her room. The door closed softly behind them, and for the rest of the night, they let the world fall away, holding onto the only certainty they had: each other.

    ~~~

    The room was silent except for the sound of their steady breathing, but Ariana’s peace didn’t last long.

    In her dreams, she was back there—tied to that post. The biting cold made her shiver, and every nerve screamed in pain. Krieger stood before her, his cruel laughter ringing in her ears as he delivered cut after cut. She tried to scream, to fight, but her voice wouldn’t come. It was unbearable.

    Not again. Maker, please, not again.

    Ariana startled awake, her body tense as though still bracing for the next strike. Her left arm throbbed, a phantom ache that lingered even as her eyes darted around the dimly lit room, trying to anchor herself to the present. She clutched her forearm, her breathing sharp and uneven, tears silently streaking her face.

    “Ari, what’s wrong?” Cullen’s voice broke through the haze. He was already sitting up beside her, his hand reaching toward her but stopping short, unsure if touching her would help or startle her further.

    For a moment, she couldn’t respond. The nightmare had a grip on her, and the line between dream and reality blurred. Her breaths came fast and shallow, and her eyes darted around the room as if searching for threats.

    “Ari,” Cullen said again, his voice steadier now but still laced with concern.

    Slowly, her eyes met his, and the shadow of panic began to fade, replaced by the warmth of his steady presence. “Cullen?” she managed, her voice trembling as she started to ground herself in the present.

    “I’m here,” he assured her gently, his hazel eyes fixed on hers. “Are you alright?”

    “I…” Ariana shook her head as if trying to physically dislodge the nightmare’s lingering hold. “It was…nothing. Just a nightmare.”

    Her voice was unconvincing, and they both knew it, but Cullen didn’t press. Instead, he opened his arms, and Ariana leaned into him, letting his steady presence anchor her. His arms wrapped around her protectively, and his hand stroked her back in slow, soothing motions. Slowly, her breathing began to even out, and the phantom pain in her arm started to fade.

    Cullen held her in silence for a while, allowing her to settle. He didn’t ask, but his mind raced with questions. He recognized the signs—the way her body trembled, the tears she tried to hide. He knew the torment of such nightmares too well. But what haunted her? What memory had surfaced to cause her such pain?

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to her hand as it continued to press against her forearm. There was no visible scar, no mark of what had caused the pain. He wanted to ask, to understand, but he held back, afraid that pressing her now would only deepen her distress.

    After a while, he spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “Ari… I’m here if you ever want to tell me.”

    Her response was distant, her tone almost detached. “I know.”

    Ariana shifted slightly against him, her eyes fixed on the far wall. The nightmare had left her wide awake, and though her breathing had calmed, the weight of the memories lingered.

    “The Blight was…difficult, yes, but it wasn’t just the darkspawn,” she began quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

    “Ari,” Cullen interrupted gently, “you don’t have to—”

    “I’m not sure I could ever tell you everything that happened,” she said, her voice firmer now. “The days blurred together. There were times I couldn’t tell where one ended, and the next began. I couldn’t always afford to sleep—it wasn’t safe. There was no one else to stand guard.”

    Cullen’s arms tightened around her as if to remind her she wasn’t alone anymore. He rested his chin against her head, offering silent comfort as she continued.

    “I made mistakes,” Ariana admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Some of them almost got me killed. There are things I’ll never forget, no matter how much I want to. Memories have a way of stringing together, one pulling another along until they’re impossible to ignore. That’s why I don’t talk about it. If I bring one memory forward, the others follow.”

    “I’m sorry,” Cullen said softly, kissing her temple. “I shouldn’t have pressed. I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I regret not being able to protect you from all of it.”

    Ariana pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. Her hazel-green eyes were warm despite the lingering sadness. “And so now you try to protect me from everything,” she said gently, her voice touched with both gratitude and sorrow. “You’re afraid that I’ll be left alone again.”

    Cullen looked at her, his expression a mixture of guilt and affection. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to protect you, even if I’m here.”

    Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from the pain. Without a word, she kissed him, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance she could into it. Cullen responded instantly, his arms pulling her closer, as though he could shield her from every ghost of her past.

    When they finally pulled apart, Ariana rested her forehead against his. “Cullen,” she whispered, her voice steady now, “we can’t protect each other from everything. But we can try. And we can be here for each other when the ghosts come.”

    A faint smile touched his lips, and he kissed her again, softer this time. Neither of them slept for the rest of the night, but instead, they stayed in each other’s arms, talking in hushed voices about fears, regrets, and the hopes they rarely voiced aloud.

    By morning, the tension that had hung between them felt lighter, replaced by something deeper—an unspoken understanding that, no matter what came next, they would face it together.

  • Chapter 38 – A Wolf in Waiting

    10 – 13 Bloomingtide 9:34

    Ariana didn’t like the situation they were in. Meredith’s growing control gnawed at her, but what unsettled her more was the possibility that Kira could somehow be dragged into it. She hardly knew her older sister—their lives had been separated when Ariana was only three years old, the day Kira was sent to the Ostwick Circle. Ariana’s memories of her were fragmented at best: glimpses of a shy smile, a gentle voice, and the faintest echo of laughter. When Kira was permitted rare visits to Ostwick, Ariana had been too young to truly know her, and even then, Kira’s time with the family had been brief, tightly supervised.

    Yet family was family, and Kira’s safety mattered. The thought of Meredith setting her sights on Kira sent a chill down Ariana’s spine. Kira wouldn’t survive in Kirkwall—not under Meredith’s gaze. Gentle and compliant as she was, Kira might escape Meredith’s notice for a time, but all it would take was one mistake, one accusation. And if Meredith ever deemed her a threat, or worse, found an excuse to make her Tranquil…

    No. Ariana’s fingers curled into fists at the thought. I won’t let that happen.

    Maybe her father and Frederick could help. A preemptive transfer—somewhere far from Meredith’s grasp—might be the answer. But even that carried its risks. There was no perfect solution, and that knowledge weighed heavily on her.

    Restless and unable to sleep, Ariana rose before dawn and headed to the Rangers’ warehouse in Lowtown. It had been too long since she’d kept a proper training routine, and she could feel it in her body—the lingering stiffness from the injuries she’d sustained during the Qunari uprising. They were mostly healed now, but her movements didn’t flow as easily as they once had. If the White Wolf was to remain sharp, she couldn’t allow herself to slacken.

    Arriving at the warehouse, she was surprised to find Valentina already there, seated on a crate and sharpening a blade.

    “Wolf,” Valentina greeted, looking up. “Didn’t think I’d see you here this early. Or at all.” Her tone carried a playful edge.

    Ariana smirked. “Could say the same about you.”

    Valentina shrugged. “Old habits. What brings you here? Thought you’d be enjoying that Hightown comfort.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes. “You up for a few rounds?” she asked, stretching her arms out and rolling her neck. “I could use it.”

    Valentina chuckled, setting her blade aside. “Should I go easy on you?” she teased, the challenge in her tone evident. “You’ve been living that noble life for a while now…”

    “Oh, I see,” Ariana replied, her voice light but her eyes narrowing slightly. “You think you can take me, then?”

    “Just being honest, Wolf,” Valentina said, stepping into the open training area.

    Ariana’s smirk turned sharper. “Good. Don’t take it easy. Ever.”

    Valentina nodded, her stance shifting as she raised her hands. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

    The first clash came fast, Valentina launching a series of quick strikes aimed to test Ariana’s reflexes. Ariana dodged and countered, her movements sharp but lacking the fluidity she once had. The stiffness in her side protested with every twist and turn, a constant reminder of the wounds that had yet to fully fade.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    Her body moved instinctively, catching Valentina’s wrist mid-strike and twisting it away, but the effort sent a sharp ache through her ribs. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let it slow her.

    Valentina smirked as she stepped back, circling her. “You’re slower than I remember.”

    “And you’re more talkative,” Ariana shot back, though her tone was strained as she moved to close the distance again.

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

    The sparring intensified, each round pushing them both harder. Valentina’s strikes were calculated, designed to exploit any opening Ariana left. Ariana’s counters were precise, but each successful block or strike cost her more energy than it should have.

    In one round, Valentina feinted left and swept low, knocking Ariana off balance. Ariana hit the ground with a soft grunt but rolled quickly to her feet, her jaw tightening as she reset her stance.

    Potential is worthless without effort.

    The words stung, pushing her harder even as her muscles screamed in protest. By the final round, sweat clung to both of them, their breathing labored. Ariana managed to land a decisive strike, spinning behind Valentina and pinning her arm behind her back.

    Every misstep, every sluggish block, felt like proof she was slipping. The White Wolf wasn’t supposed to falter. If she couldn’t even hold her own against Valentina, how could she protect Kira? How could she lead the Rangers?

    You don’t fight to survive. You fight to win.

    “Yield,” Ariana demanded, her voice steady despite the burn in her muscles.

    Valentina laughed breathlessly. “Alright, alright. Yield.”

    Ariana released her, stepping back and placing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Valentina turned to face her, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Still got it,” she admitted. “Barely.”

    Ariana chuckled weakly, shaking her head. “That was harder than it should’ve been.”

    Valentina nodded, her expression shifting to something more serious. “You’ve been out of practice, Wolf. Might want to change that.”

    Ariana straightened, her jaw tightening. “I will,” she said firmly, a flicker of resolve in her eyes. She couldn’t afford to falter—not now, not with everything at stake.

    “Good,” Valentina replied, clapping her on the shoulder. “Because next time, I won’t let you win.”

    “Is that what that was?” Ariana quipped, though she appreciated Valentina’s push more than she’d admit.

    “Leaving so soon?” Valentina asked, quirking an eyebrow.

    “You know us nobles,” Ariana began with a confident smile. “Always something that needs our attention.”

    With that, Ariana stepped out into the crisp morning air, the ache in her muscles a familiar burn—a welcome one. But it did little to soothe the unease gnawing at her. Meredith’s machinations, Michael’s transfer, and the looming threat of Kira—it all felt like a storm on the horizon, one she wasn’t ready for.

    She paused at the edge of the street, watching as the first rays of sunlight began to creep over the rooftops. Potential is worthless without effort. The thought lingered, but another followed, softer, quieter.

    And survival means nothing if I fail the people who need me.

    ~~~

    After her morning training session, Ariana’s stomach reminded her of another urgent priority: breakfast. The thought of heading to the Hanged Man crossed her mind almost immediately. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Varric, and she needed to catch him up on everything, especially Meredith’s latest power play. The familiar chaos of the tavern’s patrons and its perpetually dim lighting felt like an odd comfort amidst the tension brewing in her life.

    When Ariana arrived at Varric’s suite, she found him seated at his desk, surrounded by scattered papers and ink-stained quills. His expression lit up as he glanced up from his writing, his signature smirk sliding into place. “Pup,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’ve wrestled an ogre and lost. What’s going on?”

    “Nothing good,” Ariana replied, dropping heavily into the chair across from him. She exhaled deeply, running a hand through her hair. “Meredith found Michael and had him transferred to Kirkwall.”

    Varric’s smirk faltered, replaced by a knowing look. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “That’s not a good sign,” he said. “What’s her angle?”

    Ariana shook her head, frustration and worry flickering across her face. “Leverage. Intimidation. I don’t know. But it’s Michael. He doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this.”

    Varric let out a low whistle, the gravity of the situation settling over him. “Good thing you’re still living in the shadows, Pup. But if she’s pulling family into this, she’s playing the long game.”

    Ariana sighed, nodding slightly. “That’s what I’m worried about. She’s setting the pieces, but I don’t know what the endgame is yet.”

    They spent the next hour catching up, Varric filling her in on Hawke’s latest escapades while Ariana shared updates on Ranger operations. She mentioned the few mages Hawke had sent her way recently, grateful for the help, though her mind kept straying back to Meredith and Kira. Varric, sensing her distraction, kept the mood light with his usual humor, though his sharp eyes hinted at deeper concern.

    “You’re playing with fire,” he said finally, his tone serious despite the easy smile that lingered. “And Meredith doesn’t lose gracefully.”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Good thing I’m not planning to let her win.”

    Varric chuckled softly, but his gaze remained steady. “Careful, Pup. If she’s dragging family into this, she’s ready to up the stakes.”

    Ariana hesitated, her gaze dropping momentarily before she met his eyes again. “I’ll handle it,” she said firmly, though the unease in her chest didn’t ease. She hesitated for a beat before speaking again. “But I’ll need your help, Varric.”

    The smirk faded from his face, replaced by quiet curiosity. “What kind of help?”

    “I need you to reach out to Frederick and my father,” she said, her voice lower now. “If Meredith found Michael, she could easily turn her sights on Kira next. I won’t let her get anywhere near Kirkwall. We need to move her first.”

    Varric tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You want me to put out feelers, see if we can make her… vanish?”

    “Exactly,” Ariana replied. “If Frederick’s Knight-Commander friend is willing to transfer her somewhere quiet—off the books—that’s ideal. And if both Circles lose the paperwork, even better.”

    Varric nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can dig up,” he said, his tone serious. “You know I’ve got people everywhere.”

    “Good,” Ariana said softly, her gratitude clear. “If Kira becomes a target—”

    “She won’t,” Varric cut in, his voice firm. “We’ll handle it, Pup.”

    “Thanks, Varric,” Ariana said genuinely. One thing she knew was that she could always count on him.

    ~~~

    The night air carried a gentle coolness, a refreshing contrast to the lingering warmth of the summer day. The stars stretched across the dark expanse above, gleaming like scattered jewels. Ariana sat on the stone bench in the courtyard, her eyes drawn upward. The stillness of the evening, broken only by the occasional murmur of the wind through the trees, offered a rare and soothing reprieve from the tension of the past few days.

    She heard the soft sound of footsteps behind her, and then Michael’s voice broke the silence. “I see this is still a habit of yours.”

    Ariana turned toward him, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she straightened. “It is. The stars calm me,” she replied, her tone light as she motioned for him to sit beside her.

    Michael settled next to her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them not unwelcome.

    “You’d probably think I’m crazy if I ever told you about the night I ran away,” Ariana said with a quiet chuckle, her gaze still on the stars.

    Michael looked at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Probably,” he said, his tone carrying a teasing warmth. “Though I think much of what you’ve done sounds crazy.”

    Ariana laughed softly, leaning back against the bench. “Fair point.”

    Michael took a deep breath, his expression shifting to something more somber. “Ari… I wanted to apologize.”

    She turned her head to look at him, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “For what, Michael?”

    “For how I treated you… back before the Blight,” he said, his voice quiet and laden with regret. His gaze dropped to the stone beneath his feet. “For dragging you to the Circle and having you thrown in a cell. For trying to take you again after you came to warn us about the Battle of Ostagar. I remember how I reacted when I saw you and Cullen standing there together. And for how I spoke to you back then.”

    Ariana reached out, placing her hands over his. Her voice was gentle as she said, “It’s alright, Michael. You were doing what you thought was best.”

    “Maybe,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But it wasn’t fair to you.” His voice dropped further, filled with quiet remorse. “Over the years, I’ve come to realize I was… unfair. Hypocritical, even.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes sincere. “I joined the Templars to escape that life of nobility. The politics, the expectations, the endless rules that told you what you could and couldn’t be. And yet, I expected you to stay, to shoulder the weight I had cast off.”

    Ariana didn’t reply right away. Instead, she pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was alive,” she said softly. “Getting to Lake Calenhad wasn’t easy during the Blight. I actually… almost got myself killed trying to go back there.”

    Michael pulled back slightly, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I’m so—”

    “It’s alright,” Ariana interrupted gently. She smiled faintly, her hands still on his shoulders. “How about we both agree we made mistakes back then? I made a lot of them. We’ve probably both paid for our mistakes more than enough. I don’t think we need to hold on to them.”

    Michael looked at her, his expression softening as a small smile broke through. “Start over?” he asked, his tone light but hopeful.

    “Start over,” Ariana confirmed, standing and offering her hand to him. Michael took it, letting her pull him to his feet.

    As Ariana pulled Michael to his feet, a thought lingered in her mind, quiet but insistent. Meredith’s schemes, as twisted as they were, had unintentionally given her a chance to rebuild something she thought she’d lost with Michael. Despite everything, they were here, together, and she wouldn’t let Meredith tear that apart again.

    And Kira… Kira had always been a ghost, a faint presence on the edges of her childhood memories. But maybe, just maybe, if she could keep Kira safe, she’d finally have a chance to know her—to gain the sister she’d always imagined but never truly had.

    The thought brought a flicker of hope amidst the storm brewing within her. Protecting Kira wasn’t just about defying Meredith; it was about reclaiming something she’d never thought possible.

    “Come,” she said, her tone brightening as she turned toward the house. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

    Michael raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his expression as he followed her inside.

    ~~~

    As they stepped into the kitchen, Ariana’s gaze immediately fell on Cullen. He was seated on the bench, Emma perched comfortably on his lap, her tiny hands gripping the amulet that always hung around his neck. The sight tugged at something deep within her, drawing a soft smile despite the tension lingering in her chest.

    “Well, I see someone’s already found her favorite Templar,” Ariana teased as she walked closer, her tone light but tinged with warmth.

    Cullen glanced up, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. “Yes, I’ve already been ordered to the library,” he said, his voice carrying a soft humor. “But I managed to negotiate a delay until after dinner.”

    Ariana gestured for Michael to follow her. “Emma,” she said gently, her tone softening as she addressed the little girl, “meet your uncle Michael.”

    Emma turned at the sound of her name, her wide eyes landing on Michael with innocent curiosity. Without hesitation, she reached for the shiny clasp of his Templar insignia, her tiny hands signaling her desire to be picked up.

    Michael hesitated briefly, confusion flickering across his face before he obliged, lifting her carefully into his arms. Emma immediately busied herself with his buttons, her small fingers tugging at them with focused determination.

    “Ari…” Michael began, his voice low and uncertain as his gaze shifted between her and Cullen. “Is she… are you…” He trailed off, motioning vaguely between them as if trying to piece together an answer.

    Ariana exchanged a glance with Cullen, her cheeks already beginning to flush. She opened her mouth to respond, but Isabel appeared from the pantry, her calm voice cutting through the moment.

    “She’s my daughter, Michael,” Isabel said matter-of-factly, setting down a plate on the counter.

    “Thank you, Isabel,” Ariana muttered, her tone dry as her blush deepened.

    Cullen’s chuckle broke the brief silence, his hazel eyes dancing with quiet amusement. That knowing smile—one that seemed to hint at someday—only made Ariana more flustered. She groaned softly and retreated to the table, dropping her face into her folded arms.

    “Go ahead, laugh it up,” she mumbled, her voice muffled.

    Isabel shook her head, her tone carrying a hint of exasperated fondness as she set out more dishes. “Alright, enough fussing. Sit. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

    Michael eased into the chair across from Ariana, Emma still nestled in his lap, content to fidget with his insignia. His faint smile faded as his eyes flicked back to his sister. “Ari,” he began cautiously, “if she’s Isabel’s… then how am I—”

    The lightness in the room seemed to evaporate. Ariana straightened, her expression cooling as she cut him off with a single word. “Mark.”

    The name hung in the air like a bitter curse. Michael’s jaw tightened, his face reddening as his hands stilled against Emma’s small frame. “Entitled bastard,” he spat, the venom in his voice barely restrained. “I hope he never comes to visit. I’ll kill him.”

    Ariana let out a dry laugh, though her gaze dropped to the table. “I don’t worry about it anymore,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t visit. I doubt he even cares that he has a daughter.” Her voice softened slightly, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood. “Besides, Father forbade the entire family from coming to Kirkwall unless I specifically invite them. He’s the one who brought Isabel and Emma here, knowing they’d be safer and happier.”

    Michael’s shoulders eased, though the anger in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. He glanced down at Emma, her innocent curiosity a stark contrast to the weight of their conversation. His expression softened as she gave up on the buttons and patted his chest with a satisfied grin.

    “She is very cute,” he said quietly, his voice losing its earlier edge.

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, the heaviness in her chest lifting slightly. “Welcome to being an uncle.”

    Across the table, Cullen had been silent, but Ariana caught the subtle way his hand tightened around the edge of the bench. His eyes flicked briefly to hers, filled with a quiet but fierce protectiveness that sent a rush of warmth through her. Beneath the calm exterior, she could see the storm of thoughts stirring behind those hazel eyes.

    When his hand brushed against hers under the table, she gave a gentle squeeze in return, the silent exchange grounding her. His steady presence felt like an anchor, and she was grateful for it, even if the moment was fleeting.

    For a brief moment, Ariana let herself breathe, her thoughts drifting to Kira. Mark’s selfishness had cost him nothing, yet its shadow loomed over the people she cared about. A bitter thought flickered through her mind before she could stop it: If only Mark had been the one to turn out a mage. She pushed it away, ashamed but unable to deny the fleeting wish. Maybe, just maybe, saving Kira could give her the chance to have a sister—someone she could protect before Meredith’s machinations reached her.

    Cullen’s quiet strength, Michael’s rediscovered loyalty, and Isabel’s steady presence reminded her that not all bonds could be shattered by the past. Some were reforged, stronger than ever.

    And perhaps, she thought as her gaze flicked between them, there was hope for the future after all.

    ~~~

    When Isabel returned with the wine and the final dishes, the mood shifted into something lighter, warmer. They all settled at the table together—Cullen, Michael, Isabel, Emma, and Ariana—a small but oddly complete gathering. For the first time in a long while, Ariana felt the weight of their collective lives ease, even if only for an evening.

    The food was delicious, the wine flowed generously, and conversation came easily. Michael shared stories from his time as a Templar, carefully choosing the lighter ones that wouldn’t dredge up painful memories. Isabel chimed in with anecdotes of Emma’s latest adventures around the estate, making them all laugh as Emma gleefully babbled about “helping” Isabel in the garden and “defeating” imaginary monsters.

    Ariana watched it all, a soft smile playing on her lips as she leaned back in her chair, her glass of wine cradled loosely in her hand. Despite the circumstances surrounding Michael’s arrival and the looming threat of Meredith, she liked having him here. She hadn’t said it earlier in the courtyard, but she regretted so much about their interactions back in Ferelden. She hadn’t been kind to him then, and even months ago, on the road, she’d kept her distance. Now, though, there was a chance to start fresh.

    Yet, beneath the warmth of the evening, a quiet isolation stirred. Her love for Cullen, her gratitude for Isabel and Emma, and the newfound connection with Michael—they were all precious to her. But they weren’t the whole of who she was. The White Wolf was missing. The longer she stayed in Hightown, wrapped in the guise of a noblewoman, the more she felt herself fading.

    Her gaze drifted to Cullen as he laughed softly at something Isabel said. His hazel eyes were warm and content, and her heart swelled with love for him. But even with him beside her, she felt untethered. She needed purpose, needed the fight again. Varric’s suggestion to join Hawke had sparked something in her—a reminder that she wasn’t meant to sit idly by.

    As the evening wound down and Isabel began clearing the table, Michael was the first to rise, stretching languidly. “I think I’ll turn in,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Too much wine, and I’m no good tomorrow. And my Knight-Captain doesn’t let anything slide.” he teased, earning a chuckle from Cullen and Ariana.

    Isabel smirked, already stacking the empty plates. “Your room’s ready, as expected,” she said, her tone brisk but fond. “Go get some rest, child. You’ve earned it.”

    Michael gave a small nod before glancing at Ariana. “Good night, Ari,” he said, his tone softer. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

    Ariana smiled, her affection for him evident. “Good night, Michael.”

    As he disappeared down the hall, Isabel continued clearing the table, her efficient movements filling the quiet space. Cullen began to rise, his hand brushing against the back of his chair as he prepared to leave. Ariana touched his arm gently. “Stay,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet vulnerability that made him pause. “Please.”

