Lost Figment

Tag: White Wolf

  • Chapter 64 – Whatever Your Heart Desires

    1 – 30 Cloudreach 9:41

    The following morning, as Ariana readied herself to leave, a soldier stood waiting near the Chantry steps. His polished armor caught the morning light, making him stand out among Haven’s more practical and battle-worn inhabitants. Spotting her, he straightened and called out, “Excuse me! I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having trouble finding someone to deliver it to.”

    Ariana paused, raising a brow as she approached. “What’s the message?”

    The soldier’s shoulders relaxed slightly, relieved to have found someone to listen. “There are Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers this information free of charge.”

    Her interest piqued, Ariana tilted her head. “Free of charge? And why would he do that?”

    “He wants to work for the Inquisition,” the soldier explained confidently. “Iron Bull thinks you’re doing good work. And, well, you won’t find anyone better. We’re the best company from here to the Anderfels.”

    Ariana fought the urge to smirk, instead folding her arms as she regarded him. “What’s your name?”

    “Krem,” he replied promptly.

    “And what should I know about your commander, Krem?” she pressed.

    “Iron Bull’s a Qunari,” Krem said with a casual shrug, as though that alone was explanation enough. “Big guy with horns, leads from the front, pays well, and he’s smart—smarter than most commanders I’ve worked for. Best of all, he’s professional. We take contracts from whoever makes the first real offer, and we don’t break them.”

    Her skepticism softened slightly at his tone, which carried both respect and loyalty. “And yet, he wants to work for us, without an offer on the table?”

    “This is the first time he’s picked a side,” Krem admitted. “Figured it was worth letting you know.”

    Ariana nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting. I’ll look forward to seeing what the Chargers can do.”

    Krem hesitated before asking, “If I may, who should I say I delivered the message to?”

    She paused, finding amusement in the fact that he didn’t recognize her. Finally, she answered with a slight smile, “The Herald of Andraste.”

    Krem’s eyes widened, and he quickly bowed. “Thank you, my Lady,” he said before hurrying off.

    Ariana shook her head, chuckling softly. The best company from here to the Anderfels indeed.

    “The Herald of Andraste, huh?” Cullen’s voice teased lightly from behind her.

    Turning, she found him leaning casually against the stone archway, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Getting used to the title?”

    “Hardly,” Ariana replied with a grin. “But he didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t resist. Though I must admit, it’s amusing hearing him tell me his company is the best while having no idea he’s speaking to the White Wolf of the Silver Rangers.”

    Cullen chuckled, folding his arms. “Do you think their commander will know who you are?”

    She shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out. I’m more surprised they don’t already know the Rangers are working with the Inquisition.”

    “Do you trust them?” His tone shifted, a note of concern creeping in.

    “Not yet,” Ariana admitted, “but they seem clean—no troubling history that I know of. Their motivation is coin, but they don’t seem to take questionable jobs. Unlike us, though, they’re not offering their services for free.” She smirked.

    Cullen sighed, his frown deepening. “And you’re meeting them on your way to Val Royeaux?”

    “Yes,” she replied.

    “Why Val Royeaux again?” he asked, the frown now tinged with worry.

    She laughed lightly, adopting a dramatic tone. “Apparently, I’ve been invited to a salon to meet the First Enchanter of Montsimmard.”

    He sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Please, be careful.”

    Ariana tilted her head with a playful smirk “Careful of what? The mercenaries or Orlesian nobles making propositions?” she asked, her tone teasing, her smile growing with his every reaction.

    “The mercenaries,” Cullen replied firmly, though the tight set of his jaw betrayed his irritation.

    “Ah,” she said, feigning innocence. “So the nobles are still on the table? Last time, it was a rather lucrative proposition, if I recall.”

    Cullen’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his expression hardening. “Ariana.” his tone a clear warning.

    As Cullen’s frustration grew, Ariana couldn’t help the flicker of satisfaction that warmed her chest. His clenched fists, the slight tightening of his jaw—these weren’t just reactions; they were evidence. Evidence that she still mattered to him, that she hadn’t been forgotten or cast aside.

    She stepped closer, her tone playful but her gaze steady, probing. “What’s wrong, Commander? I’m just trying to be creative with alliances. Isn’t that what we need?”

    His breathing grew heavier, the restrained anger in his voice unmistakable. “I suggest you leave alliances to Lady Montilyet,” he bit out, his frustration barely leashed.

    The corner of her mouth lifted into a small, triumphant smile as she put a hand on his arm, stepping closer to him and leaning up to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “By your order, Commander,” she whispered.

    Cullen inhaled sharply, frozen to the spot as Ariana turned around to leave. “Maker help me.”

    Ariana glanced back at him with a mixture of satisfaction and amusement. Her heart raced with the knowledge that she had struck a nerve—not in malice, but in reassurance. He still cares, she thought, the warmth of the realization flooding her chest. She allowed herself to hold onto the quiet thrill of his jealousy and the soft, unspoken truth it carried: he still saw her as his. And maybe, just maybe, she could still hope to be.

    The space between them felt narrower now, like a bridge half-built but sturdy enough to cross—if they both dared to meet in the middle.

    ~~~

    The Storm Coast greeted them with its constant drizzle and the salty tang of the sea, a stark contrast to Haven’s crisp mountain air. Ariana tugged her cloak tighter as she and her companions approached the area Scout Harding had marked. The aftermath of a skirmish lay scattered before them—scorched ground, broken weapons, and bodies crumpled like discarded dolls. Harding’s warnings about bandits had proven accurate, though the fight itself barely warranted Ariana’s full attention.

    They moved swiftly, dispatching the bandit leader and dispersing the remnants of his forces. But as they approached the beach where Iron Bull’s company was reportedly active, Ariana’s focus sharpened. A fight was already underway. From a distance, she spotted a towering Qunari flanked by mercenaries, their formation tight even against a group of Tevinter mages.

    Without hesitation, Ariana pulled her hood up and dove into the fray, her companions close behind. Her daggers flashed as she wove through the chaos, dispatching mages with precision. The battle ended quickly with their help, and the Chargers regrouped, their leader barking orders with practiced authority.

    “Chargers, stand down!” the Qunari bellowed, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the waves. “Krem, how did we do?”

    “Five or six wounded, sir. No dead,” replied a soldier standing nearby, his demeanor sharp and efficient.

    “Good. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks,” Iron Bull said, his tone lighter now. Then his amber eyes landed on Ariana, and his grin widened. “Well, well. No one told me the White Wolf herself would be coming to my rescue.”

    Ariana smirked as she pulled back her hood. “I wasn’t planning a rescue. I was asked to come watch ‘the best company from here to the Anderfels’ work.”

    Bull blinked, momentarily surprised, before laughing heartily. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, then? Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

    Ariana arched an eyebrow but didn’t protest as he gestured to a nearby log. She had met enough people like Bull to know his type: bold, brash, and utterly unbothered by formalities. He wasn’t someone to be intimidated by, but he wasn’t someone to underestimate either.

    Before they could settle, a soldier approached. “Throatcutters are done, chief.”

    “Good work, Krem.” Bull turned to Ariana, motioning toward the soldier. “This here’s Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant. You can call him Krem. He’s the brains of the operation.”

    Krem nodded respectfully. “White Wolf, huh? I delivered your message to the Herald of Andraste. Didn’t realize I was delivering it to both.”

    Ariana chuckled softly. “I’m nothing if not versatile.”

    Bull grinned, leaning back against the log. “So, what should I call you? White Wolf, Herald, or Lady Trevelyan?”

    “Call me whatever you like,” she replied with a shrug. “Titles don’t matter much in a fight.”

    “Fair enough,” he said, his grin turning sly. “Though ‘Lady Trevelyan’ does have a certain appeal. You must get a lot of propositions from Orlesian nobles.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Only the very bold ones. Or the very drunk.”

    Bull laughed, the sound loud and unabashed. “I’ll bet.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.”

    The insinuation was clear, but Ariana didn’t flinch. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Is that supposed to be a selling point?”

    “Depends. Do you like big fights? Dragons, demons—” His tone dipped lower. “Big guys?”

    Ariana’s smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, I think I can handle myself.”

    For a moment, Bull seemed genuinely impressed, his grin widening. “I like you already. You’ve got guts.”

    “Let’s hope that’s enough to keep me alive,” she replied dryly.

    Bull’s tone shifted then, turning serious. He explained his connection to the Ben-Hassrath, and Ariana’s posture stiffened slightly. The idea of a Qunari spy within the Inquisition wasn’t something she took lightly, but as he laid out his reasoning and the benefits of their arrangement, she found herself nodding reluctantly.

    “Fine,” she said finally. “You’re in. But your reports go through our spymaster first.”

    Bull grinned again, clearly pleased. “Fair deal. I always did have a thing for redheads.”

    Ariana chuckled, shaking her head as she turned to her companions. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Bull. Let’s hope you’re as good as you claim.”

    As the Chargers celebrated their new alliance, Ariana allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Bull was an intriguing addition—unpredictable but potentially invaluable. She would keep an eye on him, of course, but for now, she was content to let him enjoy his victory. And perhaps, just perhaps, she’d enjoy sparring with someone bold enough to flirt with her so unabashedly.

    ~~~

    The morning sun cast long shadows across Haven’s snow-dusted perimeter as Cullen walked with Emma, her wooden sword swinging at her side. She matched his steps with determination, the image of a recruit eager to prove herself. But Cullen’s thoughts were far from patrol routes or training drills. Today, he wasn’t just her Commander—he was her uncle, and he needed to make things right.

    “Emma,” he began, his tone gentle yet steady, “can I ask you something?”

    She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

    He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Your Aunt Ari mentioned that you’re upset with her. That
 you blame her for taking you away. Is that true?”

    Emma faltered, her small shoulders tensing as she gripped the hilt of her wooden sword tightly. “I don’t
” she began, but her voice trailed off. Finally, she blurted out, “It’s not fair! You were there, and then we weren’t. And she never really tells me why.”

    Cullen stopped walking, kneeling down so he was eye-level with her. His heart ached at the anger and confusion in her voice, emotions she was too young to fully articulate. “Emma, it’s okay to tell me how you feel. I want to understand.”

    Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she looked like she might refuse. Then, her voice came in a rush. “I heard her,” she said, her tone a mixture of anger and hurt. “One night, in the kitchen. She was crying. She said she took me away from you. That she lied, and you deserved better, and you probably weren’t coming back.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened, guilt and sorrow swirling together. He could picture the scene: Ariana alone in the quiet hours of the night, burdened by guilt, unaware that Emma had heard her vulnerability. “Emma,” he said gently, “do you remember the night you left Kirkwall?”

    Her expression softened into a frown, her grip loosening on the wooden sword. “Not really,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I remember Mom carrying me. And the sky was orange.”

    “That’s right,” Cullen said, nodding. “The Chantry had been destroyed, and the city was in chaos. People were fighting in the streets. Do you remember who was with you?”

    Emma scrunched her nose in thought. “Aunt Ari. Mom. Some of the Rangers
 and Riley.”

    “That’s right,” Cullen said softly. “Your Aunt Ari gathered everyone she could and made sure you were safe. She and I
 we couldn’t come with you. The city was falling apart, and we had to stay behind to fight.”

    Emma stared at him, her brow furrowing again. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

    Cullen’s throat tightened, her words hitting harder than he expected. “There wasn’t time,” he said, his voice steady but filled with regret. “The mages and templars were at war, and every second mattered. Ariana did what she had to, Emma. She loves you and your mom more than anything, and she couldn’t risk waiting.”

    Emma’s eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. “She said it was her fault. That you’d never forgive her.”

    “She says that because she always blames herself,” Cullen replied, his voice firm but kind. “But it wasn’t her fault. And it wasn’t yours, either. The choices we made that night were to protect you.”

    Emma looked down at her boots, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then why do I feel so mad at her?”

    “Because it’s easier to be mad at her than anyone else,” Cullen said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But it’s not fair to her. She made the hardest choice anyone could make, and she made it for you.”

    Emma sniffled, her tears spilling over. “It’s not fair. I wanted you both.”

    Cullen pulled her into a gentle hug, his voice steady despite the lump in his throat. “I know, Emma. I wanted that too. But Ariana did what was right. She always does. And I should’ve been there for you both, even from afar.”

    As he pulled back, Emma wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Do you still love her?” she asked, her voice small but curious.

    Cullen’s chest tightened, but his answer came without hesitation. “Yes, Emma. I do. And I think she still loves me, too.”

    Emma’s tears slowed, and she looked up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes. “You should tell her,” she said softly. “You should tell her you love her.”

    Cullen smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Maybe I will. One day. But for now, we have recruits to keep in line, don’t we?”

    Emma’s nod was small but resolute, the tension between them easing. As they walked back toward the center of Haven, Cullen felt a quiet sense of relief. He hadn’t fixed everything, but this was a step forward—a step toward healing for Emma, for Ariana, and for himself.

    ~~~

    The journey to Val Royeaux had been long and grueling, but Ariana found herself almost enjoying the familiar theater of Orlesian society. The grand halls, the glittering guests, and the sharp edges of every smile reminded her of her younger years in Ostwick. It’s not so different from nobility in the Free Marches, she thought wryly. Just with more masks and sharper knives.

    The gown Josephine had insisted on was as much armor as it was attire. Silver fabric shimmered in the candlelight, its embroidery catching subtle patterns that mirrored frost. The fitted sleeves allowed for freedom of movement, and while Ariana would have preferred something more practical, the dress whispered of elegance and refinement—a necessity here. She moved with the same ease she might exhibit in leathers, her every step deliberate, a practiced dance she hadn’t forgotten.

    As she entered the grand hall, nobles swarmed her like bees to honey. Their chatter was a blur of flattery and curiosity, woven with not-so-subtle attempts to gauge her usefulness.

    “Herald, is it true you’ve defeated a demon single-handedly?”

    “Tell me, my lady, do the rumors of your Silver Rangers’ exploits hold merit?”

    “And that cloak—White Wolf indeed! Is it a family crest?”

    Her replies were light and perfectly measured, a balance of mystery and wit. “Demons tend to exaggerate their own strength,” she said with a small smirk. The nobles laughed, though their eyes sparkled with calculation. Every word she spoke was weighed and dissected, yet Ariana wielded their interest with practiced skill, steering the conversation to safer waters when their probing grew too bold.

    Mother would be proud, she thought with an inward sigh, though her mother’s voice echoed faintly in her mind. Your posture, Ariana. A lady commands the room with her presence, not her wit.

    Her musings were cut short by the sharp voice of a Marquis who was either particularly brave or astonishingly foolish. “If you were a woman of honor,” he called, his hand drifting to his sword, “you would step outside and answer the charges against your so-called ‘Inquisition.’”

    Ariana blinked once, her expression unchanged save for the faintest flicker of amusement. Well, this will be entertaining.

    Before she could respond, frost climbed up the Marquis’s legs, freezing him in place. His expression twisted from outrage to panic as he struggled against the magic’s hold.

    “My dear Marquis,” a smooth, commanding voice intoned from the staircase, “how unkind of you to use such language in my house
 and toward my guest.” Vivienne descended with the precision of a hawk, her every step measured, her presence impossible to ignore.

    The Marquis stammered something unintelligible as Vivienne’s gaze swept over him with icy disdain. “Herald, what shall we do with this one?” she asked Ariana, her tone as light and dangerous as a knife’s edge.

    Ariana tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “His fate doesn’t interest me. Do as you wish.”

    Vivienne’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Run along, my dear Marquis. And do send my regards to your aunt. You may tell her I’ve saved her yet another embarrassment.”

    The Marquis fled as quickly as his still-thawing legs allowed. Ariana couldn’t suppress her smirk as she turned her attention to Vivienne, who was now studying her with an appraising gaze.

    “Herald, welcome to my humble gathering,” Vivienne said smoothly. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

    “Charmed, Lady Vivienne,” Ariana responded with a polite nod.

    Vivienne wasted no time. “Ah, but I didn’t invite you here for pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.”

    Ariana’s gaze sharpened. “I am not in the habit of turning away aid, but I must ask—why help us? So many others fear us
 or worse, think us opportunists with selfish motives.” Her tone remained civil, but the question was pointed. This was Orlais, after all; every offer was a calculated move.

    “As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause,” Vivienne replied smoothly.