    Cullen’s eyes searched hers for a moment before he nodded. “Of course,” he replied, his voice low.

    Isabel arched an eyebrow but said nothing, simply watching as Ariana led Cullen upstairs to her room. Once inside, the air shifted, the tension of the day giving way to a more intimate stillness. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, holding her close without saying a word. She let herself lean into him, the weight of her thoughts momentarily eased by his steady presence.

    They shared little conversation, both content to let the quiet speak for them. That night, as they lay entwined beneath the covers, Ariana felt a flicker of peace.

    ~~~

    Ariana tightened the straps on her practice gear, her twin daggers gleaming faintly in the soft morning light. Cullen stood across from her, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on his practice sword. The crisp air carried the faint scent of salt from the harbor, and the gentle hum of the waking city seemed far removed from the quiet tension between them.

    “You’re sure about this?” Cullen asked, his voice calm but tinged with concern as his hazel eyes scanned her figure. His gaze lingered briefly on the area around her ribs, where he knew she still felt the phantom ache of past injuries.

    “I’m sure,” Ariana replied with a faint smirk, gripping her daggers loosely. “I need to stretch these muscles. Sitting idle isn’t helping them heal.”

    Cullen frowned, his jaw tightening slightly. “You could just stick to stretches, Ariana. You’re still recovering.” His tone was measured, but the protective undercurrent was unmistakable.

    Ariana arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re not going to let me break, Knight-Captain,” she said lightly. “And if you are, we can always stop.”

    Cullen sighed, lowering his sword slightly. “Fine,” he said, though his tone was reluctant. “But we’ll stick to the basics. No sudden movements, no overexertion. Just focus on your form.”

    Ariana inclined her head, stepping into a ready stance. “Very well.”

    They began slowly, Cullen testing her reflexes with light, deliberate strikes. Ariana moved carefully, her daggers flashing as she deflected each blow. The movements were smooth, but her body reminded her of its limits with every twist and turn. The muscles around her ribs protested faintly, but she pushed through, focusing on her breathing to steady herself.

    “Your stance is off,” Cullen said, stepping back briefly to observe her. “Shift your weight to your left leg. It’ll take the pressure off your ribs.”

    Ariana adjusted, nodding slightly as she met his gaze. “Better?”

    “Better,” Cullen confirmed, circling her with a cautious precision that spoke volumes about his restraint. His strikes were slow and measured, designed to test her balance rather than push her endurance.

    Ariana held her hand up, pausing their session to get some water. She held his gaze for a moment before stepping closer, her tone shifting to something more serious. “I need your help.”

    Cullen straightened, his brow furrowing slightly. “With what?”

    “Kira,” Ariana said, her voice steady but edged with worry. “I’m afraid Meredith will target her next.”

    Cullen’s frown deepened, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

    “Frederick has a Knight-Commander friend in Markham,” she explained. “If we can get Kira transferred there quietly, it’ll keep her out of Meredith’s reach. But I’ll need you to keep an eye on transfer orders—make sure nothing slips past us.”

    Cullen considered her words, his hazel eyes narrowing in thought. “You really think Meredith would go after your sister?”

    “I know she would,” Ariana said firmly. “If she thought it would give her leverage over me, she wouldn’t hesitate.”

    Cullen exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he gave a small nod. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll keep watch. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”

    Relief flickered across Ariana’s face, and she offered him a faint but genuine smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity.

    Cullen returned her smile, his tone lightening slightly. “Just promise me one thing.”

    “What’s that?”

    “Next time,” he said, his smirk returning, “don’t wait until we’re sparring to tell me what’s on your mind.”

    Ariana laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Deal.”

    They resumed sparring, the rhythm steady and deliberate. Cullen’s strikes remained light, focusing on her form and stance rather than speed or strength. Ariana matched his pace, her movements gradually becoming more fluid. Each deflection and counterstrike stretched her muscles, easing some of the stiffness she’d carried for weeks.

    “Better,” Cullen said after a particularly clean parry. “You’re moving more naturally now.”

    “Don’t sound so surprised,” Ariana quipped, though the faint sheen of sweat on her brow betrayed her effort.

    The faint creak of the courtyard doors caught her attention, and she glanced up mid-motion, her breathing steady but quickened. Michael stood at the edge of the courtyard, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity as he watched them.

    Ariana paused, lowering her daggers as Cullen stepped back, his own gaze shifting toward Michael.

    “Michael,” she said, her tone light but edged with curiosity. “Didn’t expect you up this early.”

    Michael crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect to find you out here sparring,” he replied, his eyes flicking to her daggers. “The last time I saw you train, you could barely hold a wooden sword. Father was just humoring you back then.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I guess I’ve had some practice since then.”

    Michael shook his head, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “I’d say so. You’re a far cry from the little girl who used to run off with the wooden sword to go find imaginary dragons with Frederick.”

    Ariana laughed more genuinely than she had in a while “Maker… I didn’t even remember that.” she said suddenly smiling at the memory. She turned to look at Cullen, reaching for his hand “Come on. Let’s get breakfast before Isabel starts wondering if we’ve run off.”

    Cullen set the practice sword aside, his gaze lingering on Ariana for a moment before taking her hand. Michael trailed slightly behind, his eyes flicking between the two of them. The weight of the sparring session hung lightly in the air, a subtle but poignant reminder of how much had changed—and how much had stayed the same.

    As they stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked bread and brewed tea greeted them, promising a brief reprieve from the weight of their thoughts.

  • Chapter 34 – Good Morning

    29 Drakonis – 3 Cloudreach 9:34

    Cullen made his way through the bustling streets of Kirkwall’s Alienage, his gaze sharp as he scanned each face, each shadowed corner. His mind, however, was elsewhere—tangled in the same thread of doubt he couldn’t escape. Every person he spoke to spoke of the White Wolf as a hero, their voices thick with gratitude, their eyes filled with reverence.

    A young woman stepped forward, clutching her child to her chest. “The White Wolf saved my family. They made sure we got out before the Qunari hit the docks. Without them, we wouldn’t be here.”

    Cullen nodded, his expression unreadable. “Do you know where they are now?”

    The woman shook her head, her eyes a mix of sorrow and admiration. “The White Wolf comes and goes like a shadow. But I’ll never forget what they did for us.”

    Cullen’s lips tightened. The praise, the stories—they gnawed at him. Why didn’t they just leave it alone? Every encounter was the same. Heroism. Selflessness. No questions asked. He couldn’t understand it. It didn’t fit with what he believed to be true. He had spent years learning that people who worked outside the law, without accountability, were dangerous. So why did the White Wolf’s actions seem different? Why did it feel as though something was being hidden?

    Frustration bubbled beneath the surface as he walked toward Lowtown, the scent of salt from the docks mingling with the air. That’s when he heard it, the familiar voice of Varric, always ready with a quip.

    “Well, well, what brings our esteemed Knight-Captain down to the dregs of Lowtown?” Varric called, leaning casually against a support beam, his ever-present Bianca slung across his back. Hawke stood beside him, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips.

    “I’m investigating rumors about the White Wolf,” Cullen said tightly, his frustration slipping through in his tone.

    Varric raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the infamous White Wolf. Hero to some, enigma to all. What’s got you chasing shadows, Knight-Captain?”

    “Trying to verify the claims people keep making,” Cullen replied, his voice clipped. “About their supposed heroics.”

    “Which ones?” Varric tilted his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “Do you mean the time they saved the Knight-Captain of the Templars and the Gallows from the Qunari? Because that’s a story worth hearing again.”

    Hawke chuckled. “Maybe I’ll have to share the title of Champion of Kirkwall, given they’ve apparently saved the city just as many times as I have.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Champion and White Wolf… it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

    Varric chuckled. “Can a city even have two Champions? There’d have to be some kind of duel. For dramatic effect, of course.”

    Cullen’s patience, already thin, snapped. “You’re joking, but how can you trust someone who works for coin?” he snapped. “A mercenary doesn’t act out of the goodness of their heart.”

    Hawke’s mock-offense was immediate, her hand over her chest. “And here I thought we were friends, Cullen. You wound me.”

    “You’re not a mercenary,” Cullen said, exasperation bleeding through his words.

    Varric and Hawke exchanged a knowing glance, and then Varric leaned in, his voice low. “Hate to break it to you, Curly, but we did make quite a bit of coin off that Deep Roads expedition. Purely out of the goodness of our hearts, naturally.”

    “And people do pay me for my services,” Hawke added with a grin. “Does that make me untrustworthy too?”

    Cullen opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss. Frustration flared, and he shook his head. “This isn’t getting me anywhere,” he muttered, turning to leave.

    “Good luck with your search, Knight-Captain,” Varric called after him, amusement still evident in his voice.

    Cullen’s steps quickened, his thoughts a tangled mess. His investigation had led him nowhere. Every turn felt like a dead end, and yet people spoke so highly of the White Wolf. Could they really be as noble as they seemed? Could someone truly act selflessly without expecting anything in return? He thought of Ariana, and a wave of doubt swept over him. Could she be hiding something from him, too? His chest tightened. The question hung in his mind like an unspoken truth—was the White Wolf really a hero, or was this just another mercenary, cloaked in tales of heroism?

    By the time he reached the Gallows, Cullen felt no closer to finding the answers he sought. His investigation, his doubts—they seemed to be leading him in circles. Perhaps the White Wolf wasn’t the enigma he needed to solve. Perhaps, instead, it was Ariana.

    ~~~

    Later that evening, Cullen arrived at the estate, his steps hesitant as he entered the courtyard. The dim glow of lanterns illuminated Ariana, lying on one of the stone benches, her gaze fixed on the stars. She looked peaceful, but there was a tension in the way her fingers absently traced the edge of the bench, a silent sign of her inner turmoil.

    “You should be in bed,” he said softly, stepping closer.

    Ariana turned her head, her hazel-green eyes catching the faint light. Her smile was faint but teasing, though Cullen caught the way her fingers lingered against the edge of the bench, betraying an undercurrent of tension. “I’ve been in bed for days… in your bed… alone,” she added, her tone laced with an edge of humor that felt almost too intentional, as if shielding a deeper thought.

    Cullen faltered mid-step, heat creeping up his neck as he cleared his throat. He struggled to keep his composure, forcing himself to focus on her injuries rather than the mental image her words stirred. “You’re still healing,” he said gruffly, his voice betraying a mix of exasperation and concern.

    Ariana chuckled softly, her gaze drifting back to the stars. “I just needed this,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, contemplative. “I need an answer.”

    Cullen watched her, his arms crossing over his chest. The weight of the past few days pressed heavily on him—seeing her injured, not knowing if she would wake, and now, sensing the unspoken question behind her teasing words. Her veiled deflection unsettled him, leaving him wondering what answer she was searching for beneath the surface. He couldn’t decide if her humor was a shield or a lifeline.

    She shifted slightly, wincing as her ribs protested the movement. Cullen frowned, stepping closer. “An answer to what?”

    Ariana’s fingers stilled against the stone as she glanced at him, her lips parting as if to speak but hesitating. He watched her carefully, the way her brows furrowed and her eyes seemed to hold a storm of unspoken thoughts. Was she trying to say something but holding back?

    Finally, she spoke, her voice low and deliberate. “I heard a rumor…”

    Cullen exhaled, his lips quirking into a faint, reluctant smile. He moved to sit beside her, giving her room to adjust so she could lay her head on his lap. “What is it this time?” he asked, his tone lighter as he ran a hand through her hair.

    Ariana glanced up at him, her eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite place. “I heard the White Wolf saved the ‘Knight-Captain of Kirkwall’ and the Gallows from falling to the Qunari…” she let the words trail off, her expression carefully neutral.

     Cullen’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle motion through her hair. His investigation had replayed the story over and over in his mind, but hearing it now, tied to her voice, brought the memory into sharper focus—the chaos of the docks, the White Wolf standing between him and death, the sense of relief and confusion that followed. “They helped. Yes.”

    Ariana tilted her head slightly, her cheek still resting on his lap. “That seems to trouble you…” she said softly, her voice probing yet calm.

    He hesitated, his eyes tracing the constellations above. “It doesn’t trouble me that they helped,” he said slowly, his voice measured. “What troubles me is not knowing their true intentions.”

    “Their intentions?” Ariana echoed, her tone curious but tinged with feigned nonchalance.

    “The White Wolf,” Cullen said, his tone softening as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “They operate outside the law, outside accountability. They make choices without oversight. Yes, they saved lives, but what happens when those choices go wrong? When innocent people are hurt because of them?”

    Ariana’s faint smile faded. “The same thing that happens when the Templars make mistakes,” she said quietly, her voice careful. “Only no one holds them accountable, either.”

    Cullen flinched slightly, his jaw tightening. Her words cut deeper than he expected, leaving him questioning not only the Order but his own role within it. He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind, but her words left little room for interpretation. “It’s not the same.”

    “Isn’t it?” Ariana’s voice remained soft, but her words were pointed. “The White Wolf saved the Gallows, Cullen. Without them, the Qunari would’ve overrun the docks, and you… you wouldn’t be here right now.”

    He looked down at her, conflicted. “I’m not denying what they did,” he said. “I’m grateful they intervened. But their methods, their motivations—those are the things I can’t overlook.”

    Ariana shifted, propping herself up just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes searched his, as if trying to understand his meaning. “What do you think their motivations are?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    Cullen hesitated, his brow furrowing as he considered her question. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “And that’s what makes it dangerous. People like the White Wolf… they don’t answer to anyone. How do you trust someone like that?”

    Ariana held his gaze for a moment before responding. “What if their motivation was simple?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “What if it was just… to help people?”

    Cullen’s thoughts spiraled. Could it really be that simple? Could someone fight for others without expecting anything in return? The idea felt foreign, almost naive, yet her words carried an undeniable sincerity.

    “If that’s true,” he said quietly, “then I want to believe in them. But belief doesn’t erase the risks.”

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Everyone’s dangerous to someone, Cullen. Even you.”

    Her words left him speechless. Dangerous. The word felt like a blade turned inward. He’d spent years trying to be a protector, a shield for others, yet she was right. Even his best intentions could harm those he cared for.

    The quiet stretched on as Cullen’s gaze shifted back to the stars. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and steady. “What do you think of them?”

    Ariana closed her eyes, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “I think they’re doing their best,” she said. “Just like the rest of us.”

    Her words lingered in the air, and Cullen found himself unable to look away from her. There was something about the way she spoke, the quiet conviction in her voice, that both comforted and unsettled him.

    Cullen’s hand moved gently through Ariana’s hair, the strands slipping between his fingers like silk. The courtyard’s stillness felt fragile, as though the weight of their words might shatter it. Her presence, both calming and disquieting, grounded him. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and steady, devoid of reproach. “Who is he, Ari?”

    Her reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes snapped open, the barest flicker of alarm breaking through her composed mask. Cullen noted how her fingers gripped the bench’s edge for a fraction of a second before she stilled them, as though trying to maintain her outward calm. There was a subtle shift in her breathing, a tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and it only deepened his unease. She tilted her head slightly, her expression measured as she met his gaze. “Why do you think I know?” she replied, her tone careful, yet there was an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite name—defiance or perhaps fear?

    He felt the ache of her guardedness, a familiar weight that tightened his chest. Drawing a deep breath, he let his hand still, resting it gently against her hair. “You said the Silver Rangers saved you during the Blight.”

    Her exhale was barely audible, but the subtle tension in her shoulders betrayed her. Cullen noticed everything—every slight shift, every flicker of emotion she tried to suppress. Her reply came calmly, though he sensed the careful crafting of each word. “The White Wolf wasn’t there then.”

    His brow furrowed slightly as he nodded, her words sinking into the pool of doubts swirling within him. “Yet you still have friends among them,” he said, his voice soft but insistent, probing without accusation.

    “I don’t ask questions they won’t answer,” she said simply, her gaze drifting back to the stars. Her tone held an air of finality, and for a moment, he considered letting it go. But the unspoken truths between them weighed heavily, a barrier he couldn’t seem to breach.

    Cullen sighed and leaned back slightly, his eyes following hers to the sky. The tension between them remained palpable, unspoken questions hanging in the air. Before he could decide whether to press further, her voice drew him back.

    “Cullen?” she asked tentatively, her tone softer now, almost hesitant. “Why is Knight-Commander Meredith in charge of Kirkwall right now? No Templar should ever be in that position.”

    Her words struck a chord, his posture stiffening as if bracing himself against their weight. He felt a familiar tension coil within him, a sharp reminder of the precarious balance he walked between duty and doubt. The mere mention of Meredith always brought his deepest fears to the surface: the fear of failing his men, the city, and her. It wasn’t just Meredith’s authority he questioned, but his own ability to stand firm against what he knew was a dangerous path. His hand paused its gentle motion, and his jaw tightened imperceptibly. “It’s not ideal,” he admitted cautiously. “But with the Viscount dead and no clear successor, someone had to step in to maintain order.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed, her gaze unwavering. “But why her? Why Meredith?” she pressed, her voice restrained but sharp. “There are other leaders in Kirkwall, other people who could have taken on that responsibility.”

    He exhaled slowly, choosing his words with care. “Because no one else stepped forward,” he said, his tone measured. “The city was in chaos after the Qunari attack. The people needed a leader—someone who could act decisively. And for better or worse, Meredith is… decisive.”

    “Decisive,” she echoed bitterly, her voice laced with skepticism. “Or power-hungry? You cannot tell me that you think this is right, Cullen. A Templar overseeing the city, ruling over mages and civilians alike? This is not how it is supposed to work.”

    Her words cut deeper than she likely intended, and Cullen’s jaw clenched. “I am not blind to the problems,” he said, his voice steady but strained. “But the Knight-Commander has done what she believes is necessary to protect Kirkwall.”

    “And you support her?” Ariana’s voice softened, but the question carried a sharp edge.

    Cullen hesitated, the weight of her gaze and her words pressing down on him. “I serve the Order,” he said finally, his tone low. “And right now, that means following her lead. But that does not mean I agree with everything she does.”

    Her expression didn’t waver as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes searching his face. “Then why stay silent?” she asked, her voice quieter but no less pointed. “If you see the cracks, the dangers in what she’s doing, why not speak out?”

    He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because dissent in the ranks would only make things worse,” he said firmly. “If the Templars are divided, the city will descend into chaos again. I cannot risk that.”

    Ariana closed her eyes briefly, her expression torn between understanding and frustration. “I know you believe in the Order, Cullen,” she said softly. “But belief without question… that is dangerous.”

    Her words struck him, the vulnerability in her tone piercing through his defenses. He looked at her, his throat tightening. “And what would you have me do, Ariana? Defy my Knight-Commander? Turn my back on the Order?”

    “I do not know,” she admitted, her voice a whisper. “But I know this is not the path to peace. Meredith ruling this city… it will tear Kirkwall apart.”

    Cullen’s shoulders sagged slightly, her conviction pressing heavily on him. “I’ll admit, it troubles me too,” he said quietly. “But until someone steps forward to challenge her authority, I do not see another path.”

    Ariana’s gaze softened, her determination simmering just beneath the surface. “I suppose we both have our hands tied, then,” she murmured. “But Cullen… know this: the fate of Kirkwall is in your hands. You are the only person in this city with the power to stop Meredith.” Her words lingered between them, the weight of her trust and expectation settling on his shoulders.

    He swallowed hard, her statement reverberating through him. “I’ll… keep my eyes open,” he said finally, his voice steady but subdued. “And I’ll do what I can to ensure that no harm comes to the people of Kirkwall.”

    Her lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “I know you will,” she replied, though her mind was already turning, considering the next step forward.

    Cullen took a deep breath, the weight of their conversation settling heavily on him. He didn’t want to argue with her—not about Meredith, not about the White Wolf. Yet her words had stirred something within him, an uncomfortable awareness of his own authority, of what it might mean if he chose to act against Meredith. But she was right. The power to make that choice lay with him.

    He reached out again, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Ari…” he began, his voice faltering as he hesitated. “I… don’t know what I would have done had I lost you…”

    Her gaze softened, and she sat up carefully, turning to face him fully despite the faint protest of her injuries. “You didn’t,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him into a reassuring embrace. “I’m still here.”

    Cullen held her close, his arms encircling her protectively. He closed his eyes, his chin resting lightly against her shoulder. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved tensions faded for a moment as the quiet of the courtyard enveloped them. His grip tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the bond between them and the burdens they each carried.

    For now, they clung to the fragile peace of the moment, each drawing strength from the other as the shadows of Kirkwall loomed ever closer.

    ~~~

    Ariana sat in the library, her movements deliberate and measured, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the armrest of her chair. The faintest wince tugged at her features as she shifted, the ache in her ribs a constant reminder of the injuries she had sustained. She could still feel the phantom sting of the blade that had run her through and the sharp, dull pain of her now bruised ribs with every breath. But she refused to let it show beyond the occasional flicker of discomfort.

    The door creaked open, revealing Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea. All three regarded Ariana with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

    “There she is, our fearless leader,” Valentina drawled, a grin tugging at her lips. “Sitting here like she hasn’t been stabbed through and through.”

    Ariana smirked, leaning back slightly despite the flare of pain. “I’m resting, as you can see. Isn’t that what you’ve all been nagging me to do?”

    “Resting?” Linnea raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with dry humor. “More like brooding in style.”

    “I don’t brood,” Ariana shot back, her smirk widening. “I reflect. It’s very noble of me.”

    Lamberto snorted, his arms crossed. “Sure, Wolf. And I’m a Chantry sister.”

    Valentina chuckled, dropping into a chair opposite Ariana. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be lying low, you’ve been anything but subtle. Cullen carrying you to the Circle? That’s not exactly keeping a low profile.”

    “He carried Ariana Trevelyan, not the White Wolf.” Ariana’s smirk faltered. “Wait, you didn’t report this to Riley, did you?”

    Valentina’s grin widened. “Oh, we absolutely did. She needed to know how spectacularly bad you are at following your own plans.”

    Ariana groaned, running a hand down her face. “Maker’s breath, Val. I’ll be getting an earful from her any day now.”

    “If by earful you mean a letter long enough to make a mage’s dissertation look like a love note,” Linnea quipped, her tone teasing. “She’s not going to let this slide, you know.”

    “She’ll probably show up here just to drag you back to bed,” Lamberto added with a grin.

    Ariana sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “And here I thought I was leading the Silver Rangers, not a group of nursemaids.”

    “Someone has to keep you in one piece,” Valentina said with a smirk. “Not that you make it easy.”

    Linnea’s gaze flicked to Ariana’s side, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re still moving like you’re one good laugh away from cracking in half. How long are we going to have to put up with you pretending you’re fine?”

    “As long as it takes,” Ariana replied lightly, though the slight tightness in her voice betrayed her. “I’ve had worse.”

    “Oh, of course you have,” Valentina said with mock seriousness. “You’re invincible, after all. Our indestructible leader.”

    “Exactly,” Ariana said with a grin, ignoring the ache in her ribs as she adjusted her posture. “Now, anything new to report? Or are you here just to give me a hard time?”

    Linnea crossed her arms, her smirk returning. “Actually, we do have news. Cullen’s been sniffing around about the White Wolf. Guess who he ran into while questioning people in the Alienage?”

    Ariana’s curiosity was piqued. “Who?”

    “Varric and Hawke,” Linnea said, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “They had quite the conversation. Apparently, Hawke’s wondering if she’ll have to share her Champion title with you.”

    Ariana laughed softly, the sound warm despite her lingering discomfort. “I can only imagine how that went. Poor Cullen.”

    “Oh, it was beautiful,” Valentina said, her grin widening. “Hawke and Varric turned his questions right back on him, had him all flustered.”

    “And when he asked how anyone could trust a mercenary,” Linnea added, “Hawke acted all offended. It was priceless.”