    “And what do the last loyal mages of Thedas gain from this arrangement? A hand in deciding the fate of mages everywhere?” Ariana asked, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

    “Of course. Wouldn’t you want the same in my position?” Vivienne’s honesty was disarming, though her motives remained shrouded in layers of courtly intrigue.

    Ariana considered her words for a moment before nodding. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

    “Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that,” Vivienne said with a smile before gliding back toward her other guests.

    As Vivienne disappeared into the crowd, Ariana allowed herself a quiet sigh. I’ll take all the help I can get—but trusting her? That remains to be seen. The fatigue of travel and diplomacy pressed down on her, and for a fleeting moment, she wished for the simplicity of a campfire and trusted company. Still, as she looked around the grand hall, she felt the weight of her role anew.

    ~~~

    Cullen stood in the war room, his eyes fixed on the map before him, though its lines and markers blurred into meaninglessness. The day had been productive—recruits drilled to exhaustion, reports reviewed and dispatched—but none of it could quiet the restless churn of his thoughts.

    Ariana.

    She had been gone nearly a month. Almost thirty days since she had teased him about Orlesian propositions, since she’d kissed his cheek with that maddening smirk and whispered, “By your order, Commander,” in a tone so low and sultry it had left him unable to think of a proper reply. The moment echoed in his mind far more than he cared to admit, surfacing at the most inconvenient times.

    And then she had left, disappearing into Orlais with her usual confidence, dismissing his concerns with a wry smile. “Be careful,” he had told her, the words far heavier than they sounded. He had meant more, but she wouldn’t have heard it. She would have brushed it off, seen it as meddling or an affront to her abilities. Maker, why must she insist on doing everything the hard way?

    Her decision to travel alone to Val Royeaux had only deepened his unease. If not for Leliana’s scouts tracking her movements, he might have abandoned reason entirely and ridden after her himself. Knowing she was alive and moving had been his only solace, though it had done little to soothe the nagging ache of her absence.

    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the scouts standing at attention. “Commander, the Herald has returned.”

    The words were a relief so sharp it left him momentarily unsteady. He nodded curtly, dismissing the scout, and strode from the war room with purpose. His long strides carried him toward the stables, where he knew she would go first. He rehearsed what he might say as he walked—perhaps he’d start with a casual inquiry about her journey or tease her in return for that kiss. But even the thought made his pulse quicken, and he quickly abandoned the idea. Better to keep it professional, he told himself, though the lie was a poor comfort.

    He spotted her almost immediately. She was still astride her horse, her white cloak damp and windswept, her cheeks flushed from the cold air. Even disheveled, she looked composed, her presence commanding without effort. Relief washed over him at the sight of her, but it was fleeting. Standing beside her, steadying her horse, was Iron Bull.

    Cullen’s steps faltered. He watched as the towering Qunari extended a hand to help her dismount, and to his surprise, Ariana accepted. The gesture was brief, practical even, but the ease with which she allowed it unsettled him. Ariana rarely accepted help so easily—especially not in front of others. Yet here she was, letting Bull steady her, even offering him a faint smile in thanks.

    A pang of irritation, sharp and unwelcome, settled in Cullen’s chest. Why him? The thought struck harder than it should have. It wasn’t just the act of her accepting Bull’s assistance; it was the way she laughed softly at something he said, her expression unguarded. Cullen’s chest tightened. When was the last time she smiled at me like that?

    Ariana turned toward the gate, her eyes scanning the courtyard until they locked onto his. Her small smile stilled the sharp edge of his thoughts, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. There was something warm in her gaze—something that steadied him, even as his jealousy simmered beneath the surface.

    But before he could step forward, Bull’s voice rumbled again, drawing her attention back. She turned toward the Qunari, her expression relaxed as they exchanged words Cullen couldn’t hear. He lingered for a moment, watching the interaction with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. She was safe—alive—but he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest, the sense that something had shifted.

    You’re being ridiculous, he told himself firmly. She’s just returned. There will be time to talk later. Yet even as he turned away, his thoughts lingered on her smile. Had it been for him alone, or was it the same smile she gave to everyone? He clenched his fists, frustrated by his own insecurities.

    As he walked back toward the war room, Cullen resolved to speak with her soon—when they were alone, when Bull wasn’t there to command her attention. For now, he allowed himself the fragile hope that her smile had meant something. It wasn’t enough to silence the questions gnawing at him, but it was enough to keep him moving forward.

    ~~~

    Ariana was exhausted. She had debated stopping to camp earlier, but the thought of sleeping so close to Haven and delaying her return another day had pushed her forward. The road had been long—nearly a month since she’d left—and the thought of familiar faces and warm surroundings had kept her moving through the biting cold.

    As the gates of Haven came into view, relief flooded her. The sight of the snowy village brought a small, tired smile to her lips, though her thoughts quickly turned to Cullen. She couldn’t forget the way he’d told her to be careful before she left, his voice steady but thick with concern. She had dismissed it then, teasing him, but the warmth in his words had lingered throughout her journey. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle herself—she could—but there was something about the way he cared that settled a part of her she often ignored.

    Now, trudging back into Haven, guilt crept in alongside her relief. She had likely made him worry unnecessarily, venturing to Orlais alone and throwing herself into yet another whirlwind of politics and danger. She knew he struggled with her role, with the constant risks she took as the Herald. For years, Cullen had seen her as someone to protect, and though she had always balked at the idea, she realized now that she cherished it. In his arms, she had felt truly safe—something she hadn’t experienced anywhere else. She should have told him that. She wanted to tell him that.

    The familiar clatter of activity near the stables pulled her from her thoughts. As she approached, her horse’s steps crunching against the snow, Iron Bull’s deep voice rang out.

    “Ah, my lady, you’re back,” he called, his amber eyes gleaming with his usual mischievousness. “Heard you’ve been charming Orlesian nobles. How was it? As tedious as it sounds?”

    “Worse,” Ariana replied with a wry smile, the weariness in her voice softened by humor. “But at least the wine was good.”

    Bull grinned as she brought her horse to a halt. “You’ve been on the road a while, huh?”

    “Almost a month,” she said lightly, though the weight of the journey still lingered in her bones.

    Before she could dismount, Bull stepped forward and extended his hand. She hesitated, arching a brow at him before letting out a quiet chuckle and accepting his help. “Why, that’s kind of you,” she said as he steadied her. “But you must know it’s unnecessary.”

    “Maybe I’m just trying to make a good impression,” he replied with a sly grin.

    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Ariana said, shaking her head in amusement as she turned toward the gate.

    And then she saw him—Cullen. He stood near the entrance, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone made her heart skip. Her lips curled into a soft smile before she could stop herself, and she bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly self-conscious. The exhaustion she had carried into Haven lifted just a little, replaced by a warmth that only he seemed to bring.

    But before she could step toward him, Bull’s voice broke through her focus.

    “Oh, my lady,” Bull said, his tone teasing, “you know, Haven gets pretty cold at night.”

    Ariana turned back to him, arching a brow. “Does it now?”

    Bull took a step closer, his grin widening. “I was thinking
 maybe you’d like to join me for a drink. We could keep warm, swap stories
 see where the night takes us.”

    Her laugh was soft but genuine as she shook her head. “I thought you had a thing for redheads?” she countered, her tone light.

    “I make exceptions for women as beautiful—and dangerous—as yourself,” Bull said smoothly, his voice dropping just slightly.

    Ariana smirked, tilting her head. “I’m flattered. But I’ll have to decline. Maybe another time.”

    “Fair enough,” Bull replied, his grin unshaken. “Offer stands, though.”

    With another chuckle, she turned back toward the gate. But Cullen was gone. Her smile faltered, and a pang of disappointment tugged at her chest. She had hoped to talk to him, to see him, even if only briefly. He must have been busy, she told herself, though the thought did little to soothe her. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she picked up her pace, determined to find him before the night was over.

    Because if there was one thing she’d learned on the road, it was that some words shouldn’t wait.

    ~~~

    Cullen knew he had no right to be jealous. And yet, the sight of Ariana dismounting with Iron Bull’s assistance had stirred something deep and unwelcome in him. His mind spun, unable to quiet itself. Emma’s words from a few weeks ago still echoed in his mind: “You should tell her you love her.” But did she want that? Or was she trying to move on? The uncertainty gnawed at him.

    And then there was the ring. She was wearing it. But what had it meant to her? Did she still want what it symbolized? Or was it simply a memory of what once was. He couldn’t shake the doubt. He was terrified of misreading her, of pushing her away when he’d already barely managed to hold on.

    He loved her. Maker, he loved her more than anything. Loved her enough that, if letting her go would make her happy, he would do it. He would let her walk away—even if it left him hollow inside. If someone else made her happier, he would support her, no matter how much it hurt.

    But then again, there was that day before she left for Val Royeaux. She had teased him about Orlesian nobles, bringing up the one who had propositioned her years ago. He had assumed she was testing him—trying to draw out his feelings, trying to gauge if it still bothered him. Why would she do that if she had truly moved on? The thought tugged at him like a thread unraveling a tapestry, leaving him more confused than ever.

    Before he could spiral further, her voice pulled him from his thoughts, light and teasing as it always was. “You want to see what I found?”

    Cullen turned sharply, startled to find her standing so close. His breath caught at the sight of her smile—soft and mischievous, her eyes glinting with the familiar spark he hadn’t realized he missed so desperately. It was as though the world shifted, his spiraling thoughts grinding to a halt.

    His chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t from worry or jealousy. For the first time in weeks, the weight on his shoulders lifted. He couldn’t help but smile, the expression spreading across his face before he could stop it. “Should I guess?” he asked, his tone lighter now, the familiar rhythm of their banter pulling him in like it always did.

    “Ooh, you could
” she replied, tilting her head with that playful glint in her eyes. “But what would you want as a prize if you guess correctly?”

    He pretended to think, his lips quirking up in a smirk. “Hmm. What are you offering?” he asked, the slightest hint of something more in his voice. He didn’t intend it to be, but it was there—unspoken but unmistakable.

    “Why, my dear Commander,” she began, her voice lilting with exaggerated scandal, “I’m offering a simple dinner
 or perhaps a good bottle of wine. You never know.” There was a glimmer of humor in her gaze, but the insinuation in her tone left his breath momentarily caught.

    “That is tempting,” Cullen admitted, his voice softening without him realizing it.

    “But tell me, Commander
” Ariana leaned closer, lowering her voice to a playful, sultry lilt that sent heat rising to his cheeks. “What’s in this for me if you don’t guess correctly?”

    He laughed, though he could feel the warmth creeping up his neck. He silently thanked Haven’s cold air for masking the flush that threatened to betray him. “Whatever your heart desires, my Lady,” Cullen replied, his voice steady though his heart was anything but. “I am at your service.”

    The words felt natural, effortless even, but they carried more weight than he intended. This moment—this lightness between them—reminded him of nights in Kirkwall when they had walked together, teasing and laughing as though the world wasn’t crumbling around them. He wasn’t sure if they were both too tired to keep their barriers up or if, somehow, the years between them no longer mattered. All he knew was that in this fleeting moment, nothing else existed but her.

    Ariana smiled—a wide, genuine smile that caught him completely off guard. It was a smile she couldn’t contain even if she tried, and for a moment, Cullen felt as though the space that had existed between them for so long suddenly disappeared. The look in her eyes said everything he needed to hear but couldn’t bring himself to ask.

    “Very well,” she said, her voice light but her gaze lingering on his. “I’m sure I’ll think of something
”

    Without hesitation, she reached out, wrapping her hand around his arm. The simple gesture sent a familiar warmth through him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. She guided him toward the tavern with an easy confidence that left him momentarily breathless.

    “Well, if you’re satisfied with the terms,” she said, glancing up at him with a raised brow, “are you prepared to guess then?”

    Cullen chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer than he intended. “I’ll take my chances,” he said, falling into step beside her as though they had never missed a beat.

    Whatever the future held, this moment was enough. For now, he would simply let himself enjoy being with her again.

    ~~~

    Ariana set her pack down on the table with deliberate care, as if the act itself could mask the excitement bubbling beneath her weariness. Tucked inside was her find from Val Royeaux—a rare Tevinter tome on Astrariums—and she had been eager to share it with Cullen since the moment she’d spotted it. Her fingers lingered on the strap, brushing it absently before glancing up at him. The smile she gave him lingered just a moment longer than she intended.

    Flissa approached, her curiosity barely veiled as her gaze flicked between them. The tavern was quieter than usual, the late hour leaving only a few scattered patrons. It was cozy, the warmth of the hearth giving the space an intimate feel. Ariana couldn’t miss the way Flissa’s lips twitched, as though holding back questions about the playful energy between her and Cullen.

    “Can I get you two something?” Flissa asked brightly, her voice carrying just enough interest to spark amusement in Ariana.

    “Have any good bottles of wine left?” Ariana replied, her tone light and teasing as her gaze flicked toward Cullen.

    “I do, my Lady Herald,” Flissa answered promptly, listing the options with practiced ease. “An Antivan Red, a Montsimmard White, and a Plum Wine.”

    Ariana’s lips curved as she turned to Cullen, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Should you guess correctly, Commander, I assume it would be your choice
”

    Cullen met her gaze, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The game had begun. “We’ll take the Antivan Red,” he said with an air of confidence. “Thank you, Flissa.”

    “And something to eat,” Ariana added, her tone casual but her smile growing. “Anything warm will do.”

    Flissa nodded, retreating with a knowing look that didn’t escape Ariana’s notice. Once they were alone, Cullen settled into his chair across from her, his posture loose but his expression sharp, as though prepared to outmatch her tonight. There was a spark in his eyes that hinted at more than banter—a challenge she was eager to meet.

    “So,” he began, his voice edged with teasing, “do I get a hint?”

    Ariana arched a brow, pretending to consider. “A hint? You already look like you know what it is.”

    He leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. “Maybe. But humor me.”

    She sighed dramatically, feigning reluctance. “Fine. Only one hint: it’s in my pack right now.”

    Cullen laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded in a way that sent a flicker of warmth through her. “And I get only one guess?” he pressed, his tone daring.

    “That’s correct. One guess,” she replied, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table. “So, Commander
 I suggest you make it count.”

    Flissa returned then, setting down the wine, two glasses, and a modest plate of warm bread and cheese. Ariana thanked her, though her focus stayed on Cullen as he uncorked the bottle with practiced ease. Before he could pour, she reached out, deftly claiming both glasses and holding them just out of reach.

    “Well, Commander
” she teased, tilting one glass to let the red liquid swirl. “Are you ready to guess?”

    Cullen leaned back, his arms crossing as he studied her with mock deliberation. His smirk turned knowing, almost smug. “It’s a book.”

    Ariana’s eyes narrowed, amusement flashing in their depths. “Fine. But a book about what?”

    “Oh, now you want precision?” he countered, his tone light but his gaze steady. He leaned forward slightly, his smirk daring her to keep up.

    She handed him his glass with a flourish, shaking her head. “You’ve earned your wine and dinner for that guess. But
” Her voice softened, her smile turning conspiratorial. “I might be willing to up the stakes if you’d like to try guessing more precisely.”

    Cullen mirrored her, leaning closer. “And what are you offering, my Lady?” His voice lowered, taking on a warmth that sent a shiver through her despite the tavern’s cozy heat.

    Her teasing faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the way he said it—so familiar yet so disarming. But she quickly recovered, leaning back slightly as she traced the rim of her glass with her finger. The gleam of her ring caught the firelight, and she stilled as she noticed Cullen’s gaze shift to it.

    That flicker of recognition in his eyes was unmistakable. His focus on the ring, the softening in his expression—it was enough to steady her racing heart. The knot of uncertainty she had carried began to loosen. Maybe our future isn’t so far out of reach.

    She leaned back slightly, gripping her glass as if it were her lifeline. “Why, whatever your heart desires, Commander,” she said, her voice softer now, though no less teasing.

    The warmth in his gaze deepened as he leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the table. “That’s a dangerous proposition,” he murmured, his tone quieter now, almost intimate. “Are you certain?”

    “I am,” she said finally, her voice steady but quieter now, as though the words carried more weight than she intended. She met his gaze, feeling the air between them shift into something unspoken yet profound.

    For a moment, Cullen held her gaze, his smirk softening into something warmer, deeper. Then he leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing his glass. “You’re making this too easy, Ariana,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

    The creak of the door broke the spell, the shuffle of boots reminding them of the room beyond their table. Ariana glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a new patron settling in. She chuckled softly, letting the tension ease as she turned back to him.

    “You know, Commander,” she said, her voice dropping into a near whisper, “small towns like Haven are far more efficient at starting rumors than even Kirkwall’s Hightown.”

    Cullen’s lips quirked up in a small, knowing smile. His voice, warm and steady, carried just enough weight to send another shiver through her. “Let them talk.”

    The simplicity of his words settled over her, filling the quiet space between them. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that they could find their way back to what they’d once had. She smiled, soft and genuine, as she raised her glass to his. “Very well. To rumors, then.”

    Their glasses clinked softly, a quiet toast to the unspoken, as the warmth of the tavern wrapped around them like a shield against the world outside.

  • Chapter 63 – Don’t Hold Back

    28 -30 Drakonis 9:41

    The Inquisition’s leadership had agreed to keep their suspicions about Lord Seeker Lucius quiet for now. Ariana had supported the decision, though it weighed on her. The stakes were already high enough without adding public fear to the equation. She couldn’t shake the memory of Lucius’s detached words, the way his gaze seemed devoid of humanity.

    After the meeting, Ariana had wandered through Haven, her restless thoughts tugging her in no particular direction. Her steps carried her to the Chantry’s lower levels, where the air grew cooler, the stone walls oppressive and quiet. She had no real destination in mind, but the solitude offered her a chance to think.

    Josephine had watched her go, her sharp instincts piqued by Ariana’s unusual mood. The ambassador had been deep in correspondence, but something about Ariana’s gait—deliberate yet aimless—compelled her to follow at a discreet distance. She found Ariana in the dungeon, kneeling before a locked gate, her fingers deftly working a set of lockpicks.

    “Lockpicking seems a curious skill for a noble to possess,” Josephine said, her tone light but curious.

    Ariana didn’t startle, though a wry smirk tugged at her lips. “How else are you supposed to get into a dungeon full of books?”

    Josephine blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I
 can’t say I’ve encountered such a situation before.”

    “Neither have I,” Ariana admitted with a soft chuckle as the lock clicked open. She stood smoothly, tucking her tools away. “But I couldn’t let this one go untested.”

    Josephine followed her inside, her gaze sweeping over the shelves of aged tomes and scrolls. “Surely there’s a key somewhere in the Chantry.”

    “Probably,” Ariana replied breezily, already leafing through a book. “But where’s the fun in that?”

    Josephine’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I imagine there’s some fascinating history in here.” She trailed a finger along the spines, her tone shifting to something more measured. “Lady Trevelyan, if I may, I’d like to discuss a matter concerning your family.”

    Ariana paused, glancing at Josephine with a raised brow. “A bit sudden, but I suppose it’s time someone made an honest woman of me.”

    Josephine flushed faintly, though she composed herself quickly. “Very amusing. But this is serious.”

    Setting the book aside, Ariana leaned against the table, a playful glint in her eye. “All right, Lady Montilyet. What’s on your mind?”

    Josephine straightened, her ambassadorial tone returning. “Your parents. I’d like to write to them, requesting their formal support for the Inquisition. Do you believe they would align themselves with us?”

    The question gave Ariana pause. Her teasing smile faltered, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I believe they would.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll include a personal letter with your formal request. Just
 let’s avoid inviting them to Haven.”

    Josephine tilted her head, her curiosity plain. “Do you not wish to see them?”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the shelves but unfocused. “It’s not that. I love my parents dearly—it’s just
 there are complications.”

    Josephine regarded her thoughtfully. “Complications?”

    Ariana hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to Kirkwall. She remembered the months leading up to everything falling apart. For once, her mother had been softer, more supportive, and they’d connected over something entirely hers: her engagement to Cullen. Ariana had allowed herself to believe in a future that felt right, even magical.

    But the memories turned sharp, unease threading through them. She knew Cullen had noticed the ring was back on her finger—he always noticed. Yet he hadn’t mentioned it, and she hadn’t asked. The thought of initiating that conversation felt like stepping into uncertain ground, every word potentially setting off something she wasn’t ready to face.

    Elara, on the other hand, would never hesitate. If invited to Haven, her mother would confront Cullen directly, forcing a conversation Ariana wasn’t ready for.

    Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally turned to Josephine. “Let’s just say it’s better for everyone if they stay in Ostwick. My mother has a talent for
 making things more complicated.”

    Josephine’s expression softened, though her curiosity lingered. Before she could press further, Ariana pushed off the table and offered her hand with exaggerated formality. “Come on. Let’s find a bottle of wine. You look like you could use a break from all those letters.”

    Josephine chuckled softly, accepting the offer. Together, they left the dungeon and made their way to the tavern. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of wine and stories. Ariana regaled Josephine with tales of her travels, spinning humor and candor into each one. Yet, for all the laughter, Ariana carefully steered the conversation away from her family—and from Cullen.

    Some knots, she decided, were not untagled. For now.

    ~~~

    The war room was dim, the flickering lantern light casting shadows over maps and reports spread across the table. Cullen leaned over the edge, scanning a list of troop movements with practiced efficiency. Despite the focus he forced into the task, his thoughts lingered elsewhere—on the rumors Cassandra had mentioned earlier, on Ariana’s return to Haven, and on the ever-present weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.

    The soft creak of the door brought him out of his thoughts. Cassandra entered, her expression set with the kind of intensity that made Cullen straighten instinctively. She closed the door firmly behind her and turned toward him, her posture unyielding.

    “Seeker,” he said, his tone cautious. “What brings you here?”

    Cassandra didn’t answer immediately, instead crossing the room with deliberate steps until she stood across from him. Her sharp eyes locked onto his, and Cullen felt a twinge of unease. This wasn’t the kind of visit that ended with a simple report.

    “There’s a matter we need to discuss,” she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument.

    Her tone gave him pause. Cassandra didn’t mince words, but the weight behind them suggested this wasn’t about logistics or troop movements. He gestured toward the table. “If it concerns the Inquisition’s forces—”

    “It does not,” she interrupted, her gaze narrowing. She crossed her arms, stepping closer. “This is about you. And the Herald.”

    Cullen stiffened, his expression immediately guarded. “What about her?”

    Cassandra’s eyes bore into his. “There were whispers in Kirkwall,” she began, her tone even but pointed. “Rumors among the templars of a Knight-Captain in love with a noblewoman. A love story, they called it, amidst the chaos of the city. At the time, I dismissed it as idle gossip. But now
”

    Cullen clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He could deny the rumors, brush them off as idle gossip, but Cassandra had clearly done her research. She always did. He met her gaze evenly. “Rumors,” he said carefully, “are rarely reliable.”

    Cassandra continued, undeterred. “I also came across records—your formal request to the White Spire for permission to marry. There was no name listed, but it wasn’t difficult to connect the pieces once I saw her.” She hesitated, her voice softening slightly. “And now I see that the Herald wears a ring.”

    Her words hit him like a blow, though he kept his expression neutral. So, she has seen it. Cullen exhaled slowly, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. “I didn’t think she still wore it,” he admitted softly, almost to himself.

    Cassandra’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Then it’s true.”

    He didn’t answer immediately, his thoughts drifting to the Divine’s words: Your betrothed will need you in the days to come. The truth he’d tried to bury resurfaced, unrelenting. “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with the admission. “It’s true.”

    Cassandra’s expression tightened. “Then you understand why I must ask. Can you remain objective, Commander? Can you do your duty, even if it means sending her to her death?”

    Cullen looked away, his hands tightening on the edge of the table. The memories came unbidden—the Qunari uprising in Kirkwall, the chaos in the streets, and the sight of Ariana bleeding and barely standing. His voice, when he spoke, was low and strained. “During the Qunari uprising. I found her in the street—injured, bleeding. She tried to tell me she was fine but then she collapsed before she could even explain what happened.”

    Cassandra’s brow furrowed, her silence urging him to continue.

    “I carried her to the Circle,” Cullen said, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t want to go, but didn’t have the energy to fight—too stubborn to admit how badly she was hurt. The healers said she might not survive the night.” His voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “She did, but
 I realized then that I could never keep her as safe as I wanted. Not Ariana.”

    Cassandra’s eyes softened, though her tone remained measured. “And now?”

    “Now,” Cullen said, meeting her gaze, “I know she’ll throw herself into danger whether I object or not. She’ll do what she always does: try to save the world.” He exhaled, his voice steady but laced with quiet resignation. “The best I can do is give her every possible advantage. Troops, resources, strategies. Whatever she needs to succeed. That’s how I keep her safe.”

    Cassandra studied him for a long moment, her sharp features softening. “I see,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “That cannot be easy.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, the sound bitter. “You have no idea.”

    A faint smile flickered across Cassandra’s lips, though it quickly faded. “It is not my place to judge your feelings, Commander. But your honesty
 it speaks well of you. I only hope it does not hinder you when the time comes to act.”

    “It won’t,” Cullen said firmly, though the conviction in his voice didn’t quite reach his heart. “I’ll do what’s necessary.”

    Cassandra nodded, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. “See that you do. The Inquisition needs you at your best, Commander.”

    As the door closed behind her, Cullen leaned heavily against the table, his thoughts drifting to Ariana. The Divine’s words echoed in his mind once more: Your betrothed will need you in the days to come.

    He whispered the words aloud, barely realizing it, before straightening. Whatever lay ahead, he would be ready to stand by her. Even if it meant sending her into the fire.

    ~~~

    The following morning, Ariana focused on the final details for Emma’s birthday celebration. The courtyard bustled with activity as crates were unloaded and supplies organized. Stepping into the lively scene, she immediately spotted Isabel overseeing a delivery. Her sharp eyes scanned the chaos like a hawk, her presence commanding yet effortless.

    “Ah, there you are,” Ariana said as she approached, her voice low to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. She glanced around, ensuring no curious ears lingered. “Have you heard from Harritt? Is it ready?”

    Isabel nodded, folding her arms. “He sent word this morning. It’s done.”

    “Good.” A faint smile tugged at Ariana’s lips. “I want to see it for myself. What about Cullen? Did you speak with him?”

    Isabel tilted her head, feigning sudden forgetfulness, though the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Was I supposed to speak with the Commander? I thought you were handling that.”

    Ariana narrowed her eyes. “Isabel, there’s no need for this.”

    “You two need to talk,” Isabel insisted, her tone softening but no less resolute.

    “We have been talking,” Ariana countered, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Just
 maybe not in the way you’d like.”

    Isabel smiled knowingly, offering a slight shrug. “Do you still love him?”

    Ariana sighed, giving her a pointed look before brushing past the question entirely. “Fine. I’ll handle it. In the meantime, make sure Elliot and the other Rangers are ready for the mock battle. It needs to be fun, not terrifying.”

    “Of course,” Isabel replied, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

    Leaving the courtyard, Ariana set off toward Harritt’s forge, her steps brisk and purposeful. Yet Isabel’s words lingered, tugging at the edges of her thoughts like an unwelcome guest.

    Before she could dwell too long, Josephine appeared from a side path, her call breaking the quiet rhythm of Ariana’s footsteps. “Herald! A moment, please.”

    Ariana stopped and turned, her brow lifting slightly. “What can I do for you this morning, Lady Montilyet?”

    Josephine approached, holding out a neatly sealed envelope. “An invitation has arrived for you. The First Enchanter of Montsimmard has requested a meeting with you in Val Royeaux.”

    Ariana arched a brow, taking the envelope and breaking the seal. She scanned the elegantly penned words, her expression remaining neutral, though her mind was already turning. “So
 you’re telling me I need to return to Val Royeaux to attend a party?”

    “Well, not a party per se,” Josephine replied carefully, though her tone carried the faintest hint of amusement. “It could be an excellent opportunity to secure valuable allies for the Inquisition.”

    Ariana handed the invitation back, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Very well, I’ll go. But, Lady Montilyet, as I often remind Isabel—please refrain from committing me to any balls or elaborate social gatherings in your efforts to secure alliances.”

    Josephine chuckled softly, inclining her head. “Of course, Herald. I’ll do my utmost to keep your schedule
 manageable.”

    “Good,” Ariana said, satisfied, before continuing on her way. Josephine, relieved, turned back toward her office, though her expression lingered with a hint of thoughtful curiosity.

    By the time Ariana reached Harritt’s forge, her thoughts had begun to settle. She realized she was growing more accustomed to this new life—the duties, the responsibilities, the title. It was still overwhelming, but it no longer made her want to retreat.

    As she waited for Harritt, she found herself reflecting on the title itself: Herald. She still didn’t believe it. She didn’t see herself as holy or chosen. But over time, she had come to understand what the title meant to others. It gave them hope, something to hold onto in a world that felt increasingly unsteady.

    Maybe that’s all it needs to be, she thought, her resolve hardening. A symbol. A myth. Like the White Wolf. If it helps me protect them, then I can live with it.

    The thought steadied her, though Isabel’s question refused to leave her mind. Do you still love him? Of course she loved Cullen. She always had. But did she deserve him?

    Her gaze dropped to the engagement ring on her finger, catching the faint glint of sunlight reflecting off the sapphire. She still wore it, despite her doubts. Not because she felt certain of their future, but because she wanted to believe in it. She wanted that life with him more than anything. She just didn’t know if she could be the one to ask for it. Not yet.

    Shaking the thought away, she focused on the task at hand. Emma’s celebration was her priority today. Whatever uncertainties she had about Cullen or her role in the Inquisition could wait. For now, she was determined to make Emma’s day unforgettable.

    ~~~

    Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen noticed Ariana approaching, a small bundle clutched in her hands. Her pace was deliberate, yet there was a hesitation in her stride, a subtle uncertainty that tugged at his attention. He straightened, setting aside the report he’d been reviewing, and turned to face her.

    “Commander,” she greeted, her tone steady, but there was a faint edge of nervousness that caught him off guard.

    “Ariana,” he replied, curiosity evident in his voice. “I was just about to find you. Isabel mentioned you needed something?”

    “Did she now?” Ariana’s grip on the bundle tightened slightly. Her composure wavered for just a moment before she recovered. “Yes, well
 she forgot to ask for your help with something.”

    Cullen raised an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And sent you to deliver the message?”

    “Yes,” she replied quickly—too quickly. The flustered note in her voice betrayed her, and Cullen found himself amused by the rare sight of Ariana out of her element.

    “I see,” he said, leaning back slightly, the grin on his face widening. He couldn’t help but enjoy this unexpected glimpse of vulnerability. “Well then, what can I do for Isabel?”

    Ariana exhaled, her frustration barely concealed. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bundle toward him. “You’ll need this. Follow me.”

    Cullen accepted the bundle, bemused, and trailed after her as she led him toward her quarters. As they walked, his eyes fell to her hands, where her fingers flexed nervously against the edge of her coat. That’s when he saw it—the ring. The sapphire glinted in the light, unmistakable against the smooth curve of her finger. His breath caught, the sight anchoring him mid-step.

    He’d noticed it missing from her necklace, Cassandra had confirmed she was wearing it, but seeing it here, on her hand, felt like a quiet declaration he didn’t know how to interpret. A mix of hope and doubt surged within him, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

    They entered her quarters, and Ariana motioned for him to set the bundle on the table. She hesitated, clearly searching for the right words, her gaze flicking to him briefly before settling elsewhere. Cullen crossed his arms, waiting patiently, though the flicker of unease in her eyes stirred something protective within him.

    “As you may recall,” she began, her voice steadying, “Emma’s birthday is tomorrow.”

    He nodded, still unsure where this was going.

    “Isabel tells me that
” She faltered again, her words catching in her throat. Cullen noted the frustration building behind her calm façade as she visibly steeled herself. “Emma has decided she would like to join the Inquisition under your command.”

    Cullen blinked, caught between surprise and amusement. “She mentioned something about that the other day.”

    “She did?” Ariana’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though the tension didn’t entirely leave her. She shook her head, her tone lightening. “Apparently, she’s far more enamored with warriors than rogues. Or maybe it’s just you.”

    Cullen chuckled, opening the bundle. Inside was a set of miniature armor and a wooden sword, crafted with care and adorned with Inquisition insignias. He ran his fingers over the polished edges, his expression softening.

    “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

    “Harritt,” Ariana replied. “It wasn’t easy. I had to source lighter materials and convince him to fashion something in her size. But I think it’s perfect.”

    Cullen studied the armor for a moment, his fingers brushing the craftsmanship. The thought behind the gift struck him more than the gift itself. “She’s going to love this,” he said finally. “It’s remarkable.”