    “I owe them both a drink,” Ariana said with a chuckle.

    Valentina leaned forward, her tone softening. “Wolf, you’ve got people looking out for you—even when you’re too stubborn to look out for yourself.”

    Ariana’s smile softened, her eyes meeting Valentina’s. “I know. And I appreciate it. Even if you all drive me mad sometimes.”

    Lamberto chuckled, his voice low but warm. “That’s our job.”

    The room settled into a comfortable quiet, the banter easing into a shared sense of camaraderie. Despite the weight of their worries, the bond between them remained steadfast. She hadn’t said it to anyone, not to them, but she missed them. She missed not having to hide. She missed living and working with the Rangers day to day.

    Linnea broke the silence, her voice quieter now. “You know, Cullen’s not just asking about the White Wolf because of what happened at the docks. It’s more than that.”

    Ariana’s gaze flicked to Linnea, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

    “I overheard him talking to someone in the market,” Linnea said. “He’s not just curious—he’s conflicted. Like he’s trying to figure out if he can trust them. Trust you.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened, her fingers curling slightly against the armrest. “Did he say anything else?” she asked, her voice steady despite the unease stirring within her.

    Linnea shook her head. “No, but it’s clear he’s grappling with more than just the White Wolf’s reputation. I think… he’s trying to make sense of everything he’s been taught.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her thoughts churning. She’d known Cullen was questioning things, but hearing it confirmed added a new weight to her already heavy burden. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing to reconcile her roles—as Ariana Trevelyan, as the White Wolf, and as someone who loved Cullen.

    “You’ll figure it out, Wolf,” Valentina said softly, her voice filled with quiet assurance. “You always do.”

    Ariana’s gaze softened as she looked at her Rangers. “Not without all of you,” she replied, her voice thick with gratitude. For now, she would carry the weight of her secrets, but she knew she wasn’t alone.

    ~~~

    Ariana paced the length of her bedroom, her bare feet silent against the cool wooden floor. She had dismissed Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea hours ago, but their words clung to her like a persistent shadow. The faint scent of lavender and parchment filled the room, mingling with the distant hum of the city beyond the estate walls. She tried to focus on the rhythmic rustle of the trees outside, but her mind refused to settle.

    Cullen was investigating the White Wolf. She knew it was inevitable, yet the knowledge twisted in her chest. Every step he took closer to the truth felt like a step away from her. She hated the secrecy, the fragile balance between who she was and who he thought she was. The weight of it all seemed unbearable tonight.

    Her gaze drifted to the balcony, where the moonlight spilled across the floor like a silver invitation. She leaned against the railing, nursing a glass of wine, the cool night air brushing against her skin. She had changed into her favored blue house robe, the fabric loose and comfortable, but it did little to ease the tension coiled within her. The stars above offered no answers, only silent, distant company.

    The faint creak of the bedroom door pulled her from her thoughts. Turning too quickly, she winced as her ribs protested the motion, but her breath caught when she saw Cullen step inside. His armor was gone, replaced by the soft linen of his undershirt and trousers, his golden hair slightly mussed as though he’d been running his hands through it. Relief washed over her, momentarily softening the edges of her restlessness.

    “Cullen,” she greeted softly, a smile creeping onto her lips. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

    “I wasn’t sure if I should come,” he admitted, his voice low as he crossed the room to stand before her. “But I needed to see you.”

    Ariana’s smile faltered for a moment as she searched his face. His golden eyes held a storm of emotions—conflict, worry, and something deeper that she couldn’t quite name. She set her glass down and reached for his hand, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re here now,” she said, her voice a quiet reassurance.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing under her touch. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation earlier… about Meredith, the White Wolf,” he began, his tone hesitant. “It’s all… complicated.”

    “It is,” Ariana agreed, her fingers tightening slightly around his. She guided him toward the seating area, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. “But for tonight, let’s not think about Meredith or Kirkwall. Just for tonight.”

    Her words hung in the air, a quiet plea that Cullen couldn’t ignore. He nodded, allowing her to pull him down onto the plush settee beside her. Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that spoke of shared burdens and unspoken understanding.

    “Ari,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, edged with a fragile intensity. “I can’t lose you. Promise me you’ll be careful, that you’ll never do something like that again.”

    She turned to him, her hazel-green eyes shimmering in the firelight, reflecting a quiet conflict. “You know I can’t promise that,” she said softly, her hand coming up to rest against his cheek. “But I’ll try.”

    His breath hitched as he leaned into her touch, his eyes searching hers as though grounding himself in her presence. His voice dropped, raw and sincere. “I need you, Ari. More than you know. I can’t—” He broke off, his throat tight, the weight of his fears unspoken but palpable. “Please, just… stay safe.”

    Her heart ached at his vulnerability, her fingers brushing lightly along his jaw. “I’ll do my best,” she promised, her voice steady despite the storm within her. “But Cullen, I need you to trust me. Even when it’s hard.”

    He nodded slowly, his thumb brushing against her cheek as though committing the moment to memory. “I do,” he murmured. “And that’s what terrifies me.”

    Her breath caught as she considered the words forming on her lips, her heart hammering against her ribs as she grasped the magnitude of what she was about to ask. This wasn’t just a plea for comfort—it was a step into something uncharted, an admission of her deepest longing, and the fragile hope that he would understand. “Stay with me tonight,” she whispered, her voice trembling with quiet vulnerability, each word carrying the weight of her longing. “Let’s forget everything else… just for tonight.”

    Her words hung between them like a fragile thread, connecting their shared fears and unspoken desires. Cullen’s gaze softened, his hand cradling her cheek as though grounding them both in the gravity of the moment. Cullen’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing gently along her cheek. “Ariana,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, “are you sure?”

    The way Cullen said her name had never changed—it carried a weight, a reverence, and a sensuality that sent shivers down her spine every time. Ariana’s heart raced as Cullen’s words lingered in the air between them. His hesitation, though brief, was clear in the way his hand rested against her cheek.

    But she was certain. More certain than she had ever been about anything in her life. “Cullen, I love you. I’m sure,” she said softly, her resolve clear. “I want this. I want you.”

    Cullen’s eyes met hers then, his golden gaze filled with a tenderness that stole the air from her lungs. She felt the faintest tremor in his hands, a reflection of the storm swirling within her own chest. His lips met hers with a tenderness that carried the weight of every unspoken word, every moment they had held back. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a quiet affirmation of the love that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to bloom. It was slow, deliberate, yet filled with a passion that had been held back for far too long.

    Ariana’s fingers slid up, weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck as she pressed herself closer, her body responding instinctively to his touch. Every sensation was heightened—the roughness of his stubble against her skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms, the way his breath hitched as her lips moved against his. She felt as though she were on the edge of something vast and uncharted, her body alight with a sensation she had never known.

    Cullen’s hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheekbones as he deepened the kiss. His care, his reverence, was palpable, and it sent a shiver down her spine. When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against hers again, and he whispered, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

    “Don’t stop,” she replied without hesitation, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her.

    His lips curved into a faint smile before he kissed her again, slower this time, as though savoring every moment. His hands slid down to her thighs, his grip firm yet tender as he lifted her effortlessly. Ariana let out a soft gasp as he carried her to the bed, her arms wrapping instinctively around his neck. The world beyond the walls of her room faded into insignificance; there was only Cullen, only the way he looked at her as though she were the only thing that mattered.

    He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist. Her body responded to his touch, a warmth spreading through her that chased away any lingering nerves. She reached for him, her fingers brushing against his jaw as she guided him down to her, their lips meeting once more in a kiss that left her breathless. His lips traced a deliberate path from her mouth to the curve of her jaw, lingering just enough to draw a soft sigh from her, before descending to the sensitive skin of her neck, where each kiss ignited a fresh rush of warmth that left her breathless. Each touch sent a surge of heat through her, her body responding in ways that felt both unfamiliar and intoxicating. She felt weightless, untethered, yet grounded by his steady presence—the quiet strength in his arms, the way his heartbeat thrummed steadily against her, anchoring her in the moment. His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile before he leaned in to kiss her again, this time with a deeper intensity. They sank onto the bed, their movements unhurried as they explored each other. Every touch, every kiss, was a revelation to Ariana, her body coming alive beneath his hands. She felt as though she were discovering herself anew, guided by the unspoken language between them.

    Cullen’s touch was everywhere—firm yet tender, deliberate yet reverent. He seemed to memorize every inch of her. Her breath hitched with every kiss, every caress, her body arching toward his as though drawn by an invisible force.

    For Cullen, it was as though every barrier that had ever stood between them had melted away—the weight of his guilt, the fear of failing her, and the unspoken doubts that had lingered in the quiet moments of their lives. With her in his arms, all those walls crumbled, leaving only the undeniable truth of their love. His love for her was a palpable thing, a steady flame that burned brighter with every sigh, every whisper of his name that fell from her lips. He held her as though she were a treasure that could never be replaced, unyielding in her strength yet deserving of the gentlest touch, his every movement a careful balance of passion and restraint.

    As the night wore on, the room was filled with the soft rustle of sheets, the gentle cadence of their breathing, and the quiet murmurs of affection exchanged between kisses. Their movements were seamless, a dance of two souls who had waited years for this moment.

    Ariana had never felt anything like it—the way her body responded to Cullen, the way her heart seemed to beat in time with his. She felt safe, cherished, and utterly alive. Every touch, every kiss, carried a weight of love and longing that made her ache in the best possible way.

    When they finally lay entwined beneath the covers, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, Ariana rested her head against Cullen’s chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her back, his other hand gently combing through her hair. She felt a peace she hadn’t known was possible, her body sated and her heart full.

    Cullen pressed a kiss to her hair, lingering there as though savoring the moment. “Are you all right?” he murmured softly, his voice a low rumble in the silence.

    “Better than all right,” she whispered, her voice soft against his skin.

    Cullen tightened his hold on her slightly, as if to remind himself she was real—that this moment was real.

    “I love you,” he said again, his voice rough but steady.

    She smiled as she pressed a kiss to his chest before settling against him once more. “I love you too,” she murmured, her voice carrying the same quiet certainty it had earlier, her eyes growing heavy with the pull of sleep. In his arms, she felt whole, and as her eyes drifted closed, she knew with unwavering certainty that he was her home.

    ~~~

    Ariana woke to the soft glow of dawn breaking through the curtains, the golden light warming the room. For a moment, she simply lay there, in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding her. She felt a sense of peace, of safety, she had never known—like an anchor amidst a storm. The events of the night before lingered in her mind, bringing a small, genuine smile to her lips.

    She turned her head, her gaze falling on Cullen, still fast asleep beside her. The lines of worry and duty that so often marked his features had softened, replaced by a quiet calm. Her smile deepened as she watched him for a moment, unable to help the warmth that spread through her chest.

    Careful not to disturb him, she began to slip out of bed. She glanced around for her clothes but paused when her eyes fell on Cullen’s shirt draped over a nearby chair. Without thinking, she picked it up, the fabric soft and carrying his familiar scent.

    This will do. She slipped it on, the shirt hanging loosely over her frame but comfortably. The sleeves fell well past her hands, but that only made her chuckle quietly to herself. It was an odd sort of comfort, yet one that made her feel strangely at ease, as though his presence remained with her.

    Padding quietly across the room, she decided to fetch some coffee. The house was quiet in the early morning light, the faint sound of waves in the distance barely audible. Isabel had left a pot brewing in the kitchen, as if anticipating someone would be up before long. Ariana poured two cups, the warm aroma wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. She allowed herself a moment to simply breathe, to steady herself, before making her way back upstairs.

    When she returned to the room, Cullen had begun to stir. His brow furrowed slightly, his hand reaching toward her side of the bed as though searching for her. He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light. Then he saw her standing there, his shirt draped over her, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

    “Good morning,” she said softly, setting the cups on the bedside table. “I thought you might need this.”

    A soft, drowsy smile spread across his face, chasing away the last traces of sleep.

    As he took the coffee, their fingers brushed briefly, and the warmth of the gesture wasn’t lost on either of them. For a moment, they simply enjoyed the quiet intimacy, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains.

    Cullen blinked as Ariana straddled his lap, her movements confident, yet playful. He couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of her presence instantly dispelling any lingering grogginess. His hands rested lightly on her hips, his coffee momentarily forgotten on the bedside table.

    “Good morning to you, too,” he replied, a chuckle escaping as he met her mischievous gaze. There was something about the way her eyes sparkled when she was like this—completely at ease, completely herself—that made his chest tighten in the best possible way. “You… look good in my shirt,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

    Ariana chuckled softly, “I’ll keep that in mind, or more likely just keep the shirt,” she teased.

    “Last night,” she began, her voice carrying a teasing lilt, “was better than anything I certainly could have imagined.” Her hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “I do not know how you are still here after all these years, but… I am glad you thought I was a runaway mage when you met me.”

    Cullen let out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re thinking about this morning?” he teased, his hands instinctively pulling her just a bit closer. “I’ll admit, I was pretty convinced. A girl like you, alone in the middle of the Fereldan wilderness? You walked into The Spoiled Princess like you had nowhere to go, exhausted but guarded. It didn’t exactly say ‘noble girl running from her obligations.’”

    She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose that’s a good thing. You might not have come to my table if you had realized I wasn’t a mage. You might not have fallen for a noble runaway.”

    Cullen smirked, his voice dropping to a softer, more sincere tone. “I fell for you, Ariana. Noble or not, mage or not—it wouldn’t have mattered. I was doomed the moment you smiled at me back then.”

    Her cheeks warmed at his words, and for once, she found herself momentarily at a loss for words. Instead, she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. “And you had me the moment you asked to join me,” she replied softly, the playful edge in her voice giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable.

    They stayed like that for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the morning wrapping around them like a warm embrace, as memories of their first meeting blended seamlessly into the present.

    Ariana’s fingers moved idly, tracing the contours of Cullen’s chest and stomach, her touch feather-light yet deliberate, following the ridges of muscles honed by years of training. She wasn’t thinking of anything in particular, just caught up in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

    Cullen cleared his throat softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he tried to draw her out of her reverie. “Ari,” he said, his voice soft and teasing, though with an edge of restraint, “you’re going to start something neither of us has time to finish.”

    Her hand froze mid-trace, and she looked up at him, startled, as if she hadn’t realized what she’d been doing. Her cheeks flushed with color as the weight of his words registered, and she quickly pulled her hand back. “Oh. Right. Sorry,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, the playful edge replaced by an endearing innocence. She shifted, kneeling on the bed beside him instead, her expression a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

    Cullen couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him. He reached up, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hazel eyes warm as they met hers. “Maker…,” he murmured, his voice carrying a quiet reverence. “You really are incredible.”

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. She felt her heart flutter, her earlier embarrassment giving way to something far deeper. Her gaze asked the question her lips weren’t voicing, searching his face as if to confirm he truly meant it.

    “In every way,” he said, his voice steady, the words falling effortlessly. “You’re strong, brilliant, maddeningly stubborn…” Cullen added, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.

    Ariana laughed softly, her eyes glimmering with affection. “Maddeningly stubborn?” she teased, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness, softened by the vulnerability of the moment.

    He smiled, his own amusement mingling with the sincerity in his expression. “Completely maddening,” he confirmed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”

    A knock on the door interrupted the moment, Cullen’s face quickly gaining a mix of confusion and nervousness as the realization struck—he was still completely naked, and Ariana was barely dressed, wearing only his shirt from the night before, clearly oversized for her but no less flattering.

    As he turned to her, the mild panic in his expression was met with nothing but her mischievous smile. “Come in,” she said casually, much to his horror.

    Cullen turned to her sharply, eyes wide. “Ari!” he hissed, barely able to keep his voice down, his cheeks coloring deeply.

    The door opened to reveal a slim elven woman carrying a neatly folded set of clothes. “Isabel has sent a change of clothes for the Knight-Captain,” Nolani said simply, placing them on the chair by the door before giving a polite nod.

    “Thank you, Nolani,” Ariana replied, her tone light and unconcerned.

    “Isabel would also like to know if you would like breakfast in the courtyard or the kitchen?” Nolani added.

    She looked at Cullen as if asking him the question, but it was obvious that he was still processing the moment. “Kitchen is fine, thank you,” Ariana said, chuckling slightly at Cullen’s visible discomfort.

    The elven woman left as quickly as she’d come, leaving Cullen sitting there, his mouth slightly open as if to speak but no words coming out. His brow furrowed, and his gaze darted between Ariana and the chair where the clothes now sat.

    “She knows I’m here?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “How… how did she even get my clothes?”

    Ariana burst into laughter, the sound warm and unrestrained. “If you’re worried she sent someone to the Gallows to collect them, do not be,” she said, her grin widening. “She likely just bought something and had it delivered. Welcome to the life of a noble.”

    Cullen opened his mouth to protest, to say something—anything—but found himself completely at a loss. Instead, his gaze dropped to the neatly folded garments, as though they held answers he couldn’t articulate.

    Ariana tilted her head, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Speechless, Knight-Captain? That is a rare sight,” she teased, her voice laced with affection.

    He finally managed a faint, dry chuckle, shaking his head. “This… is going to take some getting used to.”

    She leaned in closer, her tone reassuring. “Do not worry,” she said softly, brushing her lips against his forehead, her tone playful. “You will manage.”

    As Cullen reached for his coffee, a small smile played on his lips. “Maker help me,” he muttered under his breath, earning another laugh from Ariana, who had clearly won the morning.

  • Chapter 32 – The Qunari Uprising

    20 Drakonis 9:34

    Ariana’s heart raced as she navigated the streets of Hightown, the weight of the chaos pressing down on her. The screams, the clash of steel, the guttural shouts of the Qunari—it was a cacophony of destruction that seemed endless. But in the midst of the turmoil, her focus remained razor-sharp. Find survivors. Avoid the main force. And Cullen… She pushed the thought aside for now. Worry wouldn’t help. Don’t think, Ariana. Act. Krieger’s words as steadfast as ever in her mind. He wasn’t wrong.

    As she moved, she kept to the shadows, dispatching lone Qunari when necessary but avoiding larger groups. Her daggers flashed in the dim light, precise and efficient. She had to conserve her strength—there were too many of them to take head-on. In the distance, she saw a large force moving toward Viscount’s Keep, their disciplined march unmistakable even in the chaos. The sight made her blood run cold. They’re making a play for the city’s heart.

    She pressed on, descending toward Lowtown, where the chaos seemed to thrum like a living beast. The narrow alleys and crowded streets were a dangerous labyrinth, but Ariana knew them well. As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of Valentina ahead, flanked by a small group of the most proficient recruits. Relief washed over her as she approached them.

    “Wolf,” Valentina greeted, her voice calm but tense despite the chaos. “We were on our way to find you.”

    “Good,” Ariana replied briskly, her eyes scanning the group. “Where are the others?”

    “The newest recruits are holding position at the warehouse,” Linnea’s voice answered from above, as she dropped down from a nearby rooftop with Lamberto close behind.

    Ariana nodded, wasting no time. “I need to know where the Qunari are concentrating their forces and where we can make the most impact,” she said quickly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Avoid detection, save what innocents you can but… we still need to stick to the shadows as best as possible.”

    Linnea hesitated, her expression flickering with frustration. “We should have seen this coming. I should have seen it. I thought we had more time—”

    “We all did,” Ariana cut her off gently but firmly. “There’s no point dwelling on what we missed. We act now.”

    Linnea nodded, her jaw tightening as she pushed the guilt aside. “Understood.”

    “Relay a message to Hawke,” Ariana continued, turning to her. “The Qunari are marching on the Viscount’s Keep. She needs to know immediately.”

    Lamberto frowned. “The Keep? Are they after the Viscount?”

    “Probably a good guess,” Ariana replied curtly. Then, softening slightly, she turned to Valentina. “Find Cullen. Confirm he’s safe, but do not engage unless he’s overwhelmed. If you see no other choice, help him, but do not draw attention.”

    The Rangers acknowledged her commands with a unified, “Understood, Wolf,” before melting into the chaos like shadows.

    Ariana took a steadying breath and pressed on toward Lowtown. The carnage was no less intense here, but she moved with purpose, rescuing whoever she could while staying clear of large Qunari groups. Her daggers worked quickly, cutting through binds to free captives and holding off the occasional skirmish.

    Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted familiar figures in the distance—Hawke, Varric, Merrill, and Anders, their weapons drawn and faces set with determination. Relief flickered through her as she ran to meet them, calling out over the din.

    “Hawke!” she shouted.

    Hawke turned, her blade glinting in the dim light, and nodded sharply. “Ariana.”

    They closed the distance quickly, Hawke’s voice sharp and businesslike. “The Qunari are staging a full-scale assault.”

    “I know,” Ariana replied, her voice tight. “They were moving toward the Viscount’s Keep. Their numbers are significant.”

    Varric, his crossbow cocked and ready, gave her a grim look. “Then you know things are getting worse by the second. The guard’s scattered, and the Templars aren’t exactly swarming to help.”

    “Anders, Merrill, and I have been focusing on evacuating the streets,” Hawke added, wiping sweat from her brow. “But we need to regroup. If they’re targeting the Keep, they’re making a play for control of the city.”

    Ariana’s mind raced, her thoughts flickering between the Keep, the Rangers, and the Gallows. Cullen… But now wasn’t the time to let her mind wander. She turned her attention back to Hawke. “We need a coordinated effort,” she said, scanning the group. “Where do you need me?”

    Hawke paused, considering for only a moment before gesturing toward the docks. “We’ve heard reports of skirmishes there. It’s close to your Rangers’ warehouse. If the Qunari get a foothold there, they’ll control all incoming supplies.”

    Ariana nodded sharply. “Understood.”

    She exchanged a quick glance with Varric, who gave her a nod of encouragement, and then turned to make her way toward the docks. The battle wasn’t over—not by a long shot—and Ariana knew the decisions they made in the next few hours could determine the fate of Kirkwall.

    ~~~

    Hawke smirked, brushing the dirt from her gloves turning to Ariana before leaving. “And if the White Wolf and her Rangers don’t mind handling the rest of the city, then we’ll make our way to Hightown.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a dry smile. “Oh, just save the rest of the city, then? Simple enough.” She shook her head but gave Hawke a knowing glance. “Leave it to us.”

    As they prepared to part ways, Ariana turned back one last time. “Oh, and Hawke, Varric… don’t go dying on me. I’ll pull you back from the Fade and kill you myself if you do.”

    Varric chuckled, a rare flicker of lightness in the dire moment. “Don’t worry, Pup. I’ve survived worse.”

    Ariana watched as the group disappeared into the chaos before turning her focus back to the task at hand. She pulled the horn from her belt and sounded it—a distinct, sharp call designed to rally Rangers in the area. The sharp, resonant tone echoed through the narrow streets, cutting through the noise of battle like a beacon. But she knew the risk: the sound could draw not just allies, but Qunari as well.

    Her hand stayed on her weapon, her sharp eyes scanning the surrounding streets. Soon enough, Rangers began to converge on her position, moving efficiently through the alleys and shadows of Lowtown. Ariana gave quick, clear orders, dividing them into squads to secure key areas and evacuate civilians.

    As she moved toward the Alienage, Lamberto and his squad fell into step with her, their presence a reassuring weight at her side. Together, they swept the area, engaging pockets of Qunari and ensuring the safety of the residents. The fighting was brutal but swift; the Rangers moved with the discipline of seasoned warriors, cutting through the chaos with precision.