    “Isabel said she’s been following you during your rounds,” Ariana said with a faint smile. “Apparently, you’re her new role model—or still the only one she cares about.”

    Cullen shook his head with a soft laugh. “I don’t know about that. She asks a lot of questions—and occasionally corrects me on tactics she’s read about.”

    Ariana laughed, the unease in her posture beginning to ebb. “That sounds about right. She’s smarter than most people would think.”

    Cullen smiled, but his gaze drifted briefly back to her hand, where the ring rested, steady and certain. It was such a small thing, yet it carried so much weight. He wanted to ask—wanted to know why she wore it again, what it meant now—but the words caught in his throat. The fear of disrupting this fragile peace between them kept him silent.

    Cullen smiled. “Probably. I doubt there’s much I could teach her that she hasn’t already learned from you.”

    Ariana’s smile faltered slightly, and her voice softened. “If she’s learned anything, I assure you it wasn’t from me. She hasn’t been very interested in what I do for years. She blames me. She’s not wrong. Too smart for her own good, maybe
 It’s your footsteps she’d prefer to follow in, and I’ll do what I can to give her that.”

    Cullen froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He studied Ariana, noting the way her gaze lowered as though she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. A pang of guilt tugged at him. *Blames her?* His chest tightened at the thought of Emma feeling resentment toward Ariana—a resentment she didn’t deserve.

    “She shouldn’t blame you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve done everything you could for her. You’ve given her a home, a family
 stability. Things most children would only dream of.”

    Ariana shook her head, her tone quiet but insistent. “You don’t see it, Cullen. It’s not enough. I took her away from you, and she knows it.”

    His brow furrowed, her words stirring memories he’d tried to push aside—years spent wondering about the life they might have had, and the child who was never truly his but who he’d loved as if she were. “Ariana, you didn’t take her away. You made the choices you had to, for her. For all of us.”

    For a moment, the weight of unspoken emotions lingered between them. Cullen wanted to say more, to tell her that Emma didn’t see her as anything less than a hero, even if she didn’t realize it yet. But the words refused to form.

    “You’ll present it to her tomorrow, then? As her ‘Commander’? She’d love that,” Ariana said, pulling him from his thoughts.

    Cullen nodded, forcing himself to focus on her words. “I’d be honored. Though I suspect she’ll have more questions for me than any of my recruits.”

    “Probably,” Ariana said with a laugh. “Some of the Rangers are arranging a mock battle as well. For both of you. You will win, of course.”

    Cullen raised an eyebrow, his grin growing. “Will I? Should I even bother asking how this is supposed to play out?”

    Ariana’s grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry, Commander. It’s all carefully orchestrated. Emma will have her victory, and you’ll leave with your dignity intact. Mostly.”

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Somehow, I’m not reassured.”

    “Trust me,” she said lightly. “It’ll be the highlight of her day.”

    As they left her quarters, Cullen’s thoughts lingered on the ring and the quiet weight it carried. He resolved to speak with Emma soon, to assure her of the truth. And perhaps, in time, he would find the courage to ask Ariana about the ring—not to question her choice, but to understand the path they were still navigating together. For now, though, he let it rest. Tomorrow was for Emma, and he would make sure it was as special as Ariana had envisioned.

    ~~~

    The crisp morning air carried a rare sense of excitement in Haven. The training grounds bustled with life, recruits standing a little straighter, their movements sharper under the Commander’s watchful eye. Yet Cullen’s attention strayed from the recruits to the edges of the gathering, where he caught sight of Ariana.

    She stood leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed, her posture deceptively relaxed. Yet Cullen knew her well enough to recognize the vigilance in her gaze, the way she seemed to take in everything while deliberately keeping herself apart. It was unlike her to linger in the background, and that subtle withdrawal gnawed at him, a reminder of her words the day before: She blames me. She’s not wrong.

    He exhaled quietly, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. If Emma harbored resentment, it should have been directed at him, not Ariana. He had been the one who hadn’t been there, the one who’d failed to hold everything together. The fact that Ariana seemed to accept and shoulder Emma’s misplaced feelings of blame only deepened Cullen’s guilt.

    The sound of Isabel’s voice pulled his focus back to the present. Emma bounded onto the training grounds, her excitement palpable as she darted toward him. Cullen knelt, the bundle of miniature armor and weapons in hand.

    “Good morning, Recruit Emma,” he said, his tone formal but warm.

    “Good morning, Commander!” she replied, her grin wide enough to rival the rising sun.

    Cullen smiled as he began the small ceremony, presenting the wooden sword and shield with all the gravity he would offer a full-fledged soldier. The crowd cheered as Emma was outfitted in her miniature armor, her confidence growing with every buckle and strap. Watching her beaming face, Cullen felt a pang of pride—and a flicker of discomfort as he glanced toward Ariana again.

    She still hadn’t moved from the shadows of the training grounds, but her expression had shifted. The faint smirk she usually wore was gone, replaced by something quieter, harder to place. Disappointment? Hurt? The thought twisted in Cullen’s chest.

    The Rangers’ mock battle began, drawing laughter from the crowd as they charged onto the field with theatrical flair. Emma’s eyes lit up as the Rangers declared Haven “under attack,” and she took her role as Haven’s defender with earnest determination. Cullen coached her through the mock battle, his own amusement growing as the “invading” Rangers fell dramatically before her wooden sword.

    Then, one of the Rangers seized Ariana, dragging her into the center of the field with a triumphant cry. “We’ve captured the Herald of Andraste!” the Ranger bellowed.

    Emma whirled around, her face alight with determination. “Commander! We have to save her!”

    Cullen hesitated for a moment, his thoughts flashing briefly to Kirkwall and the battles they’d fought there. But Ariana’s exaggerated mock glare at her captor eased the knot in his chest. She seemed comfortable enough, so he nodded. “I’m not sure the Herald needs saving, Recruit,” he teased. “She’s been saving all of us.”

    Emma was undeterred. “We still have to get her back!” she insisted, charging forward with her wooden sword raised high.

    Ariana’s playful smirk returned as she played along, her mock struggles earning cheers and laughter from the crowd. Emma’s triumphant “rescue” was met with applause, the little girl beaming as she stood beside the Commander.

    But then came her next words.

    “I think you’re the strongest in the whole Inquisition, Commander. You’d definitely beat the White Wolf in a fight.”

    The crowd fell silent for a beat before erupting into laughter and murmurs. Cullen’s gaze flicked to Ariana, who raised an eyebrow, her expression caught between amusement and something quieter—perhaps disappointment, or hurt.

    Cullen chuckled softly, trying to lighten the moment. “I’m not so certain of that, Recruit Emma. I happen to know she’s quite formidable.”

    Emma nodded emphatically. “You’re both strong, but you’re stronger, Commander. I’m sure of it!”

    Ariana raised a brow, her voice smooth but edged with playful defiance. “I’d say we’re evenly matched, wouldn’t you, Commander?”

    Before Cullen could respond, the crowd seized on the moment, their voices swelling into a chant: “Match! Match! Match!”

    His gaze shifted to Ariana, torn between amusement and apprehension. She stood there, the glint of mischief in her eyes unmistakable. “I’m not sure this is—”

    “Yes!” Emma said excitedly, cutting him off. “You should, so you can prove it!”

    Ariana shrugged playfully. “You heard the birthday girl, Commander,” she said, her tone teasing yet challenging. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd.”

    Cullen sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

    “Maybe,” Ariana admitted, stepping into the center of the grounds. “But I do hope you’re ready, Commander. Wouldn’t want your newest recruit to lose faith in you.”

    Despite his initial hesitation, Cullen couldn’t help but smile. Ariana had an uncanny ability to draw people in, to make even the most mundane moments feel significant. Straightening, he rolled his shoulders, meeting her gaze with a grin that mirrored her own. “All right, then. Let’s give them a show.”

    The cheers of the crowd rose around them as Cullen stepped forward, wooden sword in hand. And for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities, of his guilt and unease, faded into the background. In that fleeting space of time, it wasn’t about the Inquisition or the Breach. It was just them—Emma’s laughter, Ariana’s playful defiance, and a sense of normalcy that felt all too rare.

    ~~~

    The sparring ground held its breath, the crowd’s murmurs fading as Cullen and Ariana faced each other. The air between them crackled with anticipation, and Cullen couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. Ariana moved with her usual confidence, shedding her coat and handing it off to a Ranger with an almost theatrical ease. Yet there was no mistaking the fire in her hazel-green eyes—a fire he had rarely seen unleashed during their sparring in Kirkwall.

    As the Ranger stepped aside with the coat, Ariana’s hands went to her left hand. Cullen’s eyes instinctively followed the movement as she slid the ring from her finger. The act was deliberate, protective.

    She paused briefly, securing the ring onto the leather cord around her neck with careful precision, before tucking it beneath her shirt. The gesture was pragmatic, yet the care she took was unmistakable. Cullen’s chest tightened. It wasn’t the absence of the ring on her hand that caught him—it was the clarity of its presence, safeguarded, even in the middle of a sparring match.

    The realization stayed with him as she stepped into position. She wasn’t setting it aside out of hesitation or doubt; she was ensuring it wouldn’t be damaged. That understanding was a quiet reassurance—but it also stirred a new thought. If she takes it off her necklace again
 He stopped himself, resolving to pay closer attention in the days to come.

    Someone offered her a training sword, but she raised a hand, declining with a smirk that bordered on insolent. She stepped forward unarmed, her stance loose but deliberate. The crowd murmured in surprise, a few laughs rippling through at her brazen gesture.

    “You’re making this too easy for me, Herald,” Cullen said, his voice steady but not without warmth. He needed to focus now—on the match, on her—and not on the weight of the ring she carried.

    Ariana tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

    “Just
 don’t hold back this time,” Cullen said teasingly, the words carrying more meaning than he let on. He needed to see her fully, to understand the true strength of the woman before him—not just the skilled fighter he had known in Kirkwall, but the White Wolf whose name carried weight across Thedas.

    Her grin sharpened. “As you wish, Commander.”

    Cullen struck first, a calculated swing to gauge her reflexes. She ducked with ease, her movements fluid as water, pivoting on her heel to evade his follow-up strike. The crowd’s murmurs swelled with excitement, and Cullen pressed forward, raising his shield, but she was already slipping past it.

    Her unarmed style was more unpredictable than he’d expected. She darted and wove like a shadow, her movements impossible to predict. At one point, she leapt onto a barrel, using it as a springboard to evade his shield bash. The landing was so smooth it earned an audible gasp from the onlookers.

    “She’s quick,” a recruit whispered.

    Valentina, standing at the edge of the crowd, grinned. “You have no idea.”

    Cullen found himself grinning despite his growing frustration. She was holding nothing back, and it showed. Her movements were honed, efficient—each dodge and feint calculated to make him overcommit, to leave himself exposed. She was every bit the White Wolf he’d heard about in whispers and reports, a legend in her own right.

    When she darted in and caught the edge of his shield, yanking it free with startling precision, he couldn’t help but laugh despite himself. “You should really stop letting me do that,” she teased, stepping back.

    “Noted,” he replied, shaking his head as he retrieved his balance.

    The rhythm of their duel ebbed and flowed, the crowd’s cheers swelling as the tension built. Cullen knew he couldn’t match her speed, but his strength and reach gave him an advantage he pressed whenever he could. Yet she adapted with every strike, her agility never faltering.

    When she twisted his arm and forced him to one knee, he felt the wooden sword slip from his grip. “Do you yield, Commander?” she asked, triumphant and breathless.

    He raised his hands slowly, her hold on his arm just loose enough to give him an opening. Seizing it, he shifted his weight and flipped her over his shoulder, sending her to the ground with a soft thud. Laughter spilled from her lips as she lay on her back, her grin unbroken.

    “I should have seen that coming,” she admitted, still laughing.

    Cullen extended his hand, his lips curving into a smile. “You should have.”

    Her hand was warm in his as he helped her up, the strength of her grip grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded, and he found himself caught in her gaze. There was a question there, unspoken yet heavy, one he wasn’t ready to answer.

    The crowd’s cheers broke the moment, pulling them both back. Cullen stepped away, nodding to compose himself. “That was
” Varric’s voice rang out, cutting through the din. “Probably the most exciting thing to happen in Haven all month. Call it a draw?”

    The crowd laughed, echoing the sentiment. Ariana smirked, brushing the dust from her trousers. “Evenly matched, it is.”

    Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Until next time, Herald.”

    As the crowd began to disperse, Emma darted over, her face flushed with excitement. “That was amazing! I knew you would win, Commander. I just knew you were stronger!”

    The words hit Cullen like a blow, though Emma’s admiration was unmistakably genuine. His gaze flicked to Ariana, who had approached with her usual composure. Yet he saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, quickly masked with a faint smile.

    Kneeling to Emma’s level, Cullen chose his words carefully. “Ariana is stronger in ways you might not see yet, Emma. She’s been protecting you for as long as you can remember. You should never doubt that.”

    Emma tilted her head, her youthful certainty undeterred. “I guess
 But you’re still stronger.”

    Ariana placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, her smile warm but edged with something else. “She’s right, Commander. We both know I’d lose against you in a fight.” Her tone was light, but the words carried a weight that unsettled him.

    Cullen watched her walk away with Emma, her laugh echoing faintly as they joined the others. We both know I’d lose against you in a fight. The words replayed in his mind, not as a jest but as a quiet echo of the past—a memory of the Gallows, of a battle neither of them had truly won.

    As the training grounds emptied, Cullen tightened his grip on the shield in his hand. Ariana had faced the weight of the world for so long, and it had worn on her in ways he was only now beginning to see. She had stood against impossible odds, shouldered unbearable burdens—and still, she diminished herself.

    Tomorrow, he resolved, he would find a way to bridge the gap between Emma and Ariana. And soon, he would remind Ariana of what she meant to him—not as the Herald, or the White Wolf, but as the woman he had loved for nearly twelve years.

    And he would not hold back. Not this time.

  • Chapter 61 – The Path Chosen

    5 – 13 Drakonis 9:41

    The Hinterlands stretched endlessly before them, a patchwork of green fields marred by the scars of war. Finding Mother Giselle amidst the chaos had been unexpectedly straightforward; the cleric’s calm demeanor drew people to her like a beacon in a storm. Her voice carried a steady authority, her words sharp and deliberate as she spoke to the group.

    “The Chantry clerics are ruled by fear,” Giselle had explained. “But fear is fragile. If the Herald can speak to them, show them she is not the monster they believe, it may be enough to sow doubt. That doubt is all you need to act.”

    Cassandra had glanced at Ariana, standing a pace behind her, quiet but not withdrawn. The so-called Herald’s face remained unreadable, but Cassandra could see the faint tension in her brow, the way her hands flexed at her sides as though itching for action. Cassandra doubted Ariana feared the clerics themselves, but the weight of their expectations—of the Divine’s voice calling to her in the Temple—was undeniable.

    Ariana’s role as a holy symbol was a mantle she had never asked for, and Cassandra suspected she bore it with more reluctance than fear. Yet she bears it all the same, Cassandra thought, a flicker of admiration softening her guarded view of the woman.

    They began their journey back to Haven, but the cries of the Hinterlands’ people pulled them in every direction. Refugees huddled in tents, their eyes hollow with hunger and loss. Bandits roamed the roads unchecked, and frightened villagers clung to what little they had left. It was chaos, and Cassandra felt the sting of helplessness as each new plea for aid reached their ears.

    “We can’t just walk away,” Ariana said, her voice cutting through the noise with quiet finality.

    Cassandra nodded, no argument necessary. They were of one mind.

    Moving from crisis to crisis, Cassandra found herself near the rear of the group, close enough to catch the murmur of conversation between Varric and Ariana. Their voices were a strange juxtaposition to the grim surroundings, their banter light and teasing.

    “So we’re back to traipsing through the wilderness, Pup?” Varric teased. “Ready to camp out under the stars with me again?”

    Ariana smirked, her voice laced with humor. “Feeling nostalgic already, Varric? I didn’t bring any spider traps. How are your boots doing?”

    “They are beginning to wish I hadn’t said anything about the next great disaster,” Varric quipped, his grin as sharp as ever.

    “That makes two of us. Pretty sure glowing marks weren’t part of the deal,” Ariana retorted, her tone dry.

    Cassandra couldn’t help but interject, her curiosity piqued. “You’ve traveled together before?”