    Just as they were finishing up, Valentina approached, her face pale but her voice steady. “Wolf, Knight-Captain Cullen is at the docks. He and a small force of Templars are holding the position, trying to keep the Qunari from advancing toward the Gallows. But…” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Ariana’s for permission to continue. “They won’t last much longer.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened, her mind racing through the implications. Cullen… Maker, what would I do if I lost him now? The thought threatened to paralyze her, but she shoved it down, focusing instead on the task before her. “Valentina, Lamberto, with me. Linnea, take the remaining Rangers and keep scouting,” she ordered, her voice firm. “Save as many innocents as you can. I will handle the docks.”

    Linnea hesitated, her expression flickering with concern. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice low, wondering if Ariana was prepared to expose the White Wolf to Cullen.

    “We’re going to make sure the Qunari don’t overwhelm them and take the Gallows,” Ariana replied sharply. “The city will be lost if they do.”

    Linnea opened her mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it. She straightened and saluted crisply. “By your order, Wolf,” she said before disappearing back into the shadows with the remaining Rangers.

    Without another word, Ariana led Valentina and Lamberto through the winding streets of Lowtown, her steps quick and purposeful. As they neared the docks, she motioned for her companions to split off and flank the enemy forces, positioning themselves on either side of the battlefield.

    Ambushes aren’t won from the ground.

    Ariana leapt onto the nearest rooftop, her movements swift and deliberate. From this vantage point, she could see everything—the Qunari pressing against the Templars’ crumbling line, the chaos of battle threatening to spill further into the city. Her eyes fixed on Cullen at the center, his sword rising and falling in a blur of steel. He was holding the line, barely. Her pulse quickened. Hold on, Cullen. Just hold on.

    Suddenly, she saw a group of Qunari breaking toward Cullen’s position while he was already engaged in another fight. Don’t hesitate. Hesitation is death. With a controlled breath, she dropped silently into the fray, her blades flashing. Her first target fell in seconds, her blade slicing across his throat before his axe could drop. The second lunged, and she sidestepped smoothly, her twin daggers plunging into his side in one fluid motion. The third swung a heavy blade; she ducked beneath it, rolling behind him and driving her blade into his exposed back.

    She felt Cullen’s eyes on her as she moved, a flicker of recognition in his gaze. Their eyes locked for a brief second, and the weight of his unspoken questions pressed against her. If he knew, what would he say? Could he ever understand? But now wasn’t the time to dwell. He turned back to the fight, his movements more decisive, as though her presence had bolstered him.

    “Behind you!” Cullen’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    Ariana spun, her daggers catching the Qunari mid-strike. The force of the blow rattled her arms, but she pushed through, sidestepping to deliver a swift counter that sent her opponent crumpling to the ground. She glanced back at Cullen, nodding her thanks before falling into rhythm with him, their strikes synchronizing effortlessly. They moved as if they had always fought together, her speed complementing his strength.

    Focus, Ariana.

    The fight surged on, the Qunari relentless, their brutal force threatening to overwhelm the defense. Ariana stayed in motion, her strikes swift and precise.

    Lamberto’s voice cut through the din. “Templars! Hold the line! Push them back away from the docks!”

    The Templars rallied, their efforts renewed by the Rangers’ intervention. But the Qunari pressed harder, determined to break through. Ariana’s blades flashed as she wove through the chaos, intercepting enemies wherever the line threatened to falter. She could feel the strain in her muscles, the burn of exertion, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

    You don’t fight to survive, Ariana. You fight to win.

    Then she felt it. A shift in the weight behind her, too quick to fully react. The sharp, cold bite of steel pierced through her side, the force of the Qunari’s blade driving her forward. Her breath caught, the pain radiating like fire as she stumbled, barely managing to stay upright.

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

    The reprimand seared through her thoughts as she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to twist sharply and drive her dagger into the Qunari’s neck. He fell, his weapon still embedded in her side, but she refused to falter. Her hand brushed the wound briefly, her fingers coming away slick with blood.

    You’re too important to lose the thought of Krieger’s voice for the first time was soft, almost regretful.

    No one noticed. Cullen had turned to rally the Templars, his focus on regrouping their forces. Ariana bit down on the pain, removing the weapon from her side, forcing her steps to remain steady. The blood soaking her cloak and armor was indistinguishable from the surrounding carnage, and her movements gave no sign of weakness. She couldn’t afford for anyone to see, to ask questions. She had to keep moving. She was the White Wolf, and she had to endure.

    The battle pressed on, but the tide was beginning to turn. The Rangers and Templars fought as one, driving the Qunari back step by step. Ariana moved with them, her blades carving a path through the chaos, her focus unyielding.

    For now, the line held. That was all that mattered.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s arm burned with fatigue as he raised his blade again, his shield battered from repeated blows. It felt like hours since the battle had begun, and the relentless tide of Qunari showed no sign of stopping. He gritted his teeth, the thought of retreat flickering in his mind. But retreat meant giving up the docks, and the Gallows—and the city. No, it all depended on this position holding, there was no retreat. His thoughts shifted to Hightown, to Ariana. Maker, let her be safe.

    He barely had time to process the image of her face before a hulking Qunari charged him head-on. Cullen braced himself, lifting his shield, when a flicker of movement on his left caught his attention. Another Qunari was closing in from the side, weapon raised high. Too late.

    A shadow dropped between him and the attacker, moving with deadly precision. A cloaked figure landed with lethal grace, steel flashing in the moonlight. The first Qunari’s advance was cut short as the figure’s blade struck true, dropping him in a single, precise movement. The second swung wildly, but the figure sidestepped with ease, delivering a swift counterstrike that sent him crumpling to the ground.

    Cullen blinked, trying to process the scene. The cloaked figure—wearing a white fur-trimmed cloak, a mask concealing the lower half of their face—moved like liquid fire. Their strikes were deliberate, calculated, and brutal. More Qunari rushed forward, but the figure intercepted, weaving through the chaos with practiced ease.

    “Behind you!” Cullen shouted as another Qunari advanced, blade aimed for the figure’s back.

    The figure didn’t hesitate. Pivoting on their heel, they parried the incoming strike and turned it into a fluid counterattack that left their opponent on the ground. They glanced back briefly, their masked face unreadable, they nodded their thanks before returning to the fray.

    Cullen snapped out of his daze, raising his own blade to engage the Qunari pressing in on his side. Whatever else was happening, there was no time to question it now. He moved closer to the cloaked figure, his instincts guiding him to their side. Without a word exchanged, they fell into a rhythm, fighting back-to-back against the Qunari horde.

    Suddenly, another figure joined the fray, calling out with a commanding voice. “Templars! Hold the line! Push them back!” It was a man in dark armor—Cullen vaguely recognized him as one of the figures he had seen arrive on the docks a few months back when he first saw the White Wolf.

    The Templars rallied at the call, bolstered by the arrival of reinforcements. The Rangers moved with brutal efficiency, their attacks coordinated and precise. Cullen couldn’t help but notice how the cloaked figure directed the fight with subtle gestures—motions that the others responded to without hesitation. Whoever this White Wolf was, they commanded the battlefield.

    Finally, the last of the attackers fell. Silence descended over the docks, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and the distant echoes of battle from other parts of the city. Cullen turned, lowering his weapon, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the cloaked figure. He’d heard stories, whispers about the White Wolf, but to see them here again—and fighting with such ruthless efficiency—was something else entirely.

    “You’re the White Wolf,” Cullen said, his voice low but tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

    The figure froze for a moment before Valentina stepped forward, her expression composed but unreadable. “The White Wolf fights where the people need them,” she said smoothly, her tone neutral. “Tonight, you needed them.”

    Cullen’s eyes flicked back to the cloaked figure, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Why are you in Kirkwall?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

    The figure gave no reply. Instead, they raised a gloved hand, gesturing toward the fallen Qunari as if to say, Your city is still standing because of us. With deliberate care, they inclined their head in a slight, deliberate bow. The meaning was clear: You’re welcome.

    Before Cullen could respond, the figure turned and disappeared into the shadows, their white cloak vanishing into the night.

    Cullen stepped forward instinctively, but Lamberto and Valentina moved to block his path, their postures firm but not overtly hostile. “That’s far enough, Knight-Captain,” Lamberto said evenly.

    “I have questions,” Cullen pressed, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Kirkwall isn’t a battlefield for mercenaries to play hero.”

    Valentina’s eyes hardened slightly. “The White Wolf isn’t here to asnwer your questions and they aren’t playing, neither are we. We saved your position. Perhaps you should focus on keeping it.”

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to her, recognition dawning. “I’ve seen you before. At the docks. Weren’t you supposed to be in Starkhaven?”

    Valentina smirked faintly. “Who says we weren’t. Maybe we were just leaving when the chaos broke out.”

    Cullen’s brows furrowed, his frustration mounting. “If you’re truly with the Crows, then why do you answer to the White Wolf?”

    Her smirk widened slightly, but her eyes remained unreadable. “You think you know everything about us?”

    Before Cullen could retort, the other Templars began to gather around, their exhaustion giving way to murmurs of awe. “The White Wolf,” one of them whispered, eyes wide. “They saved us.”

    “Andraste’s grace, did you see them fight?” another added. “Like something out of the stories.”

    Cullen’s grip tightened on his blade, the praise grating against his nerves. “Back to your posts,” he ordered sharply. “The docks still need defending.”

    As the Templars dispersed, Cullen turned back to Lamberto and Valentina. “This isn’t over.”

    Lamberto smirked faintly. “It never is.”

    Without another word, the two Rangers melted into the shadows, leaving Cullen standing alone amidst the wreckage of the battlefield. His thoughts churned as he scanned the darkened alleys, frustration warring with a begrudging sense of respect. The White Wolf… The name echoed in his mind, heavy with unanswered questions.

    For now, those questions would have to wait. His priority was clear. He needed to find Ariana and make sure she was safe. Letting out a steadying breath, he turned and began making his way toward Hightown, the memory of the White Wolf’s silent, calculating movements etched into his mind.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s thoughts churned with equal parts frustration and urgency. The battle had drained him, but the memory of Ariana’s face kept him moving. She had been on his mind through every strike, every parry. She wasn’t trained for this—or was she? The thought lingered, unbidden. He found himself reminded of that day on the Wounded Coast, the slavers that had ambushed them, and the way she had cut through them with lethal efficiency. He hadn’t expected that—not from her. He had known she was capable, but the precision and ruthlessness she displayed that day hinted at a far deeper training than he’d understood.

    Even so, the memory offered little comfort. A few slavers in the wilderness were a far cry from the organized fury of the Qunari. He couldn’t shake the nagging fear that she might overestimate herself, or worse, underestimate the sheer brutality of her enemy.

    The image of her estate flashed in his mind—the warm halls, the steadfast presence of Isabel and Emma. He clung to that thought like a lifeline, hoping against hope that the battle hadn’t reached that far yet. The idea of something happening to her—or to any of them—pushed him forward, his pace quickening.

    The White Wolf… The name echoed in his thoughts as his boots struck against the cobblestones. The rumors surrounding this enigmatic figure had spread across Kirkwall, equal parts alarming and intriguing. They fought with the precision of someone who had seen years of battle, someone unflinching in the face of chaos. Yet… there was something unsettlingly familiar about the way they moved, the way they carried themselves. He couldn’t place it, but none of that mattered now.

    All he cared about was Ariana. He had to make sure she was safe, that nothing in this chaos had reached her. He needed to see her, to hold her, to know for certain she was all right.

    As Cullen passed through Lowtown, the remnants of the Qunari assault were everywhere. Bodies littered the streets—Templars, Qunari, and civilians alike. Smoke curled into the night sky, its acrid scent stinging his nostrils. The air was heavy with death and the muffled cries of those tending to the wounded. He forced himself to keep moving, his boots splashing through shallow puddles of blood as he climbed the stairs toward Hightown.

    The higher he climbed, the quieter the streets became, though the tension in the air was palpable. Hightown was far from untouched—broken glass and splintered wood scattered the pristine stone streets, signs of the battle that had reached even here. A few city guards lingered, dragging debris to clear paths, but they seemed as lost as anyone else.

    Cullen’s heart pounded as he turned the final corner, the familiar silhouette of Ariana’s estate coming into view. The grand stone walls stood tall, the windows glowing faintly with the warm light of the hearths inside. Relief washed over him, though it didn’t fully quell the anxiety gnawing at his chest.

    He quickened his pace, stepping up to the door and knocking firmly. For a moment, there was no response, and the silence only fueled his unease. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears, followed by the door creaking open to reveal Isabel.

    “Cullen,” she said, her voice a mixture of relief and surprise. “You’re alive.”

    “I could say the same for you,” Cullen replied, his eyes scanning the entryway behind her. “Ariana—”

    “She’s fine,” Isabel interrupted, stepping aside to let him in. “But she’s not here.”

    Cullen’s brows furrowed, his heart sinking. “Not here? Where is she?”

    Isabel hesitated, glancing toward the stairs. “She went out earlier… She was looking for our staff that weren’t home. She would have headed for the Alienage most likely, but she hasn’t returned yet.”

    Cullen’s fists clenched at his sides, his thoughts racing. “She’s out there? Alone? Does she realize what’s happening in the city?”

    “She knows,” Isabel said, her voice firm. “But you know Ariana—she’s not one to sit idly by when people need her.”

    Cullen’s frustration flared, but he tamped it down. Maker save me, does she have to be so stubborn? “Did she say where she was going after the Alienage?”

    Isabel shook her head. “No. Just that she’d be back as soon as she could.”

    Cullen exhaled sharply, his mind already calculating his next move. “If she comes back, keep her here. Don’t let her leave again.”

    “And where will you be?” Isabel asked, crossing her arms.

    “Finding her,” Cullen replied simply, stepping back toward the door. “She shouldn’t be out there.”

    “She’s not helpless, Cullen,” Isabel called after him. “You give her too little credit.”

    He paused, turning back to face her. “She’s not helpless, but she’s not invincible either. Neither am I. Someone else just saved me from being overrun.” he hated having to admit that, but it was the truth. And if he and his Templars had needed saving, what chance did Ariana have alone.

    Isabel’s expression shifted to confusion, though her concern remained clear. Before she could respond, Cullen turned and stepped out into the night again, the heavy weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. His heart tugged in two directions—toward the search for Ariana and the responsibilities pulling him back to the Gallows. But for now, one thought overpowered the rest: Find her.

    The battle had ended at the docks, but Cullen knew the night was far from over. However, despite his distrust for mercenaries, for better or worse he knew that there appeared to be Silver Rangers currently defending the city. To what end he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was finding her.

    ~~~

    Ariana slipped into the warehouse, her steps measured, her breaths shallow as the adrenaline of the battle ebbed, leaving a gnawing ache in its place. The dim light inside cast long shadows over the Rangers gathered there, their faces a mix of exhaustion and relief. She pulled off her blood-soaked cloak and discarded it without ceremony, along with her gloves and weapons—each piece a symbol of the White Wolf she could no longer afford to be in this moment.

    Linnea’s sharp eyes immediately caught the dark stain spreading across Ariana’s side. “Wolf, you’re hurt,” she said, stepping toward her, her tone more commanding than concerned.

    “It’s nothing,” Ariana replied quickly, her voice steady but quieter than usual. She unwound the sash from her waist with a practiced motion, pressing it tightly against her side as a makeshift bandage to stem the bleeding. She tied it off with a wince, her movements efficient despite the sharp sting that flared with each motion.

    But as the adrenaline faded further, a deeper pain began to settle in, sharper and more insistent with every breath. She leaned briefly against the edge of the nearest table, her free hand pressing against her side. A sharp, stabbing sensation spread from her ribs, stealing the breath from her lungs. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to straighten, but the movement sent another spike of pain radiating through her torso.

    Her mind raced, piecing it together. The blade had run her through cleanly, but the force of the strike—it must have cracked or broken her ribs. She exhaled slowly, trying to manage her breathing, but even that came in shallow, halting gasps.

    Linnea’s frown deepened as she stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the growing crimson against the fabric. “That doesn’t make it nothing,” she said, her tone sharper now.

    “I’ve had worse,” Ariana said, brushing past her with a dismissive wave, though her hand instinctively tightened against her ribs, her fingers trembling slightly. Each step sent jolts of pain coursing through her side, her body betraying the injury she was determined to hide. She couldn’t afford weakness. Not here, not now.

    But as she moved deeper into the warehouse, the realization settled heavily in her mind: she wasn’t just bleeding. The fight had left her more broken than she’d thought. And if she didn’t find a way to manage it soon, her strength wouldn’t hold out much longer.

    Linnea frowned, her gaze fixed on the spreading crimson against the fabric. “That doesn’t make it nothing.”

    Her hazel-green eyes scanned the room, taking stock of the Rangers, ignoring Linnea’s protest. “We need to take stock first. Is everyone accounted for? Any casualties?”

    Valentina stepped forward, her expression both respectful and worried. “Everyone’s back. No losses, just a few minor injuries.”

    Relief flickered across Ariana’s face, but she refused to let it linger. “Good. That’s what matters.”

    Linnea crossed her arms, her expression hardening as she followed Ariana’s movements. “And what about you? You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

    Ariana stepped toward the map table, but the motion sent a sharp jolt of pain through her ribs, sharper than before. Her breath hitched, and she felt an oppressive tightness settling in her chest. She clenched her jaw, forcing her posture to remain steady. “I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need to get back to Hightown.”

    Valentina and Lamberto exchanged concerned glances, and Valentina stepped closer, her voice firm but hesitant. “Wolf, you’re in no condition to go anywhere right now. Let us—”

    “No.” Ariana’s voice cut through the room like a blade. She turned to face them, her expression firm despite the pallor creeping into her features. Her stance was authoritative, a leader unwilling to entertain further argument. “Cullen might already be looking for me. If he finds me here, it’s over. For all of us.”

    Valentina opened her mouth to argue, but Ariana silenced her with a raised hand, her tone softening slightly. “I’ve discarded the cloak, gloves, and my weapons. He won’t recognize me. It’ll be fine.” Her eyes swept over the group, the faintest hint of gratitude breaking through her exhaustion. “You’ve done enough tonight. Rest. Regroup. And keep to the shadows.”

    She moved toward the door, her steps careful but deliberate. Every movement was a reminder of the wound she couldn’t afford to dwell on, but her focus was already ahead—on the estate, on getting back before Cullen realized she had been out.

    The Rangers watched in tense silence as she left, Valentina’s hand twitching as if to reach for her, but ultimately staying at her side. Linnea muttered something under her breath, though she didn’t move to stop Ariana either.

    The cold night air hit Ariana like a wall as she stepped outside. Each step toward Hightown felt heavier than the last, the pain a constant companion beneath the makeshift bandage. Her mind raced, each thought tangled with the next. Just get home. Just make it back before anyone sees.

    But as she disappeared into the shadows, one thought pressed harder than the rest: How long can I keep this up?

    ~~~

    Ariana moved swiftly through the streets, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Each step sent a jolt of pain through her side, her makeshift bandage doing little to stem the bleeding. The wound throbbed relentlessly, her ribs protesting every movement, but she forced herself onward. Her discarded cloak and gloves back at the warehouse left her in plain armor, dirtied and bloodstained, blending her into the aftermath of the battle. To any casual observer, she was just another survivor staggering home.

    As she neared the stairs towards Hightown, the faint echoes of chaos from Lowtown lingered in the distance, a reminder that the city’s respite was temporary at best. Ariana’s focus was singular: get home before Cullen returns. He couldn’t find her like this—not bloodied, wounded, and barely holding herself together. Not now. Not ever.

    She rounded a corner, her heart stuttering as she saw a familiar figure ahead. Relief warred with dread. Cullen. His armor was battered, his sword sheathed at his side, but his determined stride betrayed no sign of exhaustion. She had hoped to avoid him, to slip into the estate unnoticed, but it was too late. He hadn’t seen her yet.

    “Cullen,” she called, forcing her voice to sound steadier than she felt.

    His head snapped toward her, his sharp gaze locking onto her. Relief flashed across his face, quickly replaced by frustration as he closed the distance between them. “Ariana! What were you thinking, being out here alone?”

    “I wasn’t alone,” she countered, her tone defensive, though her voice wavered slightly. She forced herself to stand straighter, every movement deliberate to hide her pain. “I was looking for our staff. Some of them were out in the Alienage when this started. I couldn’t leave them.”

    Cullen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Did you find them?”

    “I did,” she said with a small nod. “Most of them. The ones I could.”

    Before she could say more, he reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. The sudden pressure against her ribs sent a sharp, searing pain shooting through her chest. She bit down a gasp, but the flinch was unavoidable, her body stiffening in his arms.

    Cullen immediately stepped back, concern replacing his frustration. “You’re hurt.”

    “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Broken ribs, maybe. Breathing hurts, but I’m fine.”

    His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over her with the same precision he brought to combat. “Broken ribs aren’t nothing,” he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. His gaze dropped lower, catching the dark stain seeping through her armor at her side. The blood stood out against the dirt and grime, vivid and damning. His heart sank.

    “Ariana.” His voice was low, almost disbelieving, as he gently took hold of her wrist and moved her hand away. The blood soaked through the makeshift bandage and continued to flow, pooling against the leather. “You’re bleeding.”

    “It’s—” she started, her voice faltering as she caught sight of the extent of the wound. She swallowed hard, her deflection failing her at last. “Alright… perhaps not nothing.”

    Her knees buckled as the words left her lips, her strength finally giving out. Cullen moved instinctively, catching her before she could hit the ground. Her weight sagged against him, her head resting briefly on his chest as her eyes fluttered shut. “Ariana! Stay with me,” he urged, his voice tight with panic.

    He shifted, lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. Her head leaned slightly against his shoulder. His jaw tightened, his mind racing. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice both a plea and a command. “I’m taking you to the Circle.”

    She stirred weakly, her fingers grasping at his collar. “No… the Circle,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. “I can’t… go there.”

    “You can,” Cullen said firmly, his arms tightening around her as he lifted her effortlessly. “And you will. You need a healer, Ariana. Don’t argue with me now.”

    Her protests faded into incoherence, the last of her strength slipping away. Cullen’s jaw tightened as he adjusted his hold, his strides quickening. The looming spires of the Gallows came into view, their oppressive shadow a stark reminder of what awaited them both. But in this moment, the fear of what might come later paled in comparison to the fear gripping his heart now.

    Her head rested against his shoulder, her blood staining his armor. Every step felt heavier, every breath of hers he couldn’t hear tightening the knot in his chest. His prayers were silent but fervent: Maker, let her live. Let her fight another day.

    The battle at the docks had ended, but for Cullen, the night’s true fight had just begun.

  • Chapter 31 – The Battle to Come

    14 Wintermarch – 20 Drakonis 9:34

    Over the next few months, Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea executed their roles with precision and care. Recruiting, training, and gathering information became the lifeblood of the Rangers’ operations, each task carried out in the shadows of Kirkwall’s chaotic streets. Their new base, the warehouse near the docks, provided the perfect cover—a fortress hidden in plain sight.

    Ariana’s voice echoed through the warehouse during one of their first meetings, her tone firm but calm. “If you are caught,” she told the gathered recruits, her gaze sweeping across their faces, “you’re not Rangers. You’re free agents working for yourselves. No one here will acknowledge you.”

    There were murmurs of agreement, though unease lingered in the air. To Ariana, it was essential to strike a balance between pragmatism and reassurance. “That said,” she continued, her voice softening, “I promise you this: if you ever get into trouble, I will come for you. Hawke will come for you. We won’t leave you behind.”

    The tension eased slightly, though the weight of the task ahead was evident in their expressions.

    She paced slowly, her boots clicking against the warehouse floor. “No heroics, ever,” she added, her tone sharpening again. “It is hard—I know it is—to see someone dragged off in chains. But we cannot openly oppose the Templars. Not yet. We have to be smarter, or we lose everything.”

    The recruits nodded, though Ariana could see the conflict in their eyes. They had sworn their loyalty to her, to the Rangers’ mission, but loyalty didn’t make the task any easier. For some, the restraint she demanded felt like a betrayal of the cause they had signed up for. For others, it was a sobering reminder of the dangers they faced.

    Hawke and Varric had been invaluable in connecting the Rangers to the Mage Underground. Through them, Ariana had gained access to hidden networks and crucial contacts—people who had spent years working in secrecy to protect mages from the Templars’ reach. Trust came slowly, but with Hawke’s reputation and Varric’s silver tongue, introductions were made, and the groundwork was laid.

    Still, Hawke couldn’t help but voice her frustrations one evening at the Hanged Man. “We’re dancing around the problem, Ariana,” she said, leaning across the table. “The mages need more than whispers and hiding places. They need to be saved.”

    Ariana sighed, nursing her drink. “You think I don’t want to save them all? But we can’t. Not like this.”

    “We could do more,” Hawke pressed. “We should do more.”

    Ariana set her glass down, her gaze meeting Hawke’s directly. “What would you have us do, Hawke? Break into the Gallows and free all the mages? Are you prepared for that? Are they prepared for that?”

    Hawke hesitated, her jaw tightening. “If it comes to that… yes.”

    Valentina, seated nearby, raised a skeptical brow. “And then what? Meredith will hunt every last one of them down. The mages, us, anyone who so much as looks like they helped.”

    “We can’t stop her with a prison break,” Linnea added, her tone calm but firm. “Not without losing everything we’re building here.”

    “So what’s the plan then?” Hawke shot back, frustration bubbling beneath her words. “We just keep sneaking a handful of mages out at a time while Meredith makes more Tranquil every day? How long before there’s no one left to save?”

    Ariana exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “We don’t have the numbers yet. Not for a full-scale fight. Not for the kind of war you’re talking about.”

    “And we are preparing for that war,” Valentina interjected, her voice steady. “Every recruit, every mage we save, every piece of information we gather—it all leads to the same place. But we can’t rush it.”

    Hawke shook her head, but Varric, who had been quietly nursing his drink, finally spoke up. “She’s right, Hawke. If you want this to work, we have to play the long game. And believe me, I hate waiting as much as the next dwarf, but we don’t have the luxury of charging in crossbows blazing.”

    Hawke’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining from her posture. “I just… I hate this. Watching it happen, knowing we can do more.”

    “So do I,” Ariana said quietly. “But if we fight too soon, we lose. And if it comes to that, if we do need to fight…” She paused, her gaze sweeping across the table, resting on each of them in turn. “The full force of the Silver Rangers will stand with the mages. We’ll fight for them, and for anyone else who cannot fight for themselves.”

    The words settled heavily over the group, a quiet promise that they all understood. The lines had been drawn, even if the battle hadn’t begun yet. For now, their only weapon was patience.

    Varric broke the silence with a wry smile, raising his glass. “Here’s to patience. Not exactly my favorite thing, but it gets the job done.”

    Ariana smirked, lifting her glass. “To patience.”

    The group joined the toast, the clinking of glasses briefly cutting through the somber air. In the distance, the sounds of Lowtown’s chaos echoed faintly, a reminder of the city they were trying to save—one step, one life at a time.

    ~~~

    A few days later, Ariana met Linnea in one of the smaller rooms off the main floor of the warehouse. It was quieter there, away from the hum of training and the murmur of scouts exchanging updates. Ariana leaned against the edge of a battered table, arms crossed, her expression calm but expectant.

    “What do we know about Cullen?” Ariana asked, her voice low but steady. “How much does he seem to know about what’s happening?”

    Linnea shifted her weight, her tone measured as she replied, “As best as I can tell, he’s not directly involved. He hasn’t attended any of the more… questionable raids or interrogations. And the people I’ve spoken to don’t recall seeing him in situations where Tranquility was being administered.”

    Ariana nodded, though her brows furrowed slightly. “But he’s not completely unaware.”

    “No,” Linnea admitted. “From what I’ve pieced together, he knows it’s happening. When it’s reported to him, it’s usually framed as a necessary action—mages too dangerous, too unstable, or caught dabbling in blood magic. He doesn’t seem to question it too much.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened as she processed the information. It was both a relief and a frustration. Cullen wasn’t actively part of the atrocities, but his acceptance of them—however justified they might seem to him—meant there was little chance of swaying him while he remained under Meredith’s influence.

    “Anything else?” Ariana asked, her voice soft but tinged with an edge.

    Linnea hesitated for a moment before continuing. “There’s something else. Not about Cullen or the Templars, but it could become a bigger problem for us. The Qunari.”

    Ariana straightened, her attention sharpening. “What about them?”

    “There have been more confrontations,” Linnea said, her expression darkening. “Merchants in Lowtown are reporting stolen shipments, sailors are complaining about dock interference, and there have been skirmishes in the alleys near the Qunari compound. It’s not just petty disputes anymore—the Arishok is getting… anxious.”

    Ariana frowned, rubbing her temples as she considered the implications. “Do we know what’s pushing him? Or what he’s waiting for?”

    Linnea shook her head. “Not yet. But he’s been more visible, and his people are growing restless. If something doesn’t change soon, they may decide to force the issue.”

    “Force the issue?” Ariana repeated, her tone skeptical but wary.

    Linnea nodded. “If they’re holding out for something—a solution, a negotiation—and it doesn’t come? They won’t stay passive forever. And if the Arishok loses his patience, it won’t just be the docks that feel it. It’ll be the whole city.”

    Ariana exhaled heavily, the weight of Linnea’s report settling over her. “Do you think they’ll target us?”

    “I don’t think they’ve noticed us,” Linnea replied. “But if Kirkwall descends into chaos, it’ll affect everyone—including us. It’s something to keep an eye on.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her mind already racing with possibilities. The Qunari were a force she couldn’t afford to underestimate, and if their growing tension turned into action, it could throw everything off balance. The Rangers were barely holding their own against the Templars’ vigilance—another front, especially one as volatile as the Qunari, could be disastrous.

    “Keep me updated,” Ariana said firmly. “I want to know if the situation changes. And see if you can get someone closer to the docks to keep watch.”

    Linnea nodded. “Already done. We’ve got a few people embedded with the merchant caravans, keeping their ears open.”

    “Good,” Ariana said, her expression hardening. “We’ve got enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is a war with the Qunari on top of everything else. I’ll talk to Hawke, see what she knows.”

    As Linnea left to continue her work, Ariana remained in the quiet room, her thoughts heavy. Between Cullen’s precarious position, the Templars’ actions, and now the brewing tension with the Qunari, Kirkwall felt like a city sitting atop a powder keg. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that the spark was coming sooner than any of them were prepared for.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s boots echoed against the polished stone streets of Hightown, the gilded façade of Kirkwall’s wealth a stark contrast to the shadows she had just left behind in Lowtown. Her thoughts churned with Linnea’s warning about the Qunari, a tension simmering in her chest. Whatever the Arishok sought, Ariana suspected it would mean trouble for everyone in the city—mages or not.

    Arriving at Hawke’s estate, she knocked sharply and was ushered inside by the household staff. The warmth of the home, filled with signs of life and personality, was a welcome reprieve from the cold unease in her mind.

    “Well, well, what brings Lady Ariana Trevelyan to my humble estate?” Hawke teased as she appeared at the top of the stairs, descending with an easy, confident grace.

    Ariana couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension momentarily lifting. “Right, yes, it’s very quaint. You should be jealous of mine,” she replied, her sarcasm sharpened by exhaustion.

    “Oh, absolutely. The unmatched splendor of a noblewoman’s estate. How do you even bear it?” Hawke deadpanned, gesturing dramatically.

    Their banter carried them into the sitting room, where Hawke poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Ariana. It was a familiar ritual, one that hinted at the ease of their friendship. Yet, as Ariana swirled the wine in her glass, her focus drifted back to the unease sitting heavy in her chest.

    “What do you know about the Arishok?” she asked, her voice cutting through the warmth of the moment. “I’m hearing rumors he’s looking for something and seems to be getting restless.”

    Hawke’s sigh was long and heavy, her shoulders sinking under the weight of what she knew. “Unfortunately, I know more than I’d like,” she admitted. “If your spymaster is reporting this, it’s worse than I thought. Let me start from the beginning.”

    Ariana leaned forward slightly, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass as Hawke began to speak.

    “They arrived in 9:31,” Hawke explained, her tone measured. “The Qunari. They came for one reason: a stolen relic called the Tome of Koslun. According to their leader, they can’t return home without it. They’ve been looking for it ever since.”

    Ariana frowned. Four years of waiting in this city, observing its dysfunction, its corruption—what toll had that taken on them? She could see the frustration on Hawke’s face, her usual bravado replaced with a rare seriousness.

    “The Tome,” Ariana repeated softly. “Do we know what it is? Why it’s so important?”

    “Not exactly,” Hawke admitted. “But whatever it is, it’s sacred to them. Without it, they’re stuck here, and Kirkwall is… well, let’s just say it’s not to their taste.”

    Ariana nodded, but her thoughts were already racing. The Qunari’s code, the Qun, demanded discipline and order. Kirkwall was chaos incarnate. How much longer could they endure this city’s rot before something gave?

    “They’ve had their share of grievances here,” Hawke continued, her expression darkening. “I’ve had to step in more than once to keep things from boiling over. There was the matter of saar-qamek, for example.”

    “Saar-qamek?” Ariana asked, unfamiliar with the term.

    “It’s a formula for a poisonous gas,” Hawke clarified, her tone darkening. “The Qunari use it sparingly, as a weapon of war. Someone in Kirkwall stole it thinking it was the formula for gaatlok—an ambitious merchant trying to sell it to the highest bidder. By the time I tracked it down, it was too late. It had already been released in a side alley in Lowtown.”

    Ariana’s eyes widened, a wave of unease washing over her. “It was released? What happened? How many—”

    “Not as many as you’d think,” Hawke interrupted. “But still too many. The Qunari killed the ones responsible, but it was chaos. People choking, dying, and all because someone decided they could profit from selling the Qunari’s weapons.” Hawke’s voice carried a bitter edge as she took a sip of her wine.

    Ariana swallowed hard, her mind reeling with the implications. “I didn’t hear about this.”

    “It happened while you were gone,” Hawke said softly, “It was over quickly, and the city moved on. As it always does. But it was… bad. Really bad.”

    Ariana closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the scene: the narrow, crowded streets of Lowtown filled with people gasping for breath, collapsing as the poisonous mist spread. She felt the weight of her absence keenly, even if it was irrational.

    “And the Qunari?” she asked, her voice tight.

    “They were furious,” Hawke admitted. “But I think they blamed the thieves more than the city itself. At least that’s what I told myself when I gave the formula back to them. They’re… restrained, but only because they’re focused on the Tome. That restraint won’t last forever.”

    Ariana nodded grimly, her thoughts churning. The Qunari had already endured so many provocations—how much more would it take to push them over the edge?

    “Then there was the Qunari delegation,” Hawke continued, her voice growing colder. “A group of Qunari went missing when they were on their way to meet with the Viscount. They were ambushed and killed.”

    Ariana’s breath caught. “By who?”

    “A Templar,” Hawke said grimly. “He bore the Grand Cleric’s seal.”

    Ariana’s jaw clenched. The implications were staggering. “A Templar? And the Qunari know?”

    “They do,” Hawke confirmed. “The Arishok didn’t retaliate, but I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to. I think the only reason he held back was because it wasn’t part of their mission. They’re here for the Tome, and until they have it, they’ll endure.”

    Endure. The word felt like a warning. The Arishok’s restraint was commendable, but Ariana doubted it was limitless.

    “And then there’s Seamus,” Hawke said, taking a long sip of her wine before continuing. “The Viscount’s son. He converted to the Qun not long ago. He believed in what they stood for—order, fairness. It cost him his life.”

    Ariana’s eyes widened. “Seamus was killed because of his beliefs?”

    “Because of Mother Petrice,” Hawke corrected, her voice laced with disdain. “She orchestrated it. A senseless death to stoke hatred against the Qunari. The Viscount is furious, but he’s powerless to do anything. The city is on edge, and the Qunari are angrier than ever.”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, the weight of these revelations pressing down on her. Each piece of the puzzle painted a picture of a city teetering on the edge of chaos. And then Hawke dropped the final blow.

    “There’s one more thing,” she said, her tone resigned. “I know where the Tome of Koslun is. Or rather, was. I know who has it.”

    Ariana leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Who?”

    Hawke hesitated, then said, “Isabela.”

    Ariana stared at her, disbelief flashing across her face. “Isabela? You’re saying she has the Tome?”

    “She’s the one that stole it,” Hawke admitted, her voice heavy with frustration. “And now she’s gone.”

    “Gone?” Ariana’s voice rose. “You’re saying she took the Tome of Koslun and disappeared? And you’re just telling me this now?”

    “And… I recently helped her acquire a ship,” Hawke replied, ignoring the accusatory tone. “She could be anywhere by now.”

    “This isn’t good, Hawke.” Ariana’s voice was sharp, her mind racing. “You’re telling me we have nothing to offer the Arishok to make him leave?”

    “We don’t,” Hawke said bluntly. “And I didn’t tell you because it had nothing to do with the mages.”

    “And yet it could threaten our entire operation if this city falls to chaos! I don’t think a Qunari invasion is what the Divine had in mind when she asked us to save the mages.” Ariana shot back, standing abruptly and pacing the room. The tension in her chest had hardened into something sharp and unyielding. She turned to Hawke, her voice low and cold. “We’re sitting on a powder keg, Hawke. If the Arishok loses patience, it won’t just be about the their relic anymore.”

    “I know,” Hawke said quietly, her tone lacking its usual defiance.

    Ariana stared at her, frustration and fear warring within her. This wasn’t just another problem to solve. This was a storm, brewing just beyond the horizon, and she had the sinking feeling it was about to break.

    ~~~

    Over those same months, Cullen and Ariana settled into a rhythm of sparring in the mornings, their sessions becoming a steady fixture in Cullen’s week. It was a simple routine: he would arrive at the estate shortly after sunrise, dressed in his training gear, and find Ariana already waiting for him in the courtyard, her twin daggers glinting faintly in the dawn light.

    The first few sessions were straightforward, almost nostalgic. They began with drills—blocks, parries, dodges—much like their training days near Lake Calenhad. Yet as the weeks passed, Cullen couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that she was holding back. Her movements were precise, but her attacks lacked full force. Her speed—while impressive—felt measured, like she was pulling her strikes just short of their true potential.

    Today was no different. Their blades clashed in a swift series of strikes and counters, Ariana’s agility matching Cullen’s strength. She dodged his heavier blows with ease, her footwork almost too fluid, like a dance she’d rehearsed countless times. Yet something about the rhythm felt off.

    “You’re holding back,” Cullen said abruptly, breaking their flow as he stepped back and lowered his blade.

    Ariana arched a brow, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. “I’m not holding back,” she replied evenly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze.

    “You are,” Cullen insisted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve always been faster than me, which doesn’t explain why I’ve landed multiple hits while you’ve barely landed any.”

    Her smirk faded, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she stepped forward, her blades at her sides. “I’m not pulling my punches,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re still just better trained than I am. Strength has its advantages, and speed doesn’t win forever.”

    Cullen exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on his sword. “That’s not it, and you know it. I asked you to spar with me because I need a real challenge, not someone pulling their punches.”

    He studied her closely, the tension between them palpable. There was more to her words than she was letting on, and he knew it. She was faster, more precise than anyone he’d sparred with in years, yet she kept losing to him. She was letting him win.

    “Ariana,” Cullen said, his voice softening. “If this is about me—about protecting my pride—don’t. I watched you fight those slavers. The person sparring with me isn’t that person. I want to see what you can really do.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might say something more. But instead, she raised her daggers, her stance shifting back into readiness.

    “Come on, Knight-Captain,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

    Cullen hesitated for a beat, then raised his sword. They resumed their sparring, but his mind lingered on her earlier response. She was deflecting, hiding something. The realization gnawed at him, though he knew better than to push her too far. Not yet.

    Their session ended with a swift disarm—Ariana’s daggers sent skittering across the courtyard stones as Cullen managed to pin her against the stone wall. His breath came in short bursts, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

    “You’ve improved,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But you’re still holding back.”

    Ariana smirked, her eyes meeting his. “As are you.”

    He held her for a moment longer and he thought through her words. Was he holding back as well? He was winning their matches but was he really committing to his strikes?

    Cullen stepped back, releasing her, and they both lowered their weapons. The morning sun had risen higher, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Despite the physical exhaustion, there was a lightness in their shared silence, a mutual respect that words couldn’t quite capture.

    As they sheathed their blades and gathered their things, Cullen couldn’t help but glance at her, his thoughts swirling with questions. There was so much he still didn’t know about the woman she had become. But if their sparring sessions had taught him anything, it was this: Ariana Trevelyan was not someone who would break easily. She carried her secrets like armor, and for now, he would respect that.

    But he would also be ready when she decided to share them.

    ~~~

    “It has been over two months since you returned, Ariana,” Isabel said one evening, her tone sharper than usual. They were sitting in the library, where Ariana had been poring over correspondence from Ferelden. “Two months, and you haven’t told him. You have multiple squads of Rangers training and operating within the city. The White Wolf is running operations in Kirkwall.”

    Ariana didn’t look up from the letter in her hands, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her unease. “And what exactly do you propose I tell him, Isabel?” she replied coolly. “That the Divine herself sent me to investigate Kirkwall? That Knight-Commander Meredith is under suspicion? You know as well as I do that’s exactly what I cannot do.”

    Isabel stepped closer, her frustration mounting. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ariana, and you’re both going to get hurt. Cullen cares for you, deeply. And I—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “I care for him too. You’re letting fear hold you back.”

    Ariana finally looked up, her hazel-green eyes hardening as she met Isabel’s gaze. “And what happens when I tell him everything?” she asked. “What if he decides I’m no better than any other mercenary? Worse—what if he turns me in? If he is truly loyal to Meredith, do you think he could ignore this?”

    Isabel folded her arms, her voice firm but gentle. “I think Cullen is loyal to what he believes is right, not Meredith. You of all people should know that.”

    Ariana’s shoulders slumped slightly as the weight of Isabel’s words settled over her. She had spent months agonizing over this. When she first returned to Kirkwall and sought Varric’s help to find Cullen, it had been Varric who told her how quickly Cullen had risen through the ranks since arriving in the city—how he had become Meredith’s trusted Knight-Captain. At the time, the news had both relieved and unsettled her.

    Now, after months of operating in Kirkwall, she had seen firsthand how dangerous the Templars under Meredith’s command could be. Even though Linnea’s reports suggested Cullen wasn’t directly involved, it was clear he wasn’t entirely unaware of the growing abuse of the Rite of Tranquility. He justified it when it was reported to him, didn’t question it too much. Could he really be blind to what Meredith was doing, or was he choosing not to see it?

    Her fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the letter she was holding. Maybe Isabel’s right. Maybe I am protecting myself more than him, she thought, but she immediately shoved the idea aside. She had too much to lose if she was wrong.

    “You’ve heard Hawke,” she said finally. “Even she’s struggling to hold back, and she doesn’t have the same stakes I do. The more we learn, the more the lines between friend and enemy blur.”

    “That doesn’t make them meaningless,” Isabel countered, her voice firm. “Hawke knows where she stands. Do you?”

    “Yes,” Ariana shot back, her tone angrier than she intended. “I’ll stand with the mages—and that is exactly the problem.”

    The words hung in the air, raw and unvarnished. Ariana took a deep breath, regaining her composure. She raised her hands slightly in acknowledgment, as if trying to smooth the sharp edges of her outburst.

    Her gaze dropped for a moment, her voice quieter when she continued. “I’ll tell him, Isabel. But not yet. Not until I know exactly what we’re dealing with. I have to be sure.”

    “You mean until you can justify it to yourself,” Isabel said, her tone softening but still carrying an edge. “You’re not protecting him by waiting—you’re protecting yourself. Admit it.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Isabel’s words had struck at a fear she refused to name: the fear that Cullen wouldn’t stand by her when the truth came out. That her choices—everything she had built—would drive him away. And if that happened… the thought twisted her stomach into knots.

    Isabel sighed, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms. “For your sake, and his, you’d better hope you find that information soon, child,” she said. “Because this city has a way of chewing up secrets—and the people who keep them.”

    The sound of steel clashing and shouts suddenly carried through the air, reverberating through the stone walls of Hightown. It wasn’t the muffled raucousness of a brawl spilling out from a tavern; it was different—chaotic, large, and brutal. The unmistakable sounds of a battle.

    Ariana froze, her ears straining to confirm what she thought she’d heard. Isabel turned her head sharply toward the noise, her sharp retort fading into silence. “What in the Maker’s name…?”

    Ariana stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she ran out of the room. “Stay here,” she commanded, her voice tight.

    She ran upstairs to one of the balconies, gripping the railing as she scanned the streets below. Her stomach clenched at the sight that met her eyes. Qunari. Dozens of them, heavily armed and swarming the streets of Hightown. They dragged people from buildings, cutting down anyone who resisted. Blood stained the cobblestones, and the screams of panicked citizens punctuated the air. The chaos rippled outward like wildfire, threatening to engulf everything.

    Maker… this is no random attack, Ariana thought, her chest tightening with urgency. Linnea’s warning from days earlier and the conversation with Hawke all echoed in her mind: The Arishok is getting anxious. If something doesn’t change, they may force the issue. They had seen it coming, but they were too late.

    She ran back into her room, already putting on her armor with practiced efficiency. She fastened the white fur-trimmed cloak of the White Wolf, tied a mask over the lower half of her face, and secured her weapons with a grim determination. The image staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t Ariana Trevelyan—it was the White Wolf, the leader of the Silver Rangers, a force sworn to protect the innocent.

    “Isabel!” Ariana called as she descended the stairs.

    She found Isabel in the kitchen, her face pale but her expression steady as she tried to calm the household staff. Emma clung to Isabel’s side, her wide eyes filled with fear.

    “Get yourselves and all the staff into the cellar and lock the door,” Ariana ordered, her voice firm and steady despite the turmoil.

    Isabel turned to her, her expression shifting from fear to resolve. “Ari, what is happening? The staff—some of them are out on errands—”

    “I don’t know yet,” Ariana admitted, her voice clipped as she moved to the backdoor. “The Qunari are in the streets, attacking anyone they can reach. It’s chaos out there. Go. Gather whoever is left here and get them to safety.”

    Isabel met Ariana’s gaze, her expression shifting from fear to resolve. “You can’t go alone—”

    “I can and I will,” Ariana interrupted sharply. “I need to find Hawke and Varric. The Rangers will need orders. This isn’t just Hightown—if it’s reached here, Lowtown and the docks are probably already overrun.” She placed a hand on Isabel’s shoulder, her grip firm but reassuring. “I’ll find everyone, but I need you to protect them. Now.”

    “Ari?” Emma’s voice wavered. “Come back?”

    Ariana crouched down to Emma’s level, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Of course,” she said gently, though her heart twisted at the lie. “But you need to stay with your mom, all right? She’ll keep you safe.”

    Emma nodded reluctantly, clutching at Isabel’s skirts.

    Isabel hesitated but eventually nodded. She turned to gather the staff, ushering them toward the cellar. Ariana paused long enough to see them moving, then slipped out the back door into the chill of the evening.

    The sounds of battle grew louder as she navigated the shadows of the alleys, her heart pounding with urgency. Linnea had warned her. Hawke had hoped to contain this. But the signs had been there, and they had seen it too late. Now the city was burning, and the Qunari had become the fire consuming it.