    Ariana glanced over her shoulder, her smirk softening. “Varric and I? Oh, yes. We’ve faced everything from blood mages, slavers, possessed golems in haunted mansions, defended Kirkwall from mages and Templars
 you name it, we’ve probably done it.”

    Kirkwall. Cassandra’s steps faltered as her thoughts spiraled to the reports she’d studied. The devastation, the blood-soaked streets, the Chantry reduced to rubble—the catalyst of the mage-templar war. She turned to Ariana, her voice sharp with curiosity. “You were in Kirkwall? When the Chantry fell?”

    Ariana’s expression cooled, her jaw tightening. “Yes,” she said evenly. “While Hawke and the others faced Meredith in the Gallows, my Rangers worked to evacuate mages and civilians from the city.”

    Cassandra’s breath caught. Another thread in the tapestry of Kirkwall’s tragedy. “You fought in the Qunari uprising as well?”

    Ariana’s gaze didn’t waver. “Fought, coordinated, nearly died—it was a busy day.” Her tone was light, but the weight behind her words was unmistakable.

    Varric gave an approving nod. “She’s being modest. Ariana here practically saved the whole city while Hawke played hero in the Keep.”

    Cassandra turned to Varric, her frustration clear. “You never mentioned this.”

    Varric shrugged, unbothered by her tone. “You asked for Champion’s story, not hers.”

    Ariana’s voice was calm but firm. “In so far as Kirkwall is concerned, the White Wolf  needed to remain in the shadows. Not sure that matters anymore.”

    Cassandra fell silent, her mind racing to piece together what she’d just learned. The woman walking beside her was far more than a reluctant Herald. The pieces were falling into place. Ariana was far more than that. She was a leader, a strategist, a survivor who had forged her path through the shadows of Thedas. She had faced horrors and battles, led people through chaos and ruin—and she carried it all without seeking recognition. The Champion of Kirkwall had not stood alone.

    Perhaps, she thought, this was why the Divine had chosen her.

    Perhaps this is exactly what Thedas needs.

    ~~~

    Cassandra adjusted her seat near the campfire, her gaze drawn to the quiet figure across from her. Ariana sat lost in thought, her fingers absently tracing the pendant resting against her chest. The etched star caught the firelight, and Cassandra’s curiosity stirred.

    “Is that Visus?” Cassandra asked, her voice gentle but firm enough to pull Ariana from her reverie.

    Ariana blinked, her hand pausing on the pendant. She glanced down, her lips curving into a faint smile. “It is. Varric gave it to me when I left for Ferelden. Said it was meant to guide my path—like the blinking star did once.”

    Cassandra tilted her head slightly. “Blinking star?”

    Ariana chuckled softly, a note of nostalgia in her voice. “Tell me, Seeker—how much do you actually know about me?”

    Cassandra considered the question, her answer measured. “You are the youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. A noblewoman with courtly training, though you seem to have forsaken that life.”

    “That’s the polite version,” Ariana said with a quiet laugh. “But I suppose the Divine knew the truth—that I was the rebellious, runaway daughter of Bann Trevelyan.”

    Cassandra’s eyebrows lifted. “Runaway?”

    Ariana leaned forward, the firelight casting shadows across her face. “It was Summerday, 9:29. My mother announced my engagement to my best friend, the Duke of Markham’s son. I was sixteen.” Her voice grew softer, tinged with both humor and regret. “That night, I looked to the sky, desperate for an answer. And then, a star in the Visus constellation blinked, once, twice—like it was telling me to run. So, I did.”

    Cassandra listened, her stern demeanor softening as Ariana recounted her journey: her escape to Kirkwall, the chaos of the Blight, and her chance meeting with Cullen. Each piece of the tale felt heavier than the last.

    “You survived the Blight alone? At seventeen?” Cassandra asked, incredulous.

    “Mostly alone,” Ariana said, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Some mercenaries found me before I became darkspawn bait.”

    “And
 you met Commander Cullen at Kinloch Hold?”

    Ariana nodded, her tone more guarded now. “I did. He thought I was a runaway mage at first. Can’t blame him—I looked suspicious enough to earn his attention.”

    Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her instincts picking up on the subtle shift in Ariana’s tone. “You’ve known him for years, then.”

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers brushing the pendant again. “Yes,” she admitted simply. “We’ve known each other a long time.” Her voice was light, but Cassandra didn’t miss the quiet depth behind the words.

    Cassandra’s mind whirred, processing Ariana’s words and the subtle shifts in her tone. The way she spoke of Cullen, her voice steady but laden with unspoken weight—it was familiar. Too familiar. Cassandra had seen that kind of restraint before, in soldiers speaking of those they’d lost, in nobles discussing forbidden loves, and in Cullen himself when he’d first joined the Inquisition.

    Cullen had always been steadfast, resolute in his duties. But Cassandra, ever thorough, had looked into him before recruiting him. She knew of the formal request to marry he’d submitted during his time in Kirkwall. The name of his intended hadn’t been included in the scant records she’d been able to find, and at the time, she hadn’t thought much of it. The engagement was said to have ended without fanfare, a casualty of the chaos that engulfed the city.

    But now
 now she couldn’t shake the feeling that the missing piece of that puzzle was sitting right in front of her, the flicker of firelight reflecting off the Visus pendant Ariana absently toyed with. Cassandra’s sharp mind began connecting the dots. The rumors of a Knight-Captain in Kirkwall engaged to a noblewoman, the whispers that had circulated in the Gallows of a love story amidst the city’s strife.

    “You’ve followed this star for years,” Cassandra said, her voice quieter now. “It has led you here.”

    Ariana shrugged, her hand lowering from the pendant. As she did, the firelight glinted off something else—something Cassandra hadn’t noticed before. A ring.

    The sight of it gave Cassandra pause. It was simple yet elegant, its design unmistakably deliberate. Ariana’s fingers brushed over it absently as she spoke, her words almost lost to the Seeker as her mind began piecing together the significance.

    Her breath caught as realization dawned. Ariana was the woman Cullen had intended to marry.

    Cassandra’s grip on her knee tightened as the realization settled over her like a heavy cloak. Ariana wasn’t just another figure from Cullen’s past—she was the figure. The woman who had shared his life in Kirkwall, the one he had intended to marry. The one who, even now, seemed to hold his gaze a fraction longer than necessary during meetings, whose presence seemed to steady him in a way few others could.

    Cullen’s actions made sense now, as did Ariana’s. They were intertwined, their lives converging again at this critical moment in Thedas’ history. And if Cassandra was right, their bond could either strengthen the Inquisition—or become its undoing if left unaddressed.

    Ariana’s gaze flickered toward her, the faintest shadow of doubt in her eyes. “Do you think it means anything?” she asked softly. “Or am I just chasing stars?”

    Cassandra’s expression softened, her voice steady. “Does it matter? It has brought you to where you are needed. Sometimes, that is enough.”

    They sat in silence, the crackling fire their only companion. Cassandra watched her, a quiet respect blooming in her heart. Whether by fate, faith, or sheer will, Ariana was here. And perhaps, Cassandra thought, that was the Divine’s plan all along.

    ~~~

    Scout Harding had reported that Cullen had tasked her with finding and recruiting Redcliffe’s retired horsemaster. However, due to the fighting, she hadn’t been able to reach him. Ariana had volunteered to make her way there instead, reasoning they were already helping people in the area.

    Horses for the Inquisition, huh? Ariana couldn’t help but smile, at the confirmation of how thin his excuse to talk to her had been. She wondered if he truly didn’t think she wouldn’t find out from Harding. But then that made her wonder, what had he truly wanted to say to her?

    The journey to Master Dennet had been anything but smooth. Rifts spewed demons onto the roads, possessed wolves prowled the forests, bandits roamed unchecked, and rogue mages clashed violently with Templars. Ariana noted with grim frustration how much the region had deteriorated. The Hinterlands had always been unstable, but this
 this felt different. It gnawed at her. Had all those years spent stabilizing Ferelden truly accomplished nothing? The thought lingered, heavy and unwelcome. Was it always this fragile? Just waiting to crumble the moment we weren’t here?

    Master Dennet, thankfully, was reasonable. He readily agreed to provide horses for the Inquisition but requested they secure the roads between Redcliffe Farms and Haven first. His reasoning was sound—ensuring the horses wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Ariana found the request perfectly reasonable and made a mental note to bring it to the Inquisition’s leaders for discussion.

    Still, as they left the farm, the weight of the Hinterlands’ plight hung over her. They had done what they could, but it wasn’t enough. These people deserved better, and Ariana resolved to rally both Rangers and Inquisition forces upon her return. The Hinterlands needed more than patchwork solutions—it needed lasting stability.

    During their journey back, something unexpected caught her eye: a strange artifact gleaming faintly in the sunlight. Intrigued, Ariana approached it. An Astrarium. She recognized the intricate mechanisms, unmistakably Tevinter in origin, and her breath caught in awe. She had read about them but had never seen a working one before.

    She ran her fingers lightly over the artifact, marveling at the craftsmanship. The puzzle-like structure was fascinating, the kind of challenge she would have loved to lose herself in—if not for the ever-present danger of the Hinterlands.

    Maker
 I wish Cullen were here.

    The thought came unbidden, pulling her back into memories of their shared explorations. He had always indulged her fascination with ruins, patiently listening to her musings or joining her in solving puzzles. She had often teased him that his interest lay less in the ruins and more in spending time with her. Even now, she suspected that might have been true. The warmth of the memory tugged at her heart.

    She shook her head, trying to refocus, but the thought lingered. She would give anything to explore ancient ruins with him again, to feel the quiet ease of their shared curiosity. Her thoughts drifted further, to the life she had once dreamed of—a life where they returned to her manor together. Where he became part of the Rangers, part of her world. Days spent traveling side by side, nights spent in quiet companionship.

    But reality intruded. Would he even want that now? She bit her lip, her fingers brushing over the Astrarium’s surface absently. It was never a life they had spoken of, she had never been able to tell him of her fantasy. Too many secrets. She had no idea if it was something he wanted—if it was something he could want. But then again, he had now left the Templar Order so maybe
 maybe that fantasy wasn’t so distant, so unlikely.

    Her mind returned to the moment he’d come after her, clearly wanting to ask something. She had caught his gaze flicking towards her necklace, as if looking for something. Had he been looking for the ring? Could he have wanted to ask her something else? Maybe the same question he had asked her years ago when he gave her this ring.

    The truth clawed at her. She still wanted that life, still wanted him. But the weight of her failures pressed down, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she deserved it anymore. She exhaled sharply, trying to push the thoughts aside as the Astrarium gleamed faintly in the sunlight.

    ~~~

    Cullen stood at the edge of the training yard, his gaze drifting past the recruits sparring before him. He barked the occasional correction—“Wider stance! Watch your footing!”—but the weight behind his words felt hollow. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in the memory of Ariana’s expression before she left.

    Anything for you.

    She’d teased him, her voice light and playful, but there had been something vulnerable in her eyes. Is she wearing it again? He’d caught himself glancing at her hands, searching for the answer. If she is
 what is she trying to tell me? The thought was a dangerous thread to pull, yet it unraveled him all the same.

    “Commander
” Isabel’s voice broke through his haze, her tone both sharp and concerned. “Is everything alright?”

    Cullen turned sharply, startled to find her beside him, arms crossed and a brow raised. He cleared his throat, forcing his focus back to the present. “Isabel. Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

    She didn’t answer immediately, just gave him a pointed look—the kind that cut through pretense.

    Cullen sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken words. “She’s not sleeping, is she?” he asked quietly.

    “No,” Isabel admitted, her voice softening. “She carries too much guilt—for Kirkwall, the Conclave, the mage-templar war
 and probably for what happened between the two of you.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “She shouldn’t be carrying that. I never gave her a chance to tell me the truth. It’s my fault.”

    “Partly,” Isabel said, her tone even. “But it’s not all on you. She’s just as stubborn as you are, Cullen. You both made mistakes.”

    He exhaled slowly, running a gloved hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to reach her anymore. She trusted me once. Now
 I’m not so sure.”

    Isabel’s gaze softened. “I’m certain you’re still the only one that can reach her,” she said, not as a question but a statement.

    Cullen’s eyes snapped to Isabel, surprised by her statement.

    She gave him a knowing smile. “I saw you the other night. You’re the only reason she was able to let go of any of the guilt at all.” she paused catching his gaze “You still love her?”

    Cullen’s breath caught, and he looked away, his voice quieter. “More than anything.”

    “Then tell her,” Isabel said simply, her green eyes steady on his. “She still loves you, Cullen. That hasn’t changed.”

    He hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I’m not sure I have the right to. After everything
” His voice trailed off, his gaze fixed on the ground.

    Isabel smiled faintly, her tone lightening just enough to soften the blow. “That’s not how love works, Commander. You don’t lose the right to it. You’ve both been through more than most, but you’re still standing. She needs you. She’s just waiting for you to tell her.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as the truth of her words settled over him. “The day I found her after the Conclave,” he said, almost to himself, “she was wearing her ring. I noticed
 but I didn’t ask. Then she took it off and now it’s gone from her necklace, and I don’t know what that means.”

    Isabel’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, but her expression quickly softened into something more knowing. “It means she’s still figuring things out,” she said. “But if she’s wearing it again, that’s not something you should ignore.”

    Cullen’s throat tightened, his gloved hands flexing at his sides. “What if it’s too late?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Isabel stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s only too late if you let it be,” she said firmly. “Stop overthinking it, Cullen. She’s waiting for you to take that leap.”

    She held his gaze for a moment before stepping back, her voice softening again. “Don’t make her wait too long.”

    As she walked away, Cullen remained rooted to the spot, her words echoing in the crisp morning air. He didn’t know what he would say to Ariana—only that he couldn’t keep waiting.

    If there’s still a chance, he thought, I have to take it.

    The recruits’ shouts rang out across the yard, but Cullen barely heard them. His gaze lingered on the horizon, his mind racing with thoughts of her, and for the first time in years, he felt something close to hope.

    ~~~

    When they arrived in Haven, Mother Giselle’s message had already reached the Inquisition’s leaders. Cassandra walked briskly toward the Chantry, her mind preoccupied with the tense atmosphere of their return. As they entered, voices carried through the hall, sharp and overlapping—a heated discussion underway at the war table.

    “Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea,” Josephine said, though her usually confident tone wavered.

    “It’s reckless,” Cullen countered, his frustration unmistakable. “You can’t seriously believe this is a good idea.”

    “Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” Josephine pressed, her voice steadying as she met Cullen’s glare. “Right now, the Chantry’s greatest strength is their unified condemnation of us. Sowing doubt among them could be the opportunity we need.”

    “And what happens if it fails?” Cullen retorted. “If the Herald goes into that den of vipers and it backfires, we risk everything. We cannot afford to lose her.”

    Leliana, her arms crossed, nodded sharply. “For once, I find myself in agreement with the Commander. This isn’t a risk we should take.”

    Cassandra felt her jaw tighten as she approached. The arguments were valid, yet the tension threatened to unravel the fragile unity they so desperately needed. Her eyes flicked to Ariana, who leaned against the doorway, watching the exchange in silence, her expression unreadable.

    Finally, Ariana stepped forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “Are you all quite finished? Or have you forgotten that I’m standing right here?”

    The room fell silent, startled by her sudden interjection. Cassandra watched as Ariana’s sharp gaze swept over the gathered leaders, her words commanding attention without effort.

    “I’ll address the clerics,” Ariana continued, her tone steady, unyielding. “What’s the worst that could happen—they talk me to death?”

    Leliana’s gaze hardened, her voice carrying an edge. “Do not underestimate the power of their words, Herald. Words can spark an angry mob, and an angry mob can kill you just as swiftly as a blade.”

    Ariana’s brows lifted slightly, frustration flickering across her face. “I’ve faced rampaging Qunari, fought through hordes of demons, and survived Kirkwall. An angry mob isn’t high on my list of concerns.”

    “It should be,” Cullen snapped, his voice clipped with exasperation. “This isn’t a battlefield where you can fight your way out, Herald. We can’t afford to lose you—not to them, not now.”

    Cassandra’s attention shifted to Cullen. His worry was palpable, his words less about strategy and more about Ariana herself. The subtle tension between them didn’t escape her notice.

    “And what’s the alternative?” Ariana shot back, her voice rising slightly. “Sit here and wait for the Chantry to declare open war on us? Hope the Breach will close itself? This is the only way forward, and we all know it.”