    Her steps quickened as she headed toward the Hanged Man. Hawke and Varric would be her first stop. From there, she would organize the Rangers. Her thoughts raced, calculating strategies, prioritizing tasks, but beneath the tactical focus was a single, desperate prayer:

    Maker, keep them safe. Hawke, Varric, Isabel, Emma—the Rangers, everyone. Cullen… She didn’t have time for fear, but it simmered beneath her resolve, a constant reminder of how much was at stake.

    The chaos of the city loomed ahead, but Ariana’s resolve was unshaken. Whatever was coming, she would face it. For Kirkwall. For her people. And for the chance to make it through the night alive.

  • Chapter 30 – Calm Before the Storm

    12-13 Wintermarch 9:34

    The soft golden light of morning filtered through the estate’s windows, casting a warm glow across the dining room. Ariana had risen early, ensuring everything was ready before Cullen arrived. The table was set simply but thoughtfully—freshly baked bread, cured meats, cheese, and a pot of steaming tea. A small bouquet of wildflowers sat in the center, their soft blues and whites a subtle nod to Cullen’s homeland.

    She heard his footsteps before she saw him, the familiar rhythm bringing a small smile to her lips. As he entered the room, her heart lifted. He looked slightly disheveled, his golden hair still tousled from sleep, but his expression softened the moment he saw her.

    “Good morning,” Ariana greeted, her voice light and warm.

    Cullen paused, taking in the scene before him. “You’ve been busy,” he said, his tone teasing but laced with affection. “This looks… far more organized than my usual mornings.”

    Ariana laughed softly, gesturing for him to sit. “Well, it’s not every day someone turns twenty-four,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye as she slid into the chair across from him.

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head as he sat. “I see you’re enjoying this far more than I expected.”

    She grinned, pouring tea into their cups. “Someone has to make a fuss over you. Maker knows you wouldn’t do it yourself.”

    As they began eating, the easy banter between them softened into comfortable silence. Ariana watched him from the corner of her eye, her mind turning over the small box she’d carefully hidden behind her chair. She waited until he reached for his second cup of tea before speaking.

    “I have something for you,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness.

    She nodded, stepping closer to him. “I know you already knew where they were, but… I wrote to them while I was away. I told them it was for your birthday, and they sent these.”

    He took the box carefully, his fingers brushing against hers. Opening it slowly, he saw a neat stack of letters tied with a ribbon. His thumb brushed the topmost envelope, immediately recognizing Mia’s handwriting. His throat tightened as he stared at the letters, his emotions swirling.

    “Since I stopped in Ferelden on my last trip,” she said quietly, her gaze steady on his face. “I reached out to Mia. She was more than happy to help. I just… thought you might want to hear from them. She did ask that you write back this time…”

    Cullen didn’t respond immediately, his thumb brushing over the edges of the letters as though they might vanish if he wasn’t careful. He swallowed hard, his golden eyes shimmering with unspoken gratitude.

    “Mia has written to me before,” he admitted after a moment. “But I… I never replied much. Not as much as I should have.”

    Ariana watched him carefully, her own heart aching at the vulnerability in his tone. “I did not know about your parents,” she said softly, her voice laced with sorrow. “I am so sorry, Cullen. I… I didn’t know they had died during the Blight.”

    He looked up at her, the grief he carried well hidden behind his usual calm exterior flickering in his eyes. “You didn’t need to know,” he replied gently. “You did so much for them already, going to Honnleath to warn them before anyone else. I didn’t want you to feel any burden for what happened.”

    Her brow furrowed as she stepped closer. “It’s not a burden, Cullen. I cared for them too. They… they were kind to me when they didn’t even know me.”

    He managed a small smile, his voice softening. “At least you got to meet them. I know they would be happy… that we’re here together again.”

    Ariana gave him a small smile, her hands clasping around her teacup. “You should read them,” she encouraged gently. “I’ll… give you some privacy if you’d like.”

    “No,” Cullen said quickly, shaking his head. “Stay. Please.” His gaze met hers, warm and open. “I want you here.”

    She nodded, her chest tightening as she watched him untie the ribbon and open the first letter. The room fell into a quiet hush as he began to read. His eyes moved over the words with a reverence that made her chest ache. Occasionally, his lips twitched upward in a faint smile, or his brow furrowed as he processed the contents. He read a passage aloud from Mia’s letter, her words full of teasing affection, and Ariana found herself smiling along with him.

    “She’s still as sharp as ever,” he murmured, skimming the lines. Then he paused, the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “Oh, Maker.”

    “What is it?” Ariana asked, tilting her head.

    He cleared his throat, his golden eyes flicking up to meet hers, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment on his face. “She said—well, she said she was right all along,” he admitted reluctantly. “About us. Apparently, she wasn’t convinced we were ‘just friends’ when you visited before the Blight.”

    Ariana burst into laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Yes, well, I think it was obvious to everyone even back then” she teased, leaning back in her chair.

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head as he continued reading. “She also claims I owe her an apology for denying it so fervently.”

    “She’s not wrong,” Ariana said, her tone playful. “You should write back and admit it.”

    He shot her a mock glare but couldn’t suppress his grin. “I would never hear the end of it.”

    When he finished the last letter, Cullen sat back in his chair, holding the bundle against his chest for a moment as he closed his eyes. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” he admitted quietly. “It’s been years since I’ve heard from them like this.”

    Ariana reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his. “You have a family who loves you, Cullen. They haven’t forgotten you.”

    His hand closed over hers, his grip firm but gentle. “And now I have you,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of vulnerability. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but thank you, Ari.”

    Her smile softened, and she squeezed his hand before leaning back in her chair. “You deserve it, Cullen. More than you know.”

    They sat together for a while longer, the letters resting between them as the morning sun continued its gentle ascent. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around them, a reminder that, despite everything, they had found each other again—and for now, that was enough.

    ~~~

    The mid-morning sun hung low on the horizon, its golden rays casting a soft glow over the cobblestone streets of Hightown as they made their way toward the city gates. Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a day entirely to himself. His duties rarely afforded him such luxuries, and he found himself grateful for this rare reprieve—grateful, too, that he was spending it with Ariana.

    She walked a step ahead, her pace brisk, her cloak shifting with each stride. The lightness in her steps mirrored the easy banter between them. She seemed more carefree than he’d seen her in days, and he couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm as she pointed out landmarks or made sly remarks about his “overdeveloped sense of caution.”

    “I thought you were a Knight-Captain, not a Chantry cleric,” she teased, glancing back over her shoulder as they followed the path down toward the coast. The cliffs rose in jagged lines against the bright blue sky, and the air carried the faint tang of saltwater.

    “Both roles require a sharp mind, you know,” he replied with mock indignation. “Though I can see why you might not be familiar with the concept.”

    Her laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained, and Cullen felt a surge of warmth. Moments like these—when she was genuinely at ease—reminded him of how much he had missed her during her time away. She had always been someone who could shift the weight from his shoulders with a single smile.

    They left the main path, the beaten dirt trail giving way to rocky terrain. The cliffs loomed higher here, casting shadows that cooled the air despite the sun’s warmth. Ariana led him with purpose, weaving through the uneven terrain as if she’d been here a dozen times before.

    “This way,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement. She gestured to an outcropping of rock ahead, where the faint edges of a crumbled structure jutted out from the earth. “It’s supposed to be an old Tevinter ruin. I’ve heard stories about this place but never had a chance to explore it properly.”

    Cullen followed, his steps deliberate as he navigated the uneven ground. “Tevinter ruins?” he asked, his tone curious. “I would’ve thought you’d had your fill of them by now.”

    She glanced at him, an amused glint in her hazel-green eyes. “What can I say? Old ruins and forgotten histories—they’re like puzzles waiting to be solved. Besides,” she added with a sly smile, “you never know what you might find. Could be treasure. Could be danger. Keeps things interesting.”

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s a bold way of saying ‘reckless,’” he teased. “But fine. I’ll humor you, as long as you promise not to go poking around anything cursed.”

    “No promises,” she shot back, her grin widening.

    They spent the next hour exploring the ruins, their conversation shifting easily between speculation about Tevinter history and lighthearted banter about their own. Ariana darted ahead now and then, her curiosity pulling her toward half-buried walls and fragments of stone carvings. Cullen watched her, a mixture of admiration and amusement softening his expression. She had always been bold, driven by a quiet determination that made it impossible not to be drawn to her.

    As they wandered further, Cullen’s gaze caught something—a series of faint footprints pressed into the dirt near the edge of the ruins. He crouched down, inspecting them carefully. The impressions were fresh, leading away from the direction they had come. His chest tightened with a flicker of unease.

    “Someone’s been here recently,” he said, standing and scanning the area. His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. “We should stay alert.”

    Ariana joined him, her expression curious rather than concerned as she followed his line of sight. “Probably just travelers or scavengers,” she said lightly, brushing her hair back as she surveyed the footprints. “It’s not unusual for people to pass through here.”

    Cullen frowned, his grip on his sword tightening. “Perhaps, but it’s best not to assume. Especially not out here.”

    Her lack of concern unsettled him. While she agreed to be cautious, there was a quiet confidence in her demeanor that made him wonder if she knew something he didn’t—or perhaps that she simply wasn’t worried. Either way, it struck him as odd. This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how at ease she seemed in situations that would leave most people uneasy.

    They continued forward, Cullen’s senses heightened as he scanned their surroundings. Despite the unease creeping in, he couldn’t shake the growing curiosity about Ariana. Her calm felt calculated, deliberate, as though she was weighing risks he couldn’t see. It left him wondering—again—just how much he didn’t know about what she had endured during the Blight, or the years that had followed.

    For now, though, he set the questions aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. Whatever lay ahead, he would make certain she was safe.

    ~~~

    The ruins had begun to fall silent again, the faint whisper of the wind the only sound as Cullen and Ariana made their way back toward the path. The earlier unease lingered in the back of his mind, but he said nothing, keeping his senses sharp. His hand never strayed far from his longsword, his muscles coiled and ready. Something about the fresh footprints they had found earlier didn’t sit right with him.

    It happened without warning.

    A sudden rustle from the cliffs above drew Cullen’s attention. Before he could react, a group of armed men emerged from the shadows, their weapons gleaming in the midday sun. They moved quickly, surrounding Cullen and Ariana in a practiced formation. Slavers, he realized immediately. Their leering grins and mismatched armor marked them as opportunists, their eyes darting between Cullen and Ariana as though sizing up their prey.

    “Well, what do we have here?” one of them sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “A fine-looking pair, wandering all alone. Lucky for us.”

    Cullen’s grip tightened on his sword, his stance shifting instinctively into a defensive posture. Beside him, Ariana stood eerily calm, her hands brushing against her thighs. Her knives, he realized. Small, discreet, and tucked against her legs—barely a threat, or so the slavers likely thought.

    “She’ll fetch a good price,” another slaver said, his gaze lingering on Ariana in a way that made Cullen’s blood boil. “And him? Looks trained. City Guard maybe. Would be good for the fights.”

    Cullen’s jaw clenched, his muscles taut with restrained fury. He stepped forward slightly, positioning himself protectively in front of Ariana. “Walk away,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “You don’t want to do this.”

    The leader, a burly man with a jagged scar running across his face, laughed, the sound cold and guttural. “Oh, I think we do,” he said, raising his blade. “Take them.”

    The slavers lunged. Cullen drew his longsword in a fluid motion, meeting the first strike head-on. The clang of steel against steel rang out, sharp and jarring, as he parried the attack and countered with a powerful strike that sent his opponent sprawling. Another slaver came at him from the side, but Cullen was ready, his movements precise and measured as he dodged and struck back.

    Ariana, however, was a blur of motion.

    Before Cullen could glance back, she had already drawn one of her small knives and sidestepped an advancing slaver. With a sharp, practiced movement, she slashed his arm, forcing him to drop his weapon—a short sword. She caught it mid-fall, the transition seamless as she turned on her heel and drove the blade into his side. The slaver crumpled with a grunt, but Ariana didn’t stop.

    Her movements were fluid, deadly. She disarmed another slaver, this time taking a second short sword, and shifted effortlessly into a dual-wielding stance. Cullen’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of her in action. Her strikes were precise, her footwork agile, her presence commanding. This was not the Ariana he had known before the Blight—the girl who had once sparred with him in the morning light at the ruins near Lake Calenhad, her strikes hesitant and deliberate. This was someone else entirely.

    He could now see more of the skill she displayed sparring with him recently, except there was never any hesitation here. Had she lost their sparring match on purpose? Had she been holding back her true skill?

    The realization struck him hard, a brief lapse in focus that cost him. One of the slavers’ blades grazed his arm, cutting through the fabric of his sleeve. The pain snapped him back to the present, and with a snarl, he spun to disarm his opponent, delivering a decisive strike that ended the threat.

    But even as he fought, his gaze kept drifting back to Ariana. The way she moved—the confidence in her every strike, the calculated precision with which she dispatched her enemies—left him stunned. She was lethal, efficient, and utterly unrecognizable from the girl he thought he knew. It wasn’t just skill; it was survival honed into an art.

    By the time the last slaver fell, the ruins were eerily quiet again. Cullen stood frozen for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Ariana stood a few feet away, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Blood stained her blades and splattered across her travel clothes, but her expression was calm, almost detached.

    “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice steady as she glanced over at him.

    Cullen could only nod at first, his words caught somewhere between his racing thoughts and the pounding of his heart. Finally, he found his voice. “You… you’re incredible,” he said, his tone laced with awe and something deeper—pride, perhaps, but also unease. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

    Ariana hesitated, her eyes flickering briefly with something he couldn’t quite place. “I survived,” she said simply, as though that explained everything. And in a way, it did.

    Cullen felt a pang of guilt as the realization sank in. Whatever she had been through, whatever had shaped her into the fighter she was now—it hadn’t come easily. It had come at a cost. He couldn’t help but wonder what that cost had been. And he had a feeling it was more than darkspawn.

    Still, as they stood amidst the aftermath of the ambush, another thought struck him—a quiet, unshakable truth. She was strong, stronger than he had ever imagined. And while part of him ached to protect her, to shield her from whatever had forced her to become this skilled, another part of him swelled with admiration. She wasn’t just surviving; she was thriving, in her own way.

    Cullen sheathed his sword, his gaze lingering on Ariana as she wiped the blood from her borrowed blades and returned them to the ground beside the fallen slavers. For now, his questions could wait. What mattered was that she was safe—and that she was here, standing with him.

    ~~~

    The echoes of the fight still lingered in the ruins, the silence feeling heavier now that the immediate danger had passed. Ariana’s gaze flicked to Cullen, who stood a few paces away, his breathing steady but labored. Blood seeped through his sleeve, a dark stain against the fabric. She saw him trying to brush it off as if it didn’t hurt, but the shallow gash told a different story.

    “Cullen,” she said sharply, crossing the distance between them. “Let me see your arm.”

    “It’s nothing,” he replied, his voice gruff as he shook his head. “Just a scratch.”

    Ariana frowned, reaching for his arm despite his protest. “It’s not nothing. Sit,” she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. She crouched beside him as he reluctantly lowered himself to a nearby rock.

    From the corner of her mind, Krieger’s voice stirred. “You’re too important to lose,” The memory was sharp and unwelcome, a reminder of the man who had shaped her into what she was now. She was back in the day where her own focus faltered and Krieger bandaged her arm. She forced the thought aside, her focus snapping back to Cullen.

    Without a word, Ariana tugged at her sash, tearing a strip of fabric free. The material unraveled easily, and she wrapped it carefully around Cullen’s arm. He watched her, his expression softening as he realized what she was doing.

    “I’ll clean it properly when we get back,” she murmured, tying the makeshift bandage securely. She glanced up at him, her hazel-green eyes searching his face. “There. That’ll hold for now.”

    “You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly, though there was no mistaking the gratitude in his voice.

    Ariana offered him a faint smile, brushing her hands off on her trousers as she stood. “It’s the least I can do, it’s your birthday after all and this was my idea,” she teased lightly, trying to keep her tone casual. “Now stay here. I’m going to check them.”

    She moved away before he could argue, her attention shifting to the slavers’ belongings. A quick search revealed little of immediate value—coins, scraps of food, and basic equipment—but in one satchel, her fingers brushed against the edge of something unusual. She pulled it free and found a small leather-bound ledger. Flipping through the pages, her expression hardened. The notes were vague but suggested other camps nearby—perhaps even captives waiting to be transported. Ariana slipped the ledger into her pouch without a word. This was something for the Hawke to handle. She would deal with it later. Alone.

    When she returned to Cullen, he was watching her closely, his golden eyes filled with a mix of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

    “You were calm,” he said, his voice quiet but weighted. “During the fight. You didn’t hesitate. You weren’t afraid.”

    Ariana paused for only a moment, then shrugged with a practiced ease, as though this were just another day. “It’s nothing unusual,” she said, her tone light and even. “You can’t afford to hesitate when it’s your life or theirs. You don’t fight to survive. You fight to win. That’s all there is to it.”

    The words left her lips before she could stop them, and for a moment, Krieger’s voice echoed again in her mind. “You don’t fight to survive, Ariana. You fight to win.” The mantra had kept her alive for years, but it came with a price—one she tried not to think about too often.

    Cullen frowned slightly at her response, the weight of it unsettling him. She could see it in the way his brows knit together, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t say anything immediately, but the silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.

    Sensing the tension, Ariana decided to deflect. “I should be praising you,” she said lightly, folding her arms across her chest. “For someone without armor, you held your own pretty well.”

    Cullen raised an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I’m a Templar, Ari,” he replied, a touch of humor creeping into his voice. “It’s my job.”

    “And here I thought you just looked good in armor,” she teased, her grin widening.

    The tension eased slightly as Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or offended.”

    “Definitely flattered,” she said with a wink, stepping closer to him. “Come on, let’s get moving before we attract any more attention.”

    As they set off down the path, Ariana’s thoughts remained heavy despite her lighthearted tone. She knew Cullen hadn’t let the question go entirely. The way he had looked at her during the fight—the realization she had seen in his eyes—told her that he was starting to put the pieces together.

    She didn’t know what he would do if he ever uncovered the whole truth, but for now, she pushed the fear aside. There were other battles to fight, and Cullen—always the protector—was at her side. That, at least, was enough for now.

    ~~~

    The warm glow of the setting sun cast long shadows through the estate’s halls as Cullen and Ariana stepped inside. The exhaustion of the day clung to them, but the sight of her home brought a sense of calm. They had made it back, bruised but alive, and for that, Cullen was grateful.

    “You’re hurt,” Cullen said, breaking the silence as he glanced at the thin cut along her leg. It wasn’t deep, but it still bothered him.

    “It’s nothing,” Ariana replied, brushing it off with her usual nonchalance. She stepped toward the stairs, but Cullen caught her arm gently.

    Cullen wasn’t having it. “Ari,” he said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “Let me clean it. Properly.”

    She turned, eyebrow raised, before a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Alright, fine,” she relented, though her tone carried a hint of teasing. “But only if I can do the same for your arm after.”

    He chuckled softly, shaking his head as they made their way upstairs. “Fair.”

    Ariana reappeared in her house robe, her movements fluid and relaxed despite the day’s events. Cullen felt his breath hitch slightly as she crossed the room. The robe, tied loosely at the waist, revealed more than he was accustomed to seeing. It wasn’t just her appearance—it was the ease with which she carried herself, the confidence that seemed to radiate from her despite the exhaustion. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing instead on the first aid supplies she’d placed on the table. 

    She sat on the edge of the chaise, her leg extended. “Alright, Knight-Captain,” she teased lightly, “do your worst.”

    Cullen knelt in front of her, carefully dabbing at the cut with a cloth dampened in clean water. The wound wasn’t serious, but his hands worked with the precision of someone who’d done this countless times. She winced slightly, and he immediately softened his touch.

    “You were incredible today,” he said quietly, his voice almost reverent. “But next time, maybe don’t let them get so close.” 

    Her laugh was soft, but he caught the faint blush on her cheeks. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get ambushed while I’m unarmed.” 

    As he worked, his gaze kept drifting—noticing details he hadn’t allowed himself to focus on before.

    The definition of her muscles was unmistakable, the kind forged not from casual exercise but from years of rigorous training. Her legs, lean and powerful, bore the faint scars of past battles. His eyes trailed up, subtly taking in her arms and shoulders, which had the same quiet strength. He’d always known her frame was athletic—it was evident even beneath her usual attire—but seeing it like this, up close and unguarded, made him realize just how much he hadn’t been able to see before.

    This wasn’t just someone who had fought enough to survive. This was someone who had lived through relentless challenges, someone who had trained, fought—and won—time and again.

    His mind flickered back to the fight earlier, to the way she had moved with such lethal precision. Where had she learned that? How had she survived everything the Blight had thrown at her, alone? Not alone. She couldn’t have been.

    Cullen’s hands faltered briefly as his thoughts spiraled, the cloth in his grasp still against her skin. Ariana tilted her head, her sharp eyes catching the lapse.

    “Distracted?” she asked, her voice playful but carrying a thread of curiosity.

    He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. “Just… making sure it’s cleaned thoroughly,” he replied, though the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him.

    Her lips curved into a knowing smile, but she said nothing, allowing him to finish his work in silence.

    As Cullen tied the bandage securely around her leg, he couldn’t shake the questions swirling in his mind. The woman before him wasn’t the same girl he had met back in Ferelden. This version of Ariana carried herself with an unshakable confidence, her strength undeniable and yet still wrapped in layers of mystery.

    He’d seen many sides of her—her wit, her courage, her kindness—but this… this was something different. Something dangerous.

    A reminder, he thought as he sat back, that he needed to find out more.

    “Your turn,” Ariana said, snapping him from his reverie as she motioned for him to sit.

    He hesitated, but the determined look on her face left no room for argument. With a resigned sigh, Cullen moved to the bed, ready for what he knew would be another reminder of how easily she could disarm him—not just in battle, but in every way.

    “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the bed. 

    With a sigh, he obeyed, easing down onto the edge of the bed. Ariana climbed onto the bed beside him, kneeling as she carefully untied the makeshift bandage she had wrapped earlier. 

    “Take off your shirt,” she instructed, her tone matter-of-fact. 

    Cullen hesitated, a rush of nervous energy making his movements falter. The intimacy of the moment—her bare shoulder so close, her focus entirely on him—made his pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with the wound itself. Swallowing hard, he pulled his shirt over his head and set it aside. The cool air was a stark contrast to the warmth of her hands as they carefully cleaned his arm, each touch leaving him feeling entirely too aware of her.

    Her fingers worked methodically, the slight tug of the bandage firm but careful as she tied the final knot. Cullen watched her with a mix of appreciation and unease. She wasn’t just bandaging his arm; there was something almost tender about the way she moved, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed together in quiet focus. 

    As she leaned back to examine her work, her hazel-green eyes lifted to meet his. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them. Neither of them moved, the stillness in the air thick and heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. 

    Her hand lingered, resting lightly on his arm as if to reassure herself that he was there, that he was alright. But it was the way she was looking at him that sent a jolt through him—soft, unguarded, with a warmth that threatened to undo every ounce of his composure. 

    Cullen’s breath hitched, the moment stretching unbearably as his thoughts betrayed him. She was beautiful, of course, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way she seemed to see straight through him, the way her presence steadied something deep within him, even as she so effortlessly unraveled the walls he had built. 

    But there was something deeper in her gaze, too—something he couldn’t quite place. Was it longing? Guilt? The flicker of emotion made his chest tighten, as though she carried a weight she wasn’t sharing. 

    He needed to move. To pull away before he did something irredeemably foolish. His mind raced, caught between the pull of her nearness and the nagging voice of reason that reminded him how precarious this was. 

    Slowly, Cullen cleared his throat, breaking the tension. But his voice, when it came, sounded rougher than he intended, betraying the battle within him. “I should… probably go,” he said, standing abruptly. 