    Cassandra took a step forward, her voice firm. “She’s right. We have no other options. We cannot approach the mages or Templars until the Chantry’s grip weakens. The clerics may be dangerous, but so is doing nothing.”

    Leliana exhaled sharply, crossing her arms tighter but remaining silent. Cullen, though visibly reluctant, said nothing more, his frustration evident in the tension of his jaw.

    Ariana’s gaze swept over them once more, her expression resolute. “We leave in the morning,” she said decisively, leaving no room for argument. Turning toward the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and while I’m gone, maybe try to agree on something for once. It might make all of this a little easier.”

    The door closed behind her with a soft but deliberate click, leaving the room in silence.

    Cassandra glanced around the table, her frown deepening. “Did she just give us
 orders?”

    Josephine’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “It would appear so.”

    Cullen leaned back slightly, letting out a low chuckle. “She has a way of taking command, doesn’t she? Almost without trying.”

    Leliana, still watching the door Ariana had exited through, allowed the faintest trace of amusement to touch her voice. “It would seem she does. Perhaps she was always meant for this.”

    Cassandra’s gaze lingered on the war table, though her thoughts drifted. She thought back to the Hinterlands, to the story Ariana had shared about the Visus constellation. A rebellious runaway girl, guided by a blinking star, now stood at the center of a conflict that could determine the fate of Thedas.

    Her eyes flicked to Cullen, still watching the door Ariana had exited through. His concern for her was plain, almost too plain, and it left Cassandra uneasy. Would he be able to keep his focus, knowing how much Ariana meant to him? Could he lead without letting that bond compromise his judgment?

    And yet, the way Ariana carried herself—the way she had silenced the room with a few sharp words—was undeniable. She wasn’t just defiant; she was resolute, unyielding even in the face of dissent. She commanded attention without effort, drawing people together despite their differences.

    Cassandra’s frown softened into something more contemplative. The Herald of Andraste. The White Wolf. The youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan.

    Perhaps she was meant to be their Inquisitor.

    ~~~

    Ariana ran into Michael outside the Chantry just as he finished directing a group of scouts. He handed her a stack of reports from Linnea, his expression somber. “The roads between Haven and the Temple are clear,” he reported. “We’ve driven out the remaining demons—at least as best we can tell—but Linnea says we should remain vigilant.”

    Ariana nodded, flipping through the reports briefly before tucking them under her arm. “Good. I’ll review these soon. Keep coordinating with Linnea on patrol rotations.”

    Michael inclined his head, then hesitated. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, his concern evident.

    “I’m fine, Michael,” she replied with a faint smile. “Thank you.”

    He still seemed unconvinced but didn’t press further. “I’ll check back in later,” he said finally, his tone reluctant as he stepped away.

    Ariana watched him go, a flicker of gratitude in her chest. Michael had proven himself time and again, his quiet determination a comfort in the chaos. She let out a soft sigh and turned just as the Chantry doors opened, Cullen stepping out. Their eyes met, and the warmth that spread through her at the sight of him took her by surprise.

    “Commander,” she called. “Just the person I needed. Walk with me?”

    Cullen nodded without hesitation, falling into step beside her as they descended the Chantry steps and made their way toward the heart of Haven. Ariana glanced around, her sharp eyes scanning the small bustle of activity.

    “Have you seen Riley and Isabel today?” she asked casually.

    “Not since this morning,” Cullen replied, his tone tinged with curiosity. “Why? Is something amiss?”

    “Not at all.” Her smile softened, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just need Riley’s agreement on something. And Malcolm’s, though he’ll likely go along with whatever I tell him.”

    Cullen tilted his head slightly. “Malcolm?”

    Ariana paused, realizing he probably didn’t recognize the name. “One of the Vanguard,” she explained, a hint of pride slipping into her voice. “The original fifteen Rangers. You’ve met some of them already—Riley, Valentina, Lamberto, Linnea. Though I imagine Riley’s the only one you’d remember. Or maybe you remember Valentina? I heard she left quite an impression during the Qunari uprising.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly warm. “Valentina, yes. I remember her. At the docks in Kirkwall, she stepped in before I could even get close to the White Wolf. She told me, ‘The Wolf doesn’t meet just anyone.’” He shook his head, an ironic smile tugging at his lips. “And during the Qunari uprising, when she helped save our position, she said, ‘We saved your position. Perhaps you should focus on keeping it.’”

    Ariana laughed despite herself, a fondness in her tone. “That sounds like Valentina. She always did have a way of cutting to the point.”

    Cullen’s expression turned more serious. “I didn’t appreciate what you’d built then,” he admitted quietly. “Or the good your Rangers were doing. I was too blinded by
 everything else.” He met her gaze. “I was wrong.”

    The sincerity in his voice caught Ariana off guard, and she felt a pang of guilt. “You weren’t wrong about everything,” she said softly, trying to ease his regret. “The Rangers weren’t perfect. And I
 I wasn’t honest with you. That’s on me.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t press the point. Instead, he nodded, as if acknowledging the shared weight of their past mistakes.

    Without thinking, Ariana reached for his hand to guide him, and he instinctively gave it. The familiar motion caught both of them by surprise, but neither pulled away. Instead, they continued walking in companionable silence, their fingers brushing but not quite entwined. By the time they reached Flissa’s Tavern, the moment had settled into something unspoken yet strangely natural.

    Riley and Isabel stood near the tavern entrance, their conversation pausing as the pair approached. Riley’s sharp green eyes immediately flicked to Ariana’s hand, still loosely holding Cullen’s. She arched an eyebrow, her expression teetering between curiosity and amusement.

    “Something you want to tell me, Wolf?” Riley asked, her tone light but pointed.

    Ariana ignored the question entirely, letting go of Cullen’s hand as she gestured to a nearby table. “We’ve got work to do. Sit, please.”

    Riley’s amusement shifted to the familiar professional calm Ariana knew so well. She leaned forward slightly, her tone steady. “What do you need, Wolf?”

    Ariana straightened, her posture taking on an easy authority. “Regarding your horses, Commander: Master Dennet has agreed to supply them to the Inquisition, but he wants the roads secured first. I think we should deploy Rangers to handle the bandits, rogue mages, and Templars making trouble in the Hinterlands.”

    Riley nodded, her mind already working through logistics. “How many do you want sent out?”

    “As many as the Commander can spare,” Ariana replied, glancing briefly at Cullen. “But I’d like Malcolm and his squads to take the lead. The people out there are in desperate need of help. And who knows, maybe Malcolm can win over some of the Templars. Maybe send Michael as well. Between the two of them maybe we could minimize losses and bolster our forces while we’re at it. Once they’ve cleared the roads, they can return to the manor to regroup and use as a staging ground.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Manor?”

    Ariana blinked, realizing once again how much of her life he didn’t know. “Yes. Years ago, I was looking for something more permanent for the Rangers. Bann Teagan, I guess Arl now, told me about a property abandoned during the Blight. I bought it—just outside Redcliffe. It’s defensible, spacious. I think we can use it as an outpost for soldiers and Rangers alike.”

    Cullen’s surprise was evident, but it gave way to something subtler—an appreciation for how organized and deliberate the Rangers seemed to be.

    Ariana’s gaze swept across the table, her voice steady but softer. “We’re not just clearing roads. Make sure they understand this is about helping people—securing supplies, finding lost loved ones. They need us. We did what we could while we were there, but it wasn’t enough.”

    Riley nodded again. “I’ll get Malcolm and the others on it. We’ll leave before sunrise.”

    Ariana turned to Cullen. “Do you have any objections or concerns, Commander? You know better what the Inquisition might need.”

    Cullen, who had been listening intently, shook his head. “I can spare a few soldiers to bolster your forces. Securing the horses is a priority for us as well. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough soldiers to meet all of Dennet’s requirements alone.”

    “Then it’s settled.” Ariana allowed herself a small smile. Planning like this with Cullen felt unexpectedly natural—an echo of the ease they once shared.

    Isabel tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “And the supplies? Haven’s already stretched thin.”

    Ariana smirked. “Start pressing our favorite Orlesian nobles. They’re always hiding coin somewhere—just don’t promise me to any balls.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, glancing at Ariana’s annoyance already.

    Riley offered a mock salute. “By your order, Wolf. Anything else?”

    Ariana hesitated, her voice softening. “Send word to the families of the fallen. Let them know we haven’t forgotten.”

    Riley’s teasing demeanor gave way to something more solemn. “We’ll handle it.”

    Isabel stood, brushing her hands over her skirts. “We’ll get to work.”

    Cullen watched the two women leave, then turned back to Ariana. “You’ve built something remarkable.”

    Ariana looked at him, a sense of relief washing over her. Her sharp edges momentarily softened by his words. “It’s not just me. It never has been.”

    “So
 Redcliffe?” Cullen asked tentatively. “That’s where you’ve been these past few years?”

    Ariana’s looked at him. There was a flicker of something in his question—pain, perhaps? Regret? “I
Yes. The manor is about a half day’s ride from the village.”

    For a moment, silence hung between them, laden with unspoken thoughts. He had been looking for her. She wasn’t hiding, but she realized now he wouldn’t have known where to start. The thought lingered, bittersweet. 

    “I’m sorry,” Ariana said as her gaze dropped to the table “I never meant to hide from you. I just
 went home. I guess I didn’t realize
” her words trailed off as she thought through it all. She meant it. She hadn’t been hiding, but it hadn’t occurred that she had never told Cullen anything about her life in Ferelden.

    Cullen leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “Ariana, you don’t need to explain. I understand why you couldn’t tell me then.”

    She looked up at him, her hazel-green eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. “Do you?” she asked softly. “Because I should have told you. About the Rangers, about everything. You were always honest with me, but I—”

    “It’s all right,” Cullen interrupted, his tone reassuring. “You don’t need to carry that guilt. You were protecting people, Ari. That’s who you are.” His hand moved slightly, as though he wanted to reach for hers but thought better of it.

    The warmth in his words soothed the edges of her guilt, but a flicker of uncertainty remained. “I wasn’t hiding from you,” she said quietly, needing him to believe it. “Not then, and not now.”

    Cullen held her gaze for a long moment before nodding. “I believe you,” he said softly.

    Ariana hesitated, then spoke softly. “You should come see it one day,” she said, her voice quieter than before. The invitation hung in the air, vulnerable and uncertain, and her fingers fidgeted slightly on the table as she waited for his response.

    Cullen’s eyes flicked to hers, his lips parting as though to speak, but he hesitated. “I
 I’d like that,” he said finally, his voice low, almost cautious.

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on him, searching his face. The way he spoke—like someone treading carefully over unstable ground—made her chest tighten. Did he think she would take it back? Or was he just as unsure as she was of where they stood?

    Her voice softened. “It’s not grand, I suppose, but it’s home.” She glanced down, her thumb brushing over her ring. “I’ve always thought you’d like it there.”

    Cullen’s posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, though his hand tightened on the table. “It sounds
 peaceful,” he said, a faint warmth coloring his tone.

    Would he want this? Could he want that life? Her heart ached at the thought. But his words, his tone—they weren’t dismissive. If anything, they carried the same weight of hesitation she felt. Maybe
 maybe her dream wasn’t that impossible.

    Ariana let out a breath, forcing a wry smile. “What do you say to another round?”

    ~~~

    As they left the tavern, their steps carried them aimlessly through Haven, the crisp night air brushing against their faces. Snow crunched beneath their boots, but Cullen barely registered the cold. His focus lingered on her—Ariana, walking beside him with quiet confidence, her head tilted slightly as if lost in thought. There was a warmth to this moment, fragile and fleeting, yet it steadied him.

    The Ariana he’d known in Kirkwall had always been sharp-witted, determined, and guarded, but he had glimpsed her vulnerabilities—the unspoken fears, the quiet dreams she rarely shared. Tonight, those layers seemed more intertwined, the White Wolf and the woman he had loved becoming one.

    She’s waiting for you to take the leap. Isabel’s words echoed in his mind, cutting through his usual calm. But could he? The weight of their past mistakes hung between them, unresolved.

    “I almost forgot,” Ariana said suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness. There was a lightness to her tone, playful and free. “You’ll never guess what I found in the Hinterlands.”

    Cullen tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Ruins, I’d wager,” he said, his voice teasing.

    Ariana stopped mid-step, her brow quirking in mock suspicion. “Did Solas tell you?”

    He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I don’t need Solas to tell me. You’ve always had a knack for stumbling upon ancient puzzles.”

    She laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Fine,” she relented, resuming their pace.

    “Are you going to tell me, or should I guess?” he asked.

    Her eyes lit up, her enthusiasm spilling over. “A working Astrarium! Can you believe it? It’s intact and seems to point to something bigger.”

    Cullen felt a flicker of intrigue. “And you didn’t solve it?”

    She sighed dramatically, her breath visible in the cold air. “People to save, demons to fight
 the usual distractions.”

    “Ah, such mundane tasks,” Cullen said lightly, earning a smirk from her. “I’d hate to think you were neglecting your ruins.”

    “I’ll drag you along next time,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.

    He smiled, her words tugging at old memories of simpler days spent exploring ruins together. “You’ve always had a way of making me see the world differently,” he said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

    Ariana turned to him, her gaze lingering. For a moment, it felt as though time slowed, the weight of their shared history pressing down yet somehow lifting, too. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then her hand brushed against his, the contact so fleeting it could have been accidental.

    Without thinking, Cullen reached out, his fingers slipping between hers, interlacing gently. The motion felt natural, like a piece of their old lives slipping back into place.

    Ariana paused, glancing down at their joined hands. When her eyes met his, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she smiled—a small, knowing smile that sent a warmth through him more potent than the strongest fire.

    Neither spoke, but the silence between them was different now—less heavy, more charged with unspoken understanding.

    As they reached the frozen lake, its surface shimmering under the moonlight, Cullen allowed himself a moment to simply be. He didn’t have the answers, didn’t know if he could fully mend what was broken, but this—her hand in his—felt like a start.

    And for tonight, it was enough.

  • Chapter 57 – The Divine Conclave

    15 Guardian 9:41

    The War Room was silent except for the faint scrape of Cullen’s boots against the stone floor as he made his way to the table in the center of the chamber. The flickering torches cast long shadows, their light playing over the carved stone reliefs that lined the walls. Cullen stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for Divine Justinia to speak.

    She was seated at the head of the table, her serene expression betraying little of the tension that surely gripped her on the morning of the Conclave. Her hands rested lightly on the arms of her chair, her gaze steady as she regarded him.

    “Commander,” she began, her voice calm but purposeful, “is everything prepared for today?”

    “Yes, Your Holiness,” Cullen replied, his tone firm. “The Conclave grounds are secure, and our patrols have reported no unusual activity. Everything is proceeding as planned.”

    Justinia inclined her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “Good. The safety of all who attend today depends on your diligence, Commander. I have no doubt you will rise to the occasion.”

    “Of course,” Cullen replied, though he could sense there was more she wished to say. He stood his ground, waiting for her to continue.

    “You know,” she said after a pause, “Lady Trevelyan spoke highly of you. She seemed certain of your capabilities, and your character.”

    The mention of Ariana’s name sent a jolt through him, though his face betrayed nothing. “Lady Trevelyan?”

    The Divine’s gaze sharpened, as though weighing his reaction. “She assured me that there was nothing you could have done to prevent what transpired in Kirkwall. Your assessment of the situation, she said, was correct.”

    Cullen’s throat tightened, his mind racing through memories of those dark days. He had spent years questioning his decisions, wondering if he could have done more. Hearing that Ariana had defended him, even now, was both a salve and a fresh wound.

    “Tell me, Commander. Did you truly believe the Order would not support you if you had relieved Knight-Commander Meredith of her command?” Justinia’s tone was measured and calm, but inquisitive.

    Cullen froze at the question. Is that what Ariana had told her? He had always just told Ariana that it was complicated, he never confided in her that he didn’t believe the Order would support him in that decision. Though it was true, it was a large part of the reason he hadn’t done it. If he had and he was right, he would have lost his position, or worse, been removed from the Order. How did she know? *You figured it out, Ari. As you always do.*

    “I did Your Holiness. I did not believe either the Order or the Chantry would stand behind my decision,” he said quietly, more to himself than to the Divine.

    “Then, I am truly sorry, Commander,” Justinia replied, her tone gentle but pointed. “It would seem Lady Trevelyan is right to be upset with me.”