    Ariana blinked, startled by his sudden movement. Her hand slipped from his arm as she straightened, watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher—disappointment? Amusement? 

    For a moment, he thought he saw the corner of her lips twitch into a faint smile, as if she knew exactly why he was retreating. And that realization only made him more desperate to escape the dangerous pull she had over him. 

    Cullen stepped back, forcing himself to look away, his hands curling into fists at his sides to steady himself. “I—thank you,” he added quickly, gesturing vaguely to his arm. 

    But as he turned to leave, her voice stopped him. 

    “Stay a little longer.” 

    It wasn’t a command, nor was it a plea. Her tone was quiet, steady, as though she already knew he wouldn’t refuse. 

    Cullen hesitated, his back to her, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He swallowed hard, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She was still sitting on the bed, her robe falling loosely around her frame, her expression unreadable but earnest. 

    He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright,” he said softly, his resolve crumbling. “Just a little longer.” 

    ~~~

    Ariana led Cullen out into the courtyard, her hand lightly brushing his as they walked. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. Above them, the stars blanketed the sky, their soft glow spilling into the courtyard, casting gentle shadows on the cobblestones. The lanterns from earlier had burned low, leaving the space quiet and bathed in moonlight.

    They laid down on the grass, side by side, staring up at the clear sky. The stars stretched endlessly above them, their light reflecting in Ariana’s eyes as she turned to glance at him. As they settled into the quiet, a familiar memory surfaced for Ariana, and she tilted her head back to look at the stars. “Do you remember the ruins near Lake Calenhad?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a touch of nostalgia.

    Cullen glanced at her, a small smile forming as the memory came rushing back. “Of course. You spent hours telling me all the stories, myths, and legends behind the stars. Real or imagined.” he quipped.

    Her laughter rang out, clear and unrestrained. The light in her eyes, the ease in her posture—it was a side of her he hadn’t seen often in recent days, and it warmed him to see her like this.

    Ariana’s laughter softened, her expression growing thoughtful. “I used to think those moments by the ruins were perfect,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Simple and peaceful… like nothing bad could touch us there.”

    Cullen nodded, the wistfulness in her tone mirrored in his own thoughts. “It did feel like that, didn’t it?” he said. “Like the rest of the world didn’t matter.”

    They fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only came with trust and familiarity. Cullen found his gaze drifting to her more often than the stars, his mind circling back to the events of the day—the fight, the secrets she carried, the undeniable connection they shared. He had never met anyone like her, someone who could carry so much yet remain so strong, so vibrant. And despite the questions that still lingered in his mind, one realization stood out above all others.

    He loved her.

    It wasn’t a sudden epiphany or a grand revelation. It was quiet and steady, like the stars above them, something that had been there all along, waiting for him to notice. She was his anchor, his light in the chaos that had surrounded him for so long.

    As her breathing slowed, she drifted off, her head resting against his shoulder. Cullen remained awake a little longer, letting the peace of the moment wash over him.

    Later that night, Isabel wandered into the courtyard, her steps light as she carried a blanket over her arm. She paused when she saw them, a smile tugging at her lips as she took in the sight. “Maker, those two…,” she murmured to herself, her tone amused but warm.

    Quietly, she stepped closer, draping the blanket over their sleeping forms with a practiced ease. She lingered for a moment, her gaze softening as she watched them. Whatever challenges lay ahead, it was clear they had found something precious in one another. With a contented sigh, Isabel turned and slipped away, leaving them to the quiet peace of the night. 

    ~~~

    The gentle morning light filtered through the courtyard, painting the cobblestones with a soft golden hue. Ariana stirred, her eyes fluttering open to a world that seemed, for a moment, unfamiliar. She blinked, taking in the open sky above her, the faint hum of birdsong, and the soft warmth of Cullen’s arm draped tightly around her. The events of the night before came rushing back, and a small, content smile curved her lips.

    Her gaze shifted to Cullen, his face relaxed in sleep, the worry lines that usually creased his brow smoothed away. She moved slightly, adjusting herself, and felt his arm tighten instinctively around her. A soft groan escaped him as he began to stir, his golden eyes opening slowly to meet hers.

    “Good morning,” she murmured, her voice soft, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

    Cullen turned his head toward her, his lips curling into a warm, sleepy smile as his other arm found its way around her. Without hesitation, he pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both tender and lingering. In one smooth motion, he shifted, rolling her onto her back, his weight settling gently over her.

    Ariana laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, happiness bubbling up as she looked up at him. In this moment, there were no shadows, no secrets, no looming tasks—just them. If it were up to her, this would be every morning for the rest of her life.

    Cullen’s eyes softened as he gazed down at her, his thumb brushing against her cheek. For a moment, neither of them moved, caught in the stillness of the morning and the intimacy of their closeness. But then, as if realizing where they were, he froze. A faint blush crept up his neck as his eyes darted to the open courtyard around them.

    “We’re outside,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both amusement and embarrassment.

    “Yes, we are,” Ariana replied, her tone teasing as she bit back another laugh.

    With a reluctant sigh, Cullen shifted his weight off her, settling beside her once more. He ran a hand through his hair, the slight sheepishness in his expression making her grin.

    “You know,” she said lightly, sitting up and brushing her hair back from her face, “if you’re going to pin me to the ground, maybe next time pick somewhere a little more private?”

    His blush deepened, and he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

    ~~~

    Later that morning, the smell of fresh bread and tea filled the estate, mingling with the soft hum of quiet conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery. Ariana sat across from Cullen at the breakfast table, feeling lighter than she had in days. The morning sun poured through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room as they ate in comfortable silence. Cullen looked more relaxed, though his armor still gleamed, a reminder that his duties were never far away.

    Ariana was halfway through her tea when a light knock at the door interrupted the calm. A courier entered, his demeanor efficient as he handed her a folded note. The handwriting on the outside was unmistakable—Varric’s precise scrawl.

    She unfolded the note, her curiosity immediately piqued.

    Pup— 

    Meet me at the Hanged Man. Got something interesting to show you. Time is of the essence. 

    —V

    Ariana’s brow furrowed slightly, though a small smile tugged at her lips. Whatever Varric had in store, it was bound to be worth investigating.

    “What is it?” Cullen’s voice broke through her thoughts, his sharp gaze already locked on her.

    She slipped the note into her pocket and shrugged casually, taking another sip of her tea. “Just Varric. He says he has something interesting to show me.”

    Cullen’s brow arched in quiet skepticism, his fork hovering midair. “And what does that mean?”

    “It means it’s Varric,” Ariana said lightly, her tone playful. “I never know what it means until I get there.”

    His lips twitched into an amused smile, though the curiosity in his eyes didn’t fade. “I’ll walk with you.”

    Ariana shook her head, setting her cup down as she stood. “No need. I still need to get ready, and I don’t want to make you late for the Gallows.”

    Cullen’s disappointment was subtle, but she caught it in the way his posture shifted. “If you’re sure.”

    “I’m sure,” she said, leaning down to kiss him as she passed by. “I’ll see you tonight?”

    “Of course,” Cullen replied, his smile returning as he adjusted his gauntlets, preparing himself for another day of duty.

    As he stepped out the door moments later, Ariana lingered in the quiet of the estate. She glanced toward the pocket where Varric’s note rested, her curiosity mingling with a faint flicker of anticipation. Whatever he had waiting for her, it was bound to be interesting.

    ~~~

    An hour later, Ariana made her way to the Hanged Man, her steps purposeful yet unhurried. When she arrived, Varric was waiting near the bar, leaning against a column with his usual nonchalance. Standing with him were Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea, each looking equally intrigued—and slightly impatient.

    “Took you long enough, pup,” Varric teased, pushing off the column. “Thought you might’ve brought breakfast for all of us.”

    Ariana smirked. “You didn’t mention food in your note. Besides, you’d complain about the estate’s cuisine not being as good as Corff’s.”

    “Fair,” Varric admitted with a grin. “Let’s get moving.”

    He led them through Lowtown, weaving through crowded streets and narrow alleys. The further they went, the closer they came to the docks, the air carrying the faint scent of saltwater. The group exchanged questioning glances, but Varric said nothing, his pace steady and his expression giving nothing away.

    Finally, he stopped in front of an unremarkable stretch of stone wall with a single, nondescript door set into it. He turned to face them, his grin widening.

    “Alright, Varric,” Ariana said, crossing her arms. “What are we doing here?”

    “This,” he replied, motioning toward the door. “It just became available, and I think you’re going to like it.”

    The group exchanged puzzled looks before Ariana stepped forward, pushing the door open. Inside was a vast warehouse, its interior far more expansive than the modest door suggested. Multiple levels of walkways crisscrossed above, and the main floor stretched wide, offering ample open space. The dim light filtering through high windows caught the glint of reinforced wooden railings and wooden beams. At the far end of the warehouse, a heavy iron grate led down to what appeared to be sewer access, and an adjacent tunnel hinted at further underground passageways.

    The Rangers wandered inside, taking in the potential of the space.

    Valentina ran a hand along a sturdy support beam. “This is perfect for training and storage. We wouldn’t lack room here.”

    Linnea moved to the edge of the upper walkway, her gaze scanning the multiple entrances. “It’s defensible, despite all the access points. Easy enough to secure them if we put in the effort.”

    Lamberto crouched near the iron grate, inspecting the sewer access. “Reinforcing this will be simple. Making sure no unexpected visitors show up? Even easier.”

    Ariana turned to Varric, narrowing her eyes slightly. “What’s wrong with it?”

    Varric chuckled, leaning against the wall. “The price. It’s expensive—120 gold a month. For Lowtown, that’s outrageous.”

    Ariana hummed, walking a slow circle around the main floor, her boots echoing softly against the stone. “Easy access to the docks, out of the way of prying eyes, plenty of hiding places, training area…” She paused, turning to the Rangers with an arched brow. “Well?”

    Lamberto grinned. “How much do we care about the price?”

    Ariana’s smile widened. “We don’t.”

    Varric raised his eyebrows, partially surprised but already beginning to understand the depth of her resources. “So, is this it?”

    Ariana nodded decisively. “It is.”

    The warehouse echoed with their voices as the group began to explore its full potential. For the first time in a while, Ariana felt a glimmer of hope. This place was more than just a new base—it was a symbol of their growing strength and resilience in a city that rarely offered either. Whatever challenges lay ahead, this space would be their sanctuary.

  • Chapter 29 – A New Alliance

    10 Wintermarch 9:34

    Ariana sat at the library table, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a map laid out before her. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth barely touched the chill knotting her chest. She needed Hawke and Varric’s help, the stakes for Kirkwall were too high.

    The library doors creaked open, and Isabel stepped in, leading Varric, Hawke, and the three Rangers—Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea—inside. Ariana stood, steadying herself as her guests entered. Varric, ever the charmer, greeted her with his trademark smirk, while Hawke’s sharp gaze roved over the room.

    “Nice setup, Ariana,” Hawke said, lips curling in amusement. “Puts my little estate to shame.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “You live three doors down, Hawke. I’m fairly certain our houses are the same size.”

    “Not true,” Varric chimed in as he sank into a chair. “Yours doesn’t have a library like this.”

    Hawke crossed her arms, mock-pouting. “Well, that settles it. I’m officially jealous.”

    Varric chuckled, leaning back. “This is why I stick to the Hanged Man. No petty comparisons, no upkeep, no nosy neighbors.”

    “And no peace and quiet,” Hawke added dryly, earning a laugh from Varric and Ariana.

    The banter lightened the room, but Ariana’s humor quickly faded. Her expression grew serious, and the change was not lost on her guests.

    Before she could speak, Lamberto glanced around and asked, “So… does this mean we finally get to renovate the manor, Wolf?”

    Ariana groaned, feigning exasperation. “What? The manor is already larger than this. And didn’t you just fix and renovate most of it?”

    “The library isn’t this nice,” Valentina chimed in.

    “I’ve never seen either of you in the manor library,” Ariana quipped.

    “It’s true,” Linnea added with a smirk.

    “Manor?” Varric interjected, raising a brow.

    Ariana sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The Rangers have a manor outside Redcliffe. I recently acquired it—it had been abandoned for years after the Blight.” She shrugged. “It fits our needs. Large grounds, stables, a workshop.”

    “But this is fancier,” Lamberto teased.

    Ariana waved a dismissive hand. “Very well. Do whatever you want with the manor when you get back. If that’s settled, can we move on?”

    The Rangers snickered but quieted as Ariana straightened, her tone growing firm. “Hawke, Varric, thank you for coming. What I’m about to share doesn’t leave this room.”

    Varric’s smirk faded, replaced by a calculating look. “You’ve got it.”

    Hawke nodded, her curiosity sharpened. “What’s this about?”

    Ariana produced a letter from her pocket and slid it across the table. “Start here.”

    Hawke unfolded the parchment, her brow furrowing as she read. Varric leaned over to skim the contents. Meanwhile, the Rangers sat down, their expressions unreadable—they already knew what was coming.

    When Hawke finished, she set the letter down carefully. “So,” she said, her tone measured but heavy with meaning, “what does she want from you?”

    “To risk everything,” Ariana replied evenly. She launched into an explanation of the Divine’s concerns: the Templars’ tightening grip on Kirkwall, her desire to help mages, and the chilling rumors about the Rite of Tranquility. She outlined the Rangers’ objectives, emphasizing discretion and the danger they faced.

    Varric let out a low whistle. “Maker’s breath, pup. She’s throwing you straight into the wolf’s den.”

    Ariana tilted her head, raising a brow with faint amusement. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

    Varric’s grin returned. “Couldn’t resist.”

    “She doesn’t trust anyone else to handle this quietly,” Ariana said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

    Hawke’s jaw tightened, her arms crossing. “If the rumors are true, and Templars are making mages tranquil without cause… what then?”

    Ariana met her gaze. “Then we stop them. We stop more mages from being sent to Kirkwall. And we help the ones already here escape.”

    Hawke exchanged a troubled glance with Varric. “You’ll be going up against Meredith herself.”

    “I know,” Ariana said quietly. “But if mages are being made tranquil for no reason—” Her voice faltered briefly. “We can’t stand by and let that happen.”

    Hawke hesitated, then said, “There’s something you should know. When we first met Anders, he asked for help freeing his friend, Karl, from the Gallows.”

    Ariana stiffened, the name unfamiliar but the weight of Hawke’s tone unmistakable.

    “We found him,” Hawke continued, her voice bitter. “He’d been made tranquil—and not because he was a threat. The Templars used him as bait to lure Anders and anyone helping him. After we killed the Templars holding him, Karl begged Anders to… end it.” Her expression hardened, though pain flickered in her eyes. “He didn’t want to live like that.”

    The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Ariana swallowed hard, her fists clenching at her sides. The Rangers exchanged grim looks, and Valentina broke the silence. “So the rumors are true.”

    “It appears,” Ariana confirmed softly, her voice laced with resolve. “And now you see why we’re here.”

    ~~~

    Their conversation stretched on for hours, punctuated by bottles of wine that seemed to materialize endlessly, thanks to Isabel’s attentiveness. The initial tension had given way to a camaraderie built on shared concerns and trust. Varric and Hawke both leaned forward in their seats, their attention fully on Ariana as she finished outlining what the Divine had asked of her and the Rangers.

    Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea sat quietly nearby, their expressions carefully neutral as they observed. Though briefed on their mission, hearing the details laid bare again—this time with Ariana’s close allies—added a weight that wasn’t lost on them.

    Varric broke the momentary silence, his tone lighter but still serious. “What of Cullen? Does he know?”

    Ariana froze for a moment, her glass poised midway to her lips. Her eyes flicked to the fire, its warm glow doing little to soften the sudden weight pressing on her chest. “No,” she said quietly, lowering the glass. “Not yet.”

    Lamberto leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. “Wait—Cullen? You mean the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall? Meredith’s second?”

    Valentina’s eyes narrowed slightly, her sharp gaze darting between Ariana and Varric. “The one we intercepted the other day? And why would he need to know?”

    Linnea, usually the quietest, tilted her head curiously. “Unless… is there more to this?”

    Ariana exhaled through her nose, her expression guarded. “He doesn’t know because I haven’t told him. Not yet.” Her tone was steady, but a faint edge betrayed her unease.

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “Why not?”

    Ariana hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I… I don’t have enough yet. If I tell him now, without proof, I could be putting him in an impossible position. He’s loyal to the Order, to Meredith. If I’m wrong—or even if I’m right and he doesn’t know—what am I asking him to do?”

    Varric sighed, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “You think he doesn’t know?”

    She shook her head, her voice quieter. “I don’t know what to think, Varric. When I first came back to Kirkwall, looking for him, you were the one who told me he was Meredith’s right hand. You told me how quickly he was promoted.” Her gaze turned distant, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass absently. “I didn’t think much of it then. Of course he’d rise quickly—he’s everything the Order values. Disciplined. Loyal. Principled.”

    Valentina exchanged a quick glance with Lamberto. “You know him well,” she observed, her tone cautious.

    Ariana hesitated, realizing she couldn’t sidestep the subject any longer. “Cullen and I… we were close. Before everything. Before the Blight.”

    Linnea’s eyebrows rose slightly, and Lamberto let out a low whistle. “Close? You mean—”

    “Yes,” Ariana interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. “It’s… complicated.”

    “Complicated?” Valentina repeated, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and incredulity. “Wolf, you’re involved with the Knight-Captain of the Templars? And you’re only telling us now?” 

    Ariana set her glass down deliberately, meeting Valentina’s gaze. “It’s not something I advertise, Val. And it doesn’t change the mission.”

    Linnea leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Doesn’t it? If he’s loyal to Meredith, how do we know he won’t—”

    “He won’t,” Ariana said sharply, cutting Linnea off. “Cullen isn’t like her. He’s not… unhinged.” Her voice softened slightly. “But I don’t know if he’s blind to what’s happening. And until I do, I won’t put him—or us—at risk.”

    The room fell quiet for a moment, tension rippling in the wake of her words. The Rangers exchanged uncertain glances, but they didn’t press further.

    Hawke broke the silence, her voice measured. “And if he is in that position? If he knows, or worse, if he’s complicit, what then?”

    Ariana stared into the fire, her expression troubled. “Then I suppose we’ll stand on opposite sides of a upcoming war. But Maker help me, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

    Varric leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You need to figure out if you trust him enough to tell him, pup. Because if you don’t, this whole thing is going to unravel—quickly.”

    “And if you do trust him,” Hawke added, “then you need to tell him before someone else does. If you’re right about Meredith, she’s not going to let her second-in-command stay in the dark for long.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, the weight of their words sinking in. “I know,” she said softly. “But until I know more, I can’t risk it. Not yet.”

    Valentina tilted her head, studying Ariana carefully. “So what’s your plan, Wolf? You can’t keep him in the dark forever, not with everything we’re about to do.”

    “I’ll tell him,” Ariana replied, her voice steady but subdued. “When the time is right. But not until I have proof. Not until I’m sure.”

    Lamberto’s gaze lingered on Ariana, a mix of skepticism and concern in his expression. “And what if he takes it the wrong way? What if he—”

    “He won’t,” Ariana interrupted firmly, though her tone carried a hint of doubt. “Cullen isn’t the enemy. He deserves the truth… just not yet.”

    Varric leaned back in his chair, his tone light but carrying an edge of seriousness. “Just promise me one thing, pup. When you do tell him, don’t do it in a crowded room. We’ve got enough rumors flying around already.”

    Ariana let out a quiet laugh, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind, Varric.”

    The tension in the room eased slightly, but the air remained heavy with unspoken worries. Ariana turned her gaze back to the fire, her thoughts racing. Whatever lay ahead, she knew trust and timing would be everything. She could only hope that when the time came, Cullen would stand with her—and not against her.

    ~~~

    After hours of planning, it mostly came down to a fairly simple breakdown of duties designed to fit seamlessly into the daily chaos of Kirkwall. Hawke would simply continue being Hawke—stirring trouble when needed, investigating leads, and inserting herself into situations where others feared to tread. Her reputation as a meddler worked in their favor; no one would think twice about her sticking her nose into Templar or Circle business.

    If, in Hawke’s dealings, she uncovered anything tied to the Gallows or the Circle that could deepen their understanding of what was happening, she would share it. Similarly, if Ariana came across information she felt was actionable, she would approach Hawke and let her know that something required her intervention. Anything that fell within the realm of Hawke’s usual “meddling”—be it through the city guard, Templar politics, or even Lowtown connections—would remain Hawke’s domain.

    It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a start. This allowed the Rangers to operate in the shadows without being discovered. Or so they hoped.

    Eventually, Varric and Hawke took their leave, both offering parting words of caution and camaraderie. Varric lingered for a moment at the door, catching Ariana’s eye. “Take care of yourself, pup,” he said softly, a rare seriousness in his tone. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

    Ariana nodded, smiling faintly. “I’ll manage. I always do.”

    Once the door closed behind them, the room fell into a comfortable quiet, broken only by the crackling fire and the soft clink of glasses. Isabel had long since retired, leaving the remaining bottles of wine within easy reach. The Rangers leaned back in their chairs, their earlier reserve giving way to the warmth of old friends sharing stories.

    Valentina swirled her wine lazily in her glass, her sharp eyes glinting with curiosity. “So, Wolf. Cullen. How did that start?”

    Ariana laughed softly, leaning back against her chair. “That’s going back a while.”

    “We’ve got time,” Lamberto said with a grin, topping off his glass. “And wine.”

    Ariana’s smile softened, her gaze drifting to the fire. “Very well. I was here in Kirkwall, but my father told me I would be too easy to find. Told me to run. So Varric made arrangements for me to leave for Ferelden.”

    “Ferelden? During a Blight?” Lamberto asked, raising a skeptical brow.

    “It was before the Blight,” Ariana clarified. “This was back in 9:29—no word of darkspawn at the time. So here I am, a sixteen-year-old on the run, by myself. After I arrived in Ferelden, I was on my way to Lothering and stopped near the Lake Calenhad docks for the night. Walked into the Spoiled Princess to ask for some food and a room. Turned out, Cullen was there.” She chuckled softly at the thought.

    Valentina arched a brow. “Sixteen? That’s young.”

    Ariana tilted her head. “You know how old I am, Val…”

    “I do,” Valentina replied, smiling wryly. “But I guess I never stopped to think about it.”

    “He was an off-duty Templar who thought I was probably a runaway mage.” Ariana continued. “So he came to my table to flirt with me and see if he could catch me. We ended up talking for hours. So long, in fact, that the tavernkeep had to kick us out—everyone else had left long ago.”

    At that, they all laughed softly. They were seeing a side of Ariana none of them had known. They had been there only for the darkest times of her life, watching her survive, but never glimpsed the young girl who existed before the Blight and Krieger.

    “Well, anyway, it was just a few months later that we got word of the Blight. After the Battle of Ostagar, things became more complicated, and eventually, we lost track of each other. The Circle Tower had been sealed, no word in or out, and Crestwood flooded. I spent months on my own, always trying to get back there. But then I was eventually cornered by darkspawn…” Ariana trailed off.

    Lamberto’s grin faded slightly. “And if the Blades hadn’t found you…”

    “I wouldn’t be here.” Ariana’s voice softened. She glanced between Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea, her expression sincere. “I owe all of you my life.”

    Linnea gave her a small, reassuring smile. “And here we are, following you into more madness.”

    Ariana smirked. “Would you really have it any other way?”

    They shared a laugh, but the mood sobered quickly. Linnea leaned forward, her expression turning serious. “Does Riley know about Cullen?”

    “Yes,” Ariana replied, swirling her glass absently. “The highlights.”

    Linnea’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you trust him?”

    “With my life,” Ariana answered without hesitation. Then her expression grew more somber. “But for what we’re doing… that’s different. It’s a direct conflict with his belief in the Order, in proper institutions. You saw his reaction at seeing the White Wolf in Kirkwall.”

    Valentina frowned, recalling the encounter. “When he spoke to me about it, he seemed… unsettled. Suspicious.”

    Ariana nodded. “Cullen believes mercenaries only follow coin. They don’t have principles and aren’t accountable to anyone. His Templar training doesn’t let him understand how someone not bound to the Chantry, the Templars, or an army could do good just because they believe in something.”

    The Rangers exchanged uneasy glances. Valentina broke the silence, her tone careful but probing. “Do you think he’d turn on you?”

    Ariana shook her head. “No. But that doesn’t mean he’d agree with what we’re doing. For Cullen, loyalty and honor mean everything. And if he thinks I’m crossing a line…” She paused, her jaw tightening. “I don’t know what he’d do.”

    Linnea leaned back in her chair, her gaze steady. “He’s going to find out eventually, Wolf. You can’t keep this from him forever.”

    “I know,” Ariana said softly. “But for now, I need to focus on what’s ahead. On keeping all of us alive.”

    The fire crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows across the room. Though the wine still flowed, a heavy understanding settled among them, unspoken but shared. Trust was a fragile thing, and in the days to come, it would be tested in ways none of them could predict.

  • Chapter 28  – A New Secret

    9 Wintermarch 9:34

    The early morning sun streamed through the library windows, casting a warm, golden light over the scattered maps and documents spread across the heavy oak table where Ariana sat. The Divine’s letter lay at the center, its words etched into her mind she had memorized the words by now. She didn’t need the reminder, but some part of her clung to it anyway, as if holding the letter made the impossible task it represented feel more tangible. She leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed in thought. Despite her hopes, her gut told her the Divine’s suspicions were correct. The trouble she had gone through to bypass the Seekers and reach Ariana directly spoke volumes. She doesn’t trust them. And she’s afraid.

    The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet space as Isabel entered the library, carrying a tray with tea and fresh hearth cakes. The soft clatter of the tray as she set it down on the side table brought Ariana back to the present, grounding her momentarily as she glanced at her friend with a small, grateful smile.

    “What’s on your mind this morning, child?” Isabel said noting the worry in Ariana’s eyes.

    Ariana sighed heavily, not knowing where to even begin telling Isabel what happened. What she had agreed to.

    Isabel’s demeanor softened instantly. Her posture straightened as she settled into the chair opposite Ariana. “What happened with the Chantry?” she asked gently, her tone laced with concern.

    Ariana didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached for a folded letter on the table beside her and handed it to Isabel. Watching as Isabel read, Ariana stayed silent, the sunlight from the windows highlighting her face.

    “You met with the Divine?” Isabel finally asked, her shock evident. She lowered the letter, her sharp green eyes locking onto Ariana.

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the book. Taking a deep breath, Ariana leaned back in her chair. “The Divine,” she began, her voice steady but low, “asked me to investigate what’s happening in Kirkwall. There are rumors about the Rite of Tranquility being abused. About the power Knight-Commander Meredith is amassing. The Divine believes it’s outside the bounds of any Templar, but she cannot bring it to the Order herself. She needs someone like me—someone outside the Chantry, the Seekers, or the Templars.”

    Isabel’s brows furrowed, her worry etched plainly on her face. “That’s dangerous enough as it is, but I have a feeling there’s more.”

    Ariana nodded, her jaw tightening. “If the rumors are true, and mages are being sent to Kirkwall only to be made Tranquil without cause… the Divine wants me to intervene. To help those mages escape.”

    Isabel inhaled sharply, her hand clenching the letter. “That’s no small ask, Ariana. The Templars—”

    “—would come for me and the Rangers if they ever found out,” Ariana interrupted, her voice firmer now. “I know. I told her that. But she trusts me to handle it discreetly. To stay in the shadows. She said we cannot risk open defiance; it would destroy everything.”

    “And you agreed to this?” Isabel asked softly, though the weight in her tone carried a deeper meaning—concern for the impossible task her charge was taking on.

    Ariana leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her hands clasped tightly together. “I had to,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute. “If the rumors are true… if innocent people are being subjected to Tranquility…” Her voice hardened as she shook her head. “I couldn’t say no, Isabel. This is exactly what the Rangers are meant to do—help those who have no other way.”

    Isabel studied her for a long moment, the sunlight streaming through the windows catching the worry in her green eyes. Slowly, she set the letter down and reached across to place a hand over Ariana’s. “You are a strong woman, Ariana. Stubborn, even. But this…” She trailed off, then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Just tell me what you need. I’m here for you.”

    Ariana looked up at her, her lips curving into a faint, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability. “This is not just about me anymore. If I fail… if the Divine’s trust in us falters… everything we’ve built could fall apart.”

    “And if you succeed,” Isabel countered, her voice firm, “you could save lives. You could stop something terrible before it becomes unstoppable. Focus on that.”

    Ariana nodded, the determination returning to her eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “I have work to do.”

    Her voice softened as she added, “But what of Cullen? He believes in the Order…”

    The weight of her words lingered, unspoken but heavy between them. Isabel sat back in her chair, her brows knitting together in thought.

    “He’s a man of conviction,” Isabel said carefully, her tone contemplative. “When we spoke about the Rite of Tranquility, he admitted he didn’t think it should be applied more widely, that the Harrowing has served well for centuries. But…” She hesitated, her gaze steady on Ariana. “He also acknowledged there’s a case for it in some instances. He mentioned that Hawke’s interventions made him uneasy, even if he didn’t outright disapprove.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze turning away as she absorbed Isabel’s words. She could picture Cullen’s struggle—his unwavering sense of duty clashing with his humanity. It was one of the things she admired most about him, but it also made her worry. Would he understand the choice she had made? Could he reconcile what she might have to do with the beliefs he held so close?

    Isabel leaned forward, her voice softening. “Cullen cares for you, Ariana. Deeply. I saw it in the way he spoke of you when you were gone. But…” She gestured subtly toward the letter from the Divine still resting on the table. “This will test that bond. He’s a good man, but his loyalty to the Order will always weigh on him.”

    Ariana’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, her thoughts racing. “If he knew,” she said quietly, almost to herself, “what the Divine has asked of me… what I might have to do… I don’t know if he could see me the same way.”

    Isabel reached out and placed her hand over Ariana’s, her touch steady and reassuring. “Then let him see you as you are. Strong, determined, and willing to fight for what’s right. If his heart is true, he’ll come to understand. Maybe not immediately, but in time.”

    Ariana met Isabel’s gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and hope. “And if he doesn’t?”

    Isabel smiled gently, squeezing her hand. “Then he’s not the man you think he is. But I don’t believe that’s the case. Have faith in him, as he has faith in you.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, but the uncertainty lingered. “You mentioned Hawke intervened in something? What did she do?”

    Isabel hesitated, her expression shifting as she weighed her words. “It was about the Rite of Tranquility,” she said finally. “A Templar had requested that it be applied more widely, claiming it was necessary for order. The request was denied… officially. But then the Templar was found dead under suspicious circumstances.”

    Ariana’s stomach tightened, unease prickling at the back of her mind. “And Hawke?”

    “Hawke investigated,” Isabel said, her voice tinged with caution. “She went digging into matters the Order would have preferred to keep buried. From what I’ve gathered, she uncovered some unsettling truths. Cullen mentioned it once—he didn’t outright disapprove of what she did, but he wished she had stayed out of it. The Order doesn’t take kindly to outsiders meddling in their affairs.”

    “It sounds like she has a knack for uncovering things,” Ariana said, her tone thoughtful.

    Isabel quirked an eyebrow. “You’re thinking of trusting her with this?”

    “I was already planning to ask for her help,” Ariana admitted, her gaze distant. “If she’s already crossed paths with the Templars over the Rite of Tranquility, she might know more about what’s really happening in Kirkwall. And Maker knows I can’t do this entirely on my own.”

    Isabel’s expression softened as she nodded. “Hawke is resourceful. And she has her own… unique sense of honor. But be careful, Ariana. Bringing someone like her into this is a risk. For both of you.”

    Ariana tapped her fingers lightly on the table, her mind already turning over strategies. “The risk might be worth it. If the rumors are true, this isn’t just about me or the Rangers. It’s about lives—mages being subjected to something worse than death. If Hawke can help me stop that, I’ll take the risk.”

    Isabel studied her for a long moment before finally smiling faintly. “You always were the one to take the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, though the tension in her voice remained. “Someone has to,” she said lightly, though the truth of her words ran deeper than she let on. “I’ll have Varric bring Hawke and the Rangers here tomorrow morning. I have a feeling we have a lot to discuss.”

    “To the estate?” Isabel asked, her tone tinged with alarm. “What if Cullen comes by?”

    Ariana shrugged, though her expression flickered with unease. “Cullen is usually busy in the mornings with rounds and training recruits. Let’s hope he doesn’t break that habit tomorrow.”

    Isabel nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Very well. But I do wonder how long you can keep this tangled web before he figures it out.”

    Ariana gave a half-smile, her eyes carrying a weight Isabel could see. “Not as long as I’d like, I imagine. But I need to gather what I can first. If anyone can help me uncover the truth in Kirkwall, it’s Hawke.”

    Isabel’s expression softened further, her voice gentle as she replied, “Be careful, Ariana. You’re walking a fine line.”

    Ariana met her gaze, the flicker of determination in her hazel-green eyes burning brighter. “I know,” she said simply. “But it’s a line I need to walk. Someone has to.”

    Ariana couldn’t help the guilt twisting in her chest as Isabel left the room. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her thoughts running in circles. What she was doing—keeping Cullen in the dark—felt like a betrayal. Her thoughts turned back to the night before“You don’t have to tell me right now. I’ll wait. For as long as you need.” She was certain he had meant it, or thought he did. But how long would he wait? Deep down, she knew she couldn’t bring herself to face him with half-truths. Not now. He’s the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall… she thought to herself. All she could hope for was that he would never be involved in something like this.

    She sank back into her chair, letting out a slow, measured breath. If I tell him now and I am wrong… if the rumors prove unfounded… it would risk everything for nothing. She rubbed her temples, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. And if I wait too long and he finds out another way… The thought of his hurt, his disappointment, was almost unbearable.

    Ariana pushed herself up from the chair, pacing the room as her mind continued its relentless debate. He believes in the Order… in what it stands for. How can I ask him to even consider that something as vile as abusing the Rite of Tranquility might be happening under his watch? Her steps slowed, her gaze shifting to the bookshelves lining the room.

    But even as she wrestled with the guilt, a deeper part of her rationalized the need for secrecy. I need more. I need proof. Otherwise, it’s all speculation, and Cullen deserves better than baseless accusations.

    Her hand drifted to the pendant she wore, her thumb brushing over its surface absentmindedly. “I will tell him,” she murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to do this first.”

    ~~~

    Ariana adjusted her cloak, stepping out into the bustling streets of Hightown. The morning sunlight warmed the stone pathways, but her focus was firmly on the task ahead. Setting up a base of operations was essential—somewhere secure and discreet, a place where they could lay the groundwork for what was coming.

    The Hanged Man was as lively as ever, with the sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional brawl filling the air. Inside, Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea sat at a corner table, their expressions a mix of anticipation and guarded curiosity. Varric, meanwhile, leaned casually against the bar, chatting with Corff. Bianca was propped beside him, as always, a silent reminder of his readiness for anything.

    “You’re late, pup,” Varric called as Ariana approached, a teasing smirk on his face. “Your merry band of misfits has been waiting.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re awfully vocal for someone who wasn’t even invited to this meeting,” she shot back, sliding into a seat.

    Linnea cut to the chase, her sharp eyes flicking between Ariana and the others. “What’s this about?” she asked, her voice low but commanding.

    Ariana glanced at the group, folding her hands on the table. “We need a base—somewhere secure, with good access to the docks and Lowtown. The kind of place that doesn’t attract attention.”

    Varric ambled over, pulling up a chair and gesturing for Corff to bring over drinks. “So, you’re setting up shop,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Mind telling me exactly what kind of shop we’re talking about here?”

    Ariana hesitated, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing her face as she deflected. “I’ll tell you later, Varric. For now, secrecy and access are all that matter.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts curiosity and skepticism. “Secrecy and access,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds shady. I like it. Lucky for you, pup, I happen to know a thing or two about Lowtown real estate.” His grin widened as he added, “And I might just know a couple of places that fit the bill.”

    The drinks arrived, and after a quick round of agreement from the group, they set off with Varric leading the way. The streets of Lowtown were a stark contrast to Hightown’s orderly paths—narrow, grimy, and teeming with activity. Merchants called out their wares, children darted through the crowds, and the air carried the faint tang of saltwater and smoke.

    Varric led them through a series of winding alleys, his movements confident, as though he knew every brick and shadow of the district. Finally, he stopped in front of a weathered but sturdy warehouse. Its facade was unremarkable, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.

    “This,” Varric said, gesturing grandly, “is option one. Plenty of space, easy access to the docks, and best of all, no one asks questions about what happens here. Lowtown’s golden rule.”

    Ariana stepped closer, inspecting the building with a critical eye. “How secure is it?”

    Varric shrugged. “It’s Lowtown. Security’s what you make of it. But the location’s solid, and there’s enough room inside to set up for whatever grand plan you’re not telling me about.”

    Valentina crossed her arms, nodding approvingly. “It’s got potential. We’d need to make some adjustments, but it’s workable.”

    Lamberto ran a hand along the doorframe, frowning slightly. “We’ll need better locks, maybe reinforce the walls. And guards—rotations at all times.”

    Linnea scanned the surrounding area, her gaze sharp and calculating. “Escape routes are decent,” she said. “And it’s not too conspicuous. That’s a point in its favor.”

    Varric’s grin widened, clearly pleased with their reactions. “I’ve got another place to show you, but I’m betting this one’s already your favorite.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, nodding. “Show us the next one. I want to be sure before we commit.”

    As they continued deeper into Lowtown, Varric fell into step beside her. “You know,” he said, his tone lighter now, “you’re really leaning into this whole ‘mysterious leader’ routine. Just saying, I’ve seen it before, and it always ends with people asking more questions.”

    Ariana smirked, her voice low enough for only him to hear. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep you busy enough not to ask.”

    Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “Secrecy and access,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock exasperation. “This had better be good.”

    Ariana glanced at him, the faintest hint of gratitude flickering in her eyes. Whatever was coming, she knew she’d need every ally she could trust—and Varric, for all his questions, was firmly on that list.

    ~~~

    The group followed Varric as he led them deeper into the winding streets of Lowtown. The atmosphere shifted the closer they got to the edges of Darktown. The air grew heavier, carrying a faint tang of rot and damp earth. The streets became narrower, darker, and less inviting. People moved quickly, avoiding eye contact, and the shadows seemed to linger longer than they should.

    “I hope this second option is worth the smell,” Valentina quipped, wrinkling her nose.

    Varric turned back with a grin. “Ah, Darktown charm. You either love it or hate it. Mostly hate it.” He stopped in front of a building tucked against the side of a cavernous stone wall. “Here we are. Option two.”

    The warehouse was smaller than the first, but its location offered a significant advantage: it was well-hidden, almost impossible to spot unless you knew exactly where to look. The thick stone walls of Darktown enveloped it, and its inconspicuous entrance blended seamlessly with the surrounding environment.

    “It’s not as roomy as the first,” Varric admitted, motioning for the group to step inside. “But it’s out of the way, practically invisible to anyone not actively searching for it. Plus,” he added, gesturing toward the faint sound of rushing water nearby, “there’s an underground access point here that connects to the docks. Perfect for keeping secrets.”

    Ariana stepped inside, her boots echoing faintly on the stone floor. The interior was surprisingly clean for Darktown, with high ceilings and a few sturdy support beams. Crates and barrels were stacked neatly in the corners, indicating that it had been used recently but wasn’t currently occupied.

    Linnea was the first to speak, her sharp eyes scanning every corner. “It’s defensible. Only two entrances that I can see—one here and one leading to the underground passage. That makes it easier to secure, but it also means limited escape routes if we’re compromised.”

    Lamberto nodded thoughtfully. “The underground passage is a huge advantage. We’d need to scout it thoroughly, make sure it’s safe and free of any… surprises.”

    Valentina ran a hand along one of the support beams, inspecting its integrity. “It’s small, but it could work for covert operations. Not ideal for training recruits, though.”

    Ariana frowned slightly, her arms crossed as she considered both options. The location was excellent for staying hidden, but the lack of space and limited access points gave her pause.

    Varric leaned casually against the wall, watching her deliberate. “So, what’s the verdict, pup? This one’s a little less glamorous, I admit, but it’s got its perks.”

    “It does,” Ariana replied, her tone thoughtful. She glanced at her Rangers, reading their expressions. Linnea seemed intrigued by the secrecy of the location, while Lamberto and Valentina both looked less convinced. “We’ll need to weigh our priorities. Security and discretion or space and accessibility.”

    Varric nodded, his smirk widening. “Sounds like you’ve got some thinking to do. Take your time. Both locations are available, so there’s no rush.”

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on the underground passage, her mind already spinning with possibilities. “Let’s head back for now,” she said finally. “I need time to consider.”

    As they made their way out of Darktown, Ariana couldn’t help but feel the weight of the decision pressing on her. Both options had their merits, but whichever she chose would shape the Rangers’ presence in Kirkwall—and their ability to operate undetected in a city already brimming with tension.

    ~~~

    The group made their way back to the Hanged Man, the tension of the decision hanging over Ariana’s shoulders. By the time they reached Varric’s suite, the familiar din of the tavern filled the air, offering a brief reprieve from the weight of their work. Ariana sank into one of the chairs, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as she looked to Varric.

    “Alright,” she began, her tone brisk but thoughtful. “Let’s talk about the price difference between the two warehouses. What’s the gap?”

    Varric leaned against his desk, arms crossed. “The first one? It’s about thirty percent more expensive. Like I said, it’s bigger, and its location in Lowtown makes it more visible. This one,” he gestured toward the general direction of Darktown, “is cheaper, discreet, but, you know, comes with all the charm of Darktown’s… ambiance.”

    Ariana nodded, her fingers still tapping. “And if we go with the second option, we’ll need to make sure the underground passage is secure. Any risks we should know about?”

    “Nothing immediate,” Varric replied with a shrug. “It’s mostly stable, but it hasn’t been actively maintained. You’ll want to scout it first. Make sure nothing’s lurking down there. Darktown’s full of surprises.”

    Ariana turned to the Rangers. “Once it’s dark, I want you to scout the passage. Take a full sweep—entry points, stability, any potential risks. Report back to me in the morning.”

    Valentina nodded, her expression serious. “Understood.”

    “Good.” Ariana shifted her gaze back to Varric. “In the morning, I’ll need you to bring them to the estate. Hawke too.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hawke? Planning something big, Pup?”

    Ariana smirked faintly, though her expression remained focused. “I think we’re going to need her help. There are still some things I need to fill you in on. The more eyes and ears we have on this, the better.”

    Varric chuckled, pushing off the desk. “You got it. Hawke loves a good mystery.”

    Rising from her seat, Ariana smoothed her cloak, her mind already moving to the next task. “I’m heading back to the estate. If anything urgent comes up before morning, send word.”

    “Will do,” Varric said with a nod.

    Ariana offered a small smile before leaving the suite, her steps quick and purposeful as she exited the Hanged Man. The cool night air greeted her as she made her way back toward Hightown, her thoughts swirling with plans and contingencies. By the time she reached the estate, she was ready for some rest, though she knew her mind wouldn’t allow it to come easily.

    ~~~

    The library was quiet, the only sound the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. Ariana sat curled in the armchair, a book resting on her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. She wasn’t reading, though. Her gaze was unfocused, staring into the flames as her thoughts wandered back to her conversation with Isabel. The weight of the Divine’s task still lingered heavily on her shoulders, and no matter how she tried to distract herself, her mind always seemed to circle back to the same questions.

    The sound of footsteps broke her reverie, and she looked up to see Cullen entering the room. His golden eyes softened when they met hers, but his brow furrowed slightly, as though he could sense her unease.

    “You’re still up,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with concern. “It’s late.”

    Ariana blinked, glancing toward the window, where the darkness outside hinted at just how long she had been sitting there. “I lost track of time,” she admitted, offering him a small smile. “What about you? I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

    “I wanted to check on you,” he replied. His gaze lingered on her, studying her face with the careful attention of someone who knew her far too well to be fooled. “And I haven’t seen you all day, and… well, I missed you.”

    The admission caught her off guard, and she felt a warmth rise in her chest. Before she could respond, Cullen crossed the room and crouched in front of her, his smile softening further. “You seemed… preoccupied yesterday. Is everything alright?” His voice was steady, but the flicker of worry in his eyes was unmistakable.

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass. “Just tired,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. She could tell by the way his brow arched slightly that he didn’t believe her.

    “What happened in Val Royeaux?” he asked, his tone quiet but probing. “The Chantry summoning you—it’s been weighing on you since you returned, hasn’t it? What did they want?”

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass. She felt the weight of his question, the weight of everything she couldn’t tell him, pressing down on her chest. “They brought up my… obligations,” she said finally, choosing her words with care. “My family’s reputation with the Chantry is still tied to the engagement I ended. They wanted me to reconsider it.”

    Cullen’s frown deepened slightly, his eyes searching hers. “Are you?” he asked, his voice steady but unsure.

    Ariana shook her head quickly, her smile growing more genuine. “No, Cullen. I assured them I had made my choice long ago.” She leaned closer to him, her hand brushing his cheek in a gentle, reassuring gesture.

    She couldn’t let Cullen press any further—his questions might tread too close to the truth. Instead, she latched onto a lighter story, one that, if anything, would amuse her and distract him. “Speaking of Val Royeaux… did I tell you a noble there propositioned me?”

    Cullen blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?”

    Ariana’s smile widened, and she crossed one leg over the other, settling more comfortably into her chair. “A Comte, actually. He offered to be a very… generous benefactor in exchange for me becoming his mistress.”

    Cullen’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening as his brows knit together. “He did what?”

    “Oh, yes,” she said breezily, clearly enjoying his reaction. “He was very insistent. Said his mistress had recently left Val Royeaux and that he found himself with more leisure time. Apparently, I was to help him fill it.”

    Cullen’s fists clenched at his sides, and he took a step back, his voice low and edged with jealousy. “And what did you say?” Cullen took a breath, trying to temper the jealousy flaring in his chest. He trusted her, of course, but the thought of another man propositioning her stirred something primal within him.

    She tilted her head, her smile turning playful as she watched him stew. “Why, Knight-Captain, are you jealous?”

    “Ariana,” he said, his tone carrying a warning, though the faint blush creeping into his cheeks betrayed him.

    Finally relenting, she stood and closed the distance between them, her movements slow and deliberate. She couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction at the way his gaze softened as she approached. “I told him my heart already belonged to another,” she said softly, her hazel-green eyes locking onto his. “And that I wasn’t in need of additional… entertainment.”

    Cullen’s breath hitched slightly as she stepped closer, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest. She rose onto her toes, leaning in to brush her lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss. When she pulled back, she smiled up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You have nothing to worry about.”

    The moment was brief but carried the weight of her unspoken truths, her quiet promise that despite the secrets she held, her feelings for him were unwavering. Her smile returned, brighter now. “You’re the one I want,” she said simply, her words carrying a rare vulnerability that made Cullen’s heart ache.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his hand lifting to gently cup her cheek. For a moment, he simply looked at her, as though trying to commit the moment to memory. “And you’re the only one I could ever want,” he replied, his voice quiet but sure.

    The fire crackled softly behind them as they stood there, the weight of her secrets hanging between them. For now, though, the warmth of the moment was enough to push everything else aside.