    The statement caught Cullen by surprise “Upset with you?”

    Justinia smiled softly “Yes. She certainly expressed her disappointment with mine and the Orders inaction,” Justinia paused, as if choosing her words “Lady Trevelyan is nothing if not
 steadfast in her beliefs.”

    Cullen chuckled softly. He knew Ariana well enough to know that she wouldn’t hold back regardless of who she was speaking to. “That she is,” he replied with an amused tone. Somehow imagining Ariana lecturing the Divine seemed fitting. *Maker’s breath, Ari
*

    The Divine’s next question was as casual as a breeze, yet it hit with the force of a hammer. “You are engaged to her, are you not, Commander?”

    Cullen’s breath caught, the unexpected question sending a shock through him. His thoughts reeled—memories of their engagement, the ring, the promises made under the weight of their shared struggles.

    “That
 was a long time ago,” he said finally, his voice strained, as though the words themselves were a confession.

    Justinia tilted her head slightly, her calm gaze piercing. “Are you certain of that?” she asked softly, the simplicity of her question unsettling.

    The doubt struck him like a blade, cutting through years of distance and silence. His mind raced back to their last moments together in Kirkwall—the way her lips had lingered against his in their final kiss, the whispered promises of a future they had never reached. He hadn’t removed the ring; neither had she. And neither had they ever spoken the words to end what they had started. *Goodbye, Cullen* No. She had ended it.

    “How
 how is that relevant?” he asked at last, though his voice carried less certainty than he intended.

    Justinia’s faint smile deepened, though her tone remained as calm as ever. “Because your betrothed will need you in the days to come,” she said, her words deliberate and heavy with meaning.

    For a moment, Cullen couldn’t find his voice, his thoughts tangling in the weight of realization. This was the first time anyone had ever referred to Ariana as his betrothed. In Kirkwall, such formalities hadn’t mattered. They hadn’t needed words for what they shared. Hearing it now, spoken so plainly, left him momentarily frozen. The formality of the title unsettling in its intimacy.

    Cullen stared at her, the implications of her statement sinking in. “What are you saying, Your Holiness?” he asked, his voice laced with urgency.

    But Justinia rose from her seat, her expression unreadable as she smoothed her robes. “I should be on my way,” she said simply, moving toward the door. “Thank you, Commander, for your dedication. Maker guide your path.”

    With that, she left the War Room, leaving Cullen standing alone amidst the flickering torchlight, his thoughts a storm of confusion, longing, and a growing sense of unease.

    ~~~

    The crisp morning air carried a biting chill, but Cullen barely noticed. He stood outside the Chantry, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his focus distant. His thoughts spiraled back to the Divine’s words in the War Room.

    “Your betrothed will need you in the days to come.”

    The phrase lingered, stirring questions he couldn’t shake. Ariana was here—he was sure of it now. But why? And what danger had Justinia brought her into? The Divine’s cryptic words felt deliberate, her game unsettling in its precision.

    The steady rhythm of footsteps broke his reverie, drawing his gaze to the Divine as she stepped forward, her aides trailing behind. Cullen’s eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening. What game are you playing, Your Holiness?

    Movement at the edge of the square caught his attention. A figure, cloaked in white fur, emerged from the shadows, their hood low against the morning light. Cullen’s breath caught as recognition struck him like a blow. Ariana. She moved with purpose, her posture confident yet guarded. As she approached, the Divine turned to meet her, and to Cullen’s astonishment, Ariana offered her arm. The Divine accepted it without hesitation, the ease between them unmistakable.

    “Is that
” Cassandra’s voice broke the quiet, her words laced with disbelief.

    “The White Wolf,” Leliana confirmed, her calm tone betraying a hint of confusion.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his pulse quickening.

    “Why is he with the Divine? This was supposed to be secure, Leliana!” Cassandra barked, her worry evident in the sharpness of her tone.

    “I don’t know,” Leliana replied, her eyes narrowing as she studied the scene. “But it seems the Divine was expecting him.”

    “Her,” Cullen corrected, his voice low but firm.

    “What?” Cassandra and Leliana turned to him, their expressions a mix of confusion and curiosity.

    “Expecting her,” Cullen repeated, his tone clipped, his gaze fixed on Ariana as she led the Divine toward the Temple.

    Leliana’s sharp eyes searched his face, her suspicion immediate. “How do you know it’s a woman?”

    Cullen’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his answer was resolute. “Because I know her,” he said simply, his voice heavy with meaning.

    Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “You know the White Wolf?”

    “I do,” Cullen muttered, his mind already racing through what this meant.

    Leliana’s sharp mind was clearly piecing things together, her gaze flicking between Cullen and the cloaked figure. “Commander,” she said quietly, “what aren’t you telling us?”

    But Cullen had no intention of answering—not now. His focus remained on Ariana, the weight of the Divine’s words pressing heavily against him. Your betrothed will need you.

    As Ariana walked out of Have with the Divine, Cullen’s chest tightened. This wasn’t just about the Conclave. Whatever game Justinia was playing, Ariana was now at its center.

    Without a word, Cullen turned and strode back toward the Chantry, his thoughts a chaotic storm of relief, frustration, and determination. He had spent years searching for her, only to find her thrust into danger again. But not this time. This time, he would find her before it was too late.

    ~~~

    The rhythmic crunch of boots against the frosted dirt road filled the air, a steady cadence that mirrored the weight of Ariana’s thoughts. She walked alongside Divine Justinia, the stark white fur of her cloak catching the occasional gust of cold mountain wind. Ahead, the towering spires of the Temple of Sacred Ashes loomed, their jagged silhouettes framed by the gray morning sky.

    The Divine’s voice broke the quiet, calm yet deliberate. “That was quite the entrance, White Wolf.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, though it lacked her usual spark. “Subtlety has its uses, but it doesn’t turn heads. You wanted everyone to know I’m here with you. Now they do.”

    “Yes, they do.” The Divine’s faint smile held a trace of approval. “And I thank you for it. I know what I’ve asked of you is not easy.”

    Ariana glanced at her, her hazel-green eyes narrowing slightly. “If there’s a chance for peace, someone has to take the risk,” she replied, her tone firm but tinged with skepticism. “The Rangers believe this might be it. That’s why nearly all of them volunteered.”

    “They volunteered because of you,” Justinia corrected gently, her steps unhurried but purposeful. “They believe in your vision, in your resolve. You give them something to hold onto, Lady Trevelyan.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her breath visible in the frigid air. “Let’s hope I didn’t just lead them into the Maker’s graveyard,” she muttered.

    The Divine’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “You carry much on your shoulders, child. But do not mistake caution for doubt. Your strength inspires more than you realize.”

    Ariana hesitated, her steps faltering slightly before she turned her gaze back to the path ahead. “Why me?” she asked abruptly, her voice low but clear. “Why did you choose me for this? You could have called on anyone—mages, Templars, nobles with more influence.”

    Justinia’s expression shifted, a quiet contemplation passing over her features. “Because, Ariana, you are none of those things, and yet you are all of them in spirit. You are not a rebel seeking to tear down for the sake of chaos. Nor are you shackled by rigid beliefs or blind allegiance to tradition.” She paused, her tone growing more resolute. “You believe in doing what is right, even when it costs you dearly. And in the days to come, I will need someone who can see past what is to what could be.”

    Ariana exhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cold air. “You’re placing a lot of faith in someone who’s broken every rule to get here.”

    “Perhaps,” Justinia replied, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “But I would rather place my faith in someone who questions the rules than in someone who blindly enforces them.”

    The weight of her words settled over Ariana, though she refused to let it show. Instead, she kept her eyes on the Temple ahead, its distant spires growing larger with every step. “I’ll stand by your side,” she said at last, her voice steady. “But don’t ask me to trust the Conclave. Too many people here stand to gain from seeing it fail.”

    The Divine nodded solemnly. “That is why I need you. To guard against those who would see hope extinguished.”

    They walked in silence for a time, the Temple drawing ever closer. The wind picked up, tugging at Ariana’s cloak and carrying the faint murmur of voices from the gathered crowd ahead. She could feel the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on her, the enormity of the moment threatening to crack her composure.

    As the first banners of the Conclave came into view, Justinia spoke again, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “Whatever happens today, know this, child—you are here because you are exactly who you were meant to be. And that is enough.”

    Ariana swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the Temple’s towering gates. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely audible over the wind. “Let’s hope the rest of Thedas sees it that way.”

    The Divine offered no reply, only a steady presence at her side as they continued their approach. Together, they walked toward the precipice of history, each step drawing them closer to the uncertain future waiting beyond the Temple’s stone walls.

    ~~~

    Cullen paced the War Room, the cold, gray light of the torches casting jagged shadows on the stone reliefs. His thoughts churned, a tempest of emotions he struggled to tame. Relief warred with frustration, joy clashed with anger. She’s here. She’s alive. But why? Why did the Divine bring her to this Maker-forsaken place?

    He gritted his teeth, his mind replaying Justinia’s cryptic words. “Your betrothed will need you in the days to come.” What did she mean? Ariana was here, thrust into the most dangerous moment Thedas had seen in years. His hands clenched at the memory of her walking beside the Divine, her familiar cloak like a beacon that made his heart ache with longing—and fear.

    His pacing stopped abruptly as realization struck. Varric. If anyone knew why Ariana was here, it would be him. Cullen left the War Room without a word, his boots echoing through the stone halls. He passed Leliana and Cassandra near the entrance; their curious glances barely registered as he stalked past, heading for the campfires outside.

    He found Varric by a small fire, his crossbow resting beside him. The dwarf looked up, his expression shifting from casual amusement to wary curiosity. Cullen’s stormy demeanor betrayed his tightly wound emotions.

    “Morning, Commander,” Varric greeted, his tone light but tinged with caution. “Here to share a drink, or just your usual dose of righteous indignation?”

    “I’m not in the mood for games, Varric,” Cullen snapped, his voice low and sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me she would be here?”

    Varric raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “She? You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve met a lot of ‘shes.’”

    “Ariana,” Cullen said, the name carrying both a weight and a tremor he couldn’t quite suppress.

    Varric sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Ah. That she.”

    “Yes, that she,” Cullen said, his frustration bubbling over. “Why is she here? After everything she’s been through—everything we’ve been through—why bring her into this mess?”

    Varric studied him for a moment, his usual humor fading. “Why don’t you sit down, Commander? You’re looking like you’re ready to chew through stone.”

    Cullen ignored the invitation, his fists clenching at his sides. “Answer me, Varric. Why did she agree to this?”

    The dwarf let out a long breath, his gaze shifting to the fire. “Because Ariana doesn’t do anything halfway,” he said quietly. “You know that as well as I do. When the Divine asks her to stand for peace, she’ll throw herself into it headfirst, no matter the danger.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, the truth of Varric’s words cutting deep. “She’s putting herself at risk for a cause that might not even succeed. Does she have any idea what she’s walking into?”

    “She knows,” Varric said, his tone firm. “Better than anyone. She’s not here because she’s blind to the risks—she’s here because she knows someone has to take them.”

    “And you?” Cullen pressed. “You knew she was involved in this. Why didn’t you stop her?”

    Varric’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with sadness. “Stop her? Commander, you can’t stop Ariana Trevelyan from doing what she believes is right. The best you can do is stand beside her and try to keep her from getting herself killed.”

    Cullen looked away, the weight of Varric’s words settling heavily on him. “She’s carrying too much,” he said quietly. “I can see it. She’s trying to bear the weight of all this alone.”

    “She always does,” Varric said softly. “But she’s got people who care about her. People who’ll fight to keep her standing.”

    Cullen’s gaze returned to Varric, his expression hardening with resolve. “I won’t let her face this alone. Not again.”

    Varric nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good. Because Maker knows, she’s too stubborn to ask for help.”

    Cullen nodded as he turned to leave, but stopped as another question formed in his mind. One he wasn’t sure how to voice. “Varric
” Cullen cleared his throat, his mind struggling to find the words “I
 Does she
 What–“

    “Oh for the love of
 Of course she’s still in love with you” Varric interrupted “Maker knows that girl doesn’t know how not to be.”

    Cullen smiled softly, thankful for the dwarf’s understanding “Thank you, Varric.”

    A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Cullen’s mind was already racing, strategizing, planning. Whatever it takes, he thought. I’ll keep her safe.

    “She’ll need you,” Varric said after a moment, his voice low but certain. “More than she knows.”

    Cullen nodded, his jaw set. “And I’ll be there. No matter what.”

    ~~~

    The chill of the mountain air seeped into Cullen’s skin as he stood in the War Room alongside Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine. Their discussion about Conclave strategy was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a scout, his urgency unmistakable.

    “Commander!” the scout exclaimed, out of breath. “Scouts are reporting a large mounted force approaching Haven from the eastern pass.”

    The room fell silent, confusion rippling through the group before Cassandra’s voice cut through like steel. “Are they hostile?”

    “No, Seeker,” the scout replied quickly, though uncertainty laced his tone. “At least
 they don’t appear to be.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed deeply. “Are they Templars?”

    The scout shook his head. “No, sir. Not from what we can tell.”

    Cullen’s frustration mounted. “So what do we know? Anything beyond ‘mounted force’?”

    “Are they flying a banner?” Josephine interjected, her voice calm but focused.

    Before the scout could respond, another burst into the room, his face flushed from exertion. “Commander! A small squad has broken off from the main group and is advancing toward Haven—ten riders at most.”

    Cassandra immediately stepped away from the table, her stride decisive. “Then we go see for ourselves. If this is a threat, we will face it head-on.”

    Cullen nodded, already heading for the door. “Agreed. They may be delivering a message or testing our defenses. Either way, we’ll get answers.”

    Leliana exchanged a glance with Josephine, her calm demeanor concealing a flicker of concern. “I’ll join you. If this is a diplomatic matter, we must tread carefully.”

    Josephine hesitated but eventually followed. “It would be wise to offer the appropriate reception, should it be needed.”

    The group emerged into the crisp morning air, the tension palpable among the soldiers stationed at the gates. Scouts and sentries stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the approaching riders. The sound of hooves echoed against the mountain pass, growing louder with each moment. The lead rider, cloaked in black, moved with deliberate precision, her posture radiating authority.

    Cullen’s gaze narrowed. “Are they armed?”

    “Yes, Commander,” a sentry confirmed. “But they’re not attacking. They’re slowing as they approach.”

    “Good,” Cullen muttered, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. “Let’s keep it that way.”

    The riders came into full view, their disciplined formation unmistakable. Cassandra’s sharp eyes assessed them. “This is no ordinary group. They’re trained—highly trained.”

    As the squad reached the gates, the lead rider dismounted, her black cloak sweeping behind her. Pulling back her hood, Riley stepped forward, her sharp gaze scanning the group with calculated precision.

    “Who’s in charge here?” she called, her tone firm and unyielding.

    Cullen stepped forward, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Riley,” he said evenly, though surprise tinged his voice. “What are you doing here?”

    Riley arched a brow, her expression cool but faintly amused. “Well, you’re not dead. That’s good. You’re also not missing. Also good. She won’t kill me now.”

    Cullen’s confusion deepened. “Who won’t kill you?”

    “She wanted to go looking for you,” Riley said, shrugging. “When I finally told her that the Kirkwall Circle had fallen and you were missing, she wasn’t exactly thrilled with me.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened. “You kept it from her?”

    “For months,” Riley admitted with a faint grimace. “Turned out to be a bad idea.”

    Before Cullen could press further, Cassandra interjected, her tone sharp. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

    Riley’s sharp gaze flicked to Cassandra, her tone measured but firm. “Riley, First Lieutenant of the Silver Rangers. We’re here at the Divine’s request to act as a peacekeeping force for the Conclave. Fifty Rangers, including the White Wolf, are already stationed at the Temple. The rest of our force is moving into position.”

    Cassandra’s brows shot up. “That’s why the White Wolf was with her?” she asked, incredulous.

    Leliana stepped forward, her tone calm but probing. “Do you have proof of this?”

    Wordlessly, Riley retrieved a sealed letter from her saddlebag and handed it over. “Directly from the Divine herself.”

    Leliana broke the seal and scanned the contents, nodding slowly. “It’s true. The Divine believed additional measures were necessary. The Rangers are here as a neutral force to deter violence.”

    Cassandra frowned deeply. “Why weren’t we informed?”

    Riley’s expression didn’t waver. “I’m not privy to those answers, Seeker. Our job is to ensure this Conclave doesn’t end in bloodshed. Nothing more.”

    “How many of you are there?” Cullen asked, his voice steadier now, though his thoughts churned.

    “Two hundred fifty,” Riley replied. “Fifty are already at the Temple, and the rest are en route.”

    Josephine offered a diplomatic smile. “This is precisely the support we needed. We should be grateful for their assistance.”

    Riley smirked faintly, turning her attention back to Cullen. And motioning for him to take a few steps away from the group. She stepped closer, her voice lowering so only he could hear. “You should know, your letter didn’t reach her until a couple of weeks ago. She
 didn’t know you were looking for her. We kept that from her as well.”

    “What? Why?” Cullen asked curtly

    “We received the letter around the same time that we heard of Kirkwall falling.” Riley began, seeming almost ashamed “We couldn’t confirm if you were alive or dead, we just knew you were missing. We thought it best to not tell her any of it until we knew more. She would have left everything to go looking for you and we didn’t know what she would find.”

    Cullen stiffened at her words, his emotions swirling. It’s not that she didn’t want him to see him. It was that she didn’t know he was looking for her. Had she believed he didn’t want her? And now she believed he was dead. Now he was certain he needed to see her. Now more than ever.

    “I’m sorry, Cullen.” Riley said as her gaze shifted down. “We believed we were doing what was best for her. I don’t know what your feelings are now, but know this: When we finally told her, when she read your letter? Maker, Cullen, I thought nothing could scare me more than Ariana on a mission. Turns out I was wrong. Ariana searching for you? That’s terrifying.”

    Riley stepped back, addressing her Rangers with sharp authority. “Let’s move,” she ordered, mounting her horse. The squad rode off toward the eastern pass, their discipline a clear mark of the Rangers’ efficiency.

    His thoughts churned as he watched Riley address her Rangers, her commands sharp and unwavering. She thought I wasn’t looking for her. She thought I didn’t care. His fists clenched as he exhaled slowly, steadying the storm within him. It wasn’t just about finding Ariana now—it was about mending what had been broken by silence and distance. And if she thinks I’ll stand by while she risks her life, she’s wrong.

    His jaw tightened as Riley mounted her horse, her squad moving out with the disciplined precision of the Rangers. Cullen’s hands clenched at his sides, his thoughts a swirling tempest. He couldn’t simply wait. Not anymore. Every moment she was out there, walking into the jaws of danger, felt like a betrayal of the promises he had made her long ago. No more waiting. He turned abruptly, already formulating a plan.

    ~~~

    The rhythmic sound of boots against the dirt path was steady, almost soothing, if not for the tension hanging thick in the air. The trees lining the trail whispered with the rustle of the wind, their bare branches clawing at the sky like silent witnesses to what lay ahead. The silence of the mountain temple was broken only by the faint rustle of cloaks and the occasional distant murmur of the wind. The Rangers had already begun stationing themselves around the Temple, their presence visible but non-threatening—a delicate balance of readiness and restraint.

    As the first of the mages and Templars began to arrive, Ariana moved through the crowd, her eyes sharp, her demeanor calm but commanding. The tension between the two factions was palpable. They avoided each other, but the wary glances exchanged across the courtyard were unmistakable.

    This is fragile, Ariana thought. It won’t take much to break it.

    The Divine watched the proceedings from the steps of the Temple, her expression serene as always. Ariana stayed close, moving with purpose as she assessed each station and confirmed every detail of their security. Finally, she turned to the Divine.

    “Wait here while we conduct another sweep of the grounds,” Ariana said softly, her voice carrying a rare reverence. “I’ll station two Rangers outside. If you need anything, they’ll be here. No one enters without your explicit permission.”

    The Divine inclined her head, offering a warm smile. “Thank you, Lady Trevelyan. I knew the world could count on you.”

    Ariana hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of those words. “Let’s not talk about me, the world, or being the last hope for peace. This is already
 a lot. I’m no great hero. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

    The Divine chuckled softly, her serene smile unwavering. “You may not see yourself as a hero, child, but others do. Perhaps that is enough.”

    Ariana gave a weak smile before stepping back and closing the door. She nodded to the Rangers stationed outside, issuing final instructions before pulling her hood up and mask into place. Just keep moving, she told herself, pushing down the growing unease in her chest. There’s no room for doubt now.

    Walking the Temple grounds, she checked every post, every watchpoint. Her sharp eyes scanned for anything out of place as she moved through the halls. She passed groups of wary mages and tense Templars, their unease rippling like a live wire through the air. For now, her presence—and the Rangers—kept the peace. But she knew it wouldn’t last.

    Satisfied the perimeter was secure, she began making her way back toward the Divine. That’s when she heard it—a scream that tore through the air, sharp and desperate.

    “Someone help me!”

    The scream pierced the air like a blade, sharp enough to freeze her mid-step. Her heart lurched, a cold dread knotting her stomach as her hand instinctively went to her daggers. The corridor blurred around her as she ran, the weight of her worst fears driving each step.

    Rounding the final corner, she froze. The two Rangers stationed outside the Divine’s door lay motionless on the ground, their bodies crumpled like discarded dolls. Her breath hitched, panic clawing at the edges of her mind.

    Focus.

    She drew her blades and burst through the doors.

    Inside, chaos reigned. The Divine was magically restrained, her face pale but defiant. Surrounding her were several Grey Wardens, their faces twisted with desperation. At their center stood a figure wreathed in shadow, his very presence radiating decay and malevolence. His crimson eyes locked onto Ariana, and she felt the weight of his gaze like a physical blow.

    “What’s going on here?!” Ariana demanded, her voice cutting through the commotion as she raised her blades, ready to strike.

    The shadowed figure sneered, his voice a chilling growl. “An intruder,” he spat. “Kill her. Now.”

    The Wardens turned toward Ariana, their hands glowing with unstable, frantic magic. But before they could act, the Divine’s voice rang out, fierce and commanding despite her restraints. “Run while you can! Warn them!”

    In the chaos, the Divine wrenched a glowing artifact from the figure’s grasp. It clattered to the floor, sliding to Ariana’s feet.

    The artifact pulsed with an otherworldly light, its presence almost hypnotic. Ariana’s gaze locked onto it, her instincts screaming at her to act. She stooped to grab it, her fingers closing around the strange object.

    The moment her fingers touched the artifact, an icy fire ripped through her veins. Her vision fractured into shards of light and shadow, her breath caught in her throat. She felt as though the weight of the Fade itself pressed down on her, ancient whispers clawing at the edges of her mind. Pain seared through her arm, unlike anything she had ever felt. She gasped, her vision blurring as white-hot agony consumed her.

    “No!” the Divine cried, her voice filled with anguish.

    A blinding flash erupted from the artifact, its light swallowing the room. The screams and chaos faded into silence, replaced by an overwhelming void.

    Then
 nothing.

    ~~~

    The air in the War Room was thick with tension as Cullen stood with Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine. Their discussion centered on contingencies for the Conclave, voices low but focused. Despite their careful planning and the Rangers’ presence, Cullen’s unease simmered beneath the surface. The Conclave was a tinderbox, and even the smallest spark could ignite it.

    “We’ll need to position our forces carefully,” Cullen said, his tone clipped. “If tempers—”

    The ground beneath their feet shook violently, cutting him off mid-sentence. A deafening roar shattered the air, and the walls seemed to groan under the force. The table jolted, papers scattering as Cullen braced himself against its edge.

    “What in the Maker’s name—” Cullen began, his voice sharp.

    A sickly green glow seeped through the cracks of the War Room door, its light casting unsettling shadows on the stone walls. Cassandra was already on her feet, her expression grim.

    Leliana turned, her voice urgent. “Something’s happened at the Temple. We need to move—now.”

    Cullen’s mind raced, her words barely registering. The Temple. Ariana. He had been planning to leave soon, to find her and confront the weight of their shared past. Now, that chance felt like it had been ripped away in an instant.

    He straightened, nodding sharply. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

    The group rushed outside into the biting mountain air. The sight that greeted them froze Cullen in his tracks. A massive column of greenish-white light surged skyward from the direction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, tearing through the sky like a blade. Around it, the heavens fractured, splintering into jagged shards that pulsed with unnatural energy.

    “By the Maker
” Josephine whispered, her hand trembling as it rose to her mouth.

    Cassandra’s jaw tightened as she unsheathed her weapon. “The Temple. We must go immediately.”

    Cullen tore his gaze from the sky and barked orders to the nearby soldiers. “Ready the horses! Mobilize every available unit. We leave at once.”

    Leliana pointed toward the horizon, her voice steady but grim. “It’s not just the Temple. Look.”

    Cullen followed her gaze, his heart sinking. Across the mountains, smaller rifts dotted the landscape, shimmering like fractured glass. Each pulsed with the same malevolent light, their presence spreading like a contagion.

    “This isn’t just one disaster,” Leliana continued, her voice low. “It’s spreading.”

    “We’ll address that later,” Cullen said, forcing steadiness into his tone. “Right now, the Divine is at the Temple—and so are the Rangers.” His throat tightened as he added silently, And Ariana.

    The image of her standing in Haven, her white cloak stark against the darkened village, flashed in his mind. He had let her walk away, confident there would be time to see her again. But now? Now that confidence felt like a cruel joke.

    He gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. Not yet. She’s strong. She has to be.

    But doubt gnawed at him. What if this time, he was too late? What if, after years of searching, fate had brought her back to him only to take her away again?

    “Andraste guide me,” he whispered, the words a plea as much as a prayer.

    Then, steeling himself, Cullen strode toward the gathered soldiers, his resolve sharpening with every step. “We ride for the Temple,” he commanded, his voice firm despite the storm within.

    This time, he would find her. He wouldn’t let her slip away—not again.

    ~~~

    Riley had stationed her Rangers strategically along the winding paths leading to the Temple, their watchful eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble. The tension in the air was palpable, the kind of quiet before a storm that Riley had learned to recognize all too well. She had hoped the Conclave would pass without incident, though deep down, she hadn’t truly believed it.

    The explosion struck like a thunderclap, an unstoppable force that rippled through the ground beneath her feet. Riley staggered, her balance faltering as the shockwave roared down the mountain. The light—blinding and unnatural—seared her vision, and the deafening sound drowned out the startled cries of her Rangers.

    “Maker’s breath
” she whispered, shielding her eyes with her arm as she turned toward the source. Her heart sank. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was engulfed in a column of radiant light, its spires dwarfed by the pulsing energy that tore through the sky. Above it, the heavens fractured, jagged edges glowing like shattered glass.

    Then came the screams. Not human screams—something otherworldly, a sound that clawed at her very soul.

    “Rangers, to the Temple!” Riley’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. “Move, now!”

    The Rangers responded instantly, their training overriding their fear. They surged toward the mountain paths with weapons drawn, their movements efficient and precise. Riley drew her greatsword in one smooth motion, the weight of it grounding her as she charged forward.

    Hold on, Wolf. Just hold on.

    Their advance was short-lived.

    The first demon emerged with a guttural shriek, its twisted form clawing its way out of a rift in the air. Its glowing eyes locked onto them, and within moments, more demons appeared, their monstrous shapes flickering with malevolent energy.

    “Maker save us
” one of the Rangers muttered, his voice trembling.

    “Hold the line!” Riley bellowed, her voice sharp and commanding. “Protect the wounded! No one gets through!”

    The Rangers formed a defensive line, their bows and blades ready as the demons charged. Riley met the first with a powerful swing, her greatsword cleaving through its unnatural flesh. It dissolved into a dark mist with a piercing wail, but another immediately took its place.

    The battle descended into chaos. Riley’s muscles burned as she swung her blade in wide arcs, her strikes precise and deadly. Around her, the Rangers fought with grim determination, their shouts and the clash of steel barely audible over the shrieks of the demons. But for every demon they felled, more emerged, their numbers seemingly endless.

    “Riley!” one of her lieutenants shouted, his voice barely audible over the din. Blood streaked his face as he stumbled toward her. “We can’t hold them!”

    “Just keep them back!” Riley yelled, her voice raw but unyielding. “Help will come!”

    It has to come, she thought desperately. She glanced toward the mountain pass, hoping to see reinforcements, but the path remained empty.

    The image of Ariana flashed in her mind—her best friend, her sister, the girl she’d sworn to protect. Riley had seen Ariana walk into danger countless times, but this? This was different. The explosion, the column of light, the screams—it all felt like the end.

    “Form up!” Riley commanded, forcing her fear aside. “Push forward! We have to reach the Temple!”

    The Rangers rallied, their movements synchronized as they advanced. They cut through the onslaught of demons with practiced efficiency, but every step forward was met with greater resistance. The rifts continued to spit out more creatures, their grotesque forms growing larger and more frenzied.

    Riley gritted her teeth, her resolve hardening. We’re coming, Wolf. Just
 hold on.

    Her greatsword sliced through another demon, its body dissipating into mist. Around her, the Rangers pressed on, their faces set with grim determination. But the path to the Temple was steep, and the demons relentless.

    “Help will come,” Riley muttered under her breath, her voice a quiet mantra. “It has to.”

    She could feel the doubt creeping in, but she refused to let it take hold. If Ariana was alive, if there was even a chance she had survived, then Riley would fight her way to her side—no matter what it took.

    ~~~

    Cullen led his forces up the treacherous mountain path, his breath forming white plumes in the freezing air. The cold bit through his armor, a constant reminder of the unyielding conditions. Every step revealed more signs of devastation—scorched trees stood like blackened sentinels, and the ground was littered with debris and the remnants of battle. The acrid stench of sulfur mixed with the metallic tang of blood, and distant screams echoed unnervingly through the crags.

    What in the Maker’s name caused this? The question gnawed at him as they pressed forward. His mind flickered to the Temple, to the Divine, and—despite his efforts to suppress it—to Ariana. She had been there, leading fifty Rangers stationed around the grounds. The thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. She was there.

    They broke through a particularly dense wave of demons to find a group of Rangers holding their ground near a bend in the path. Riley stood at the center of the skirmish, her greatsword cleaving through a demon with brutal efficiency as she barked orders to her troops. When her sharp gaze locked onto Cullen’s forces, a flicker of relief crossed her face.

    “About time!” Riley called, her voice cutting through the chaos as she parried another attack. “We’re pinned down here, and more keep coming.”

    Cullen urged his horse forward, dismounting swiftly as he reached her. “What’s the situation?” he demanded, his tone brisk, his grip tightening on his sword.

    “The Temple’s just ahead,” Riley replied, gesturing toward the jagged path. Her voice was steady despite the chaos. “But we can’t get close. Demons are pouring out of those rifts faster than we can cut them down. We’ve held the line so far, but it’s only a matter of time before we lose ground.”

    Cullen’s gaze followed the twisting path toward the Temple. Above it, the fractured sky pulsed with an unnatural, otherworldly light. Whatever happened up there… it’s not over.

    “We’ll combine forces,” he said, his voice resolute. “Push through together. The Divine may still be alive, and we’re going to reach her.”

    Riley nodded sharply, though her lips curved into a faint smirk. “Fine by me,” she quipped, her tone laced with grim humor. “Just try not to slow us down, Commander.”

    Cullen shot her a glare but didn’t rise to the bait. Turning to the soldiers and Rangers around them, he raised his voice above the din of battle. “Form up! Stay tight, and hold the line. We move in waves—watch each other’s backs, and don’t let them break us.”

    The combined forces surged forward, a wall of steel and determination cutting through the demon horde. Cullen fought at the front, his sword a blur of precision and strength. Yet every step forward felt like wading through quicksand—the demons seemed endless, each wave more ferocious than the last.

    Riley fought beside him, her greatsword cleaving through abominations with practiced ease. Her focus was unwavering, but Cullen caught her glancing toward the Temple, her jaw clenched with determination. He didn’t need to ask who occupied her thoughts.

    Neither of them spoke Ariana’s name, but her presence was a shadow between them—unspoken, yet tangible. Cullen’s thoughts churned as they pushed onward. She was there. She has to be alive. She has to.

    The closer they got, the louder the sounds of battle became—the clash of steel, the guttural roars of demons, and the anguished cries of the wounded. Cullen’s heart pounded, each step a struggle against the growing dread in his chest. He forced himself to focus on the fight, to shove down the fear clawing at the edges of his mind.

    “Keep moving!” he bellowed, his voice sharp as his sword cut through another demon. “We’re almost there!”

    Beside him, Riley muttered something under her breath, her words lost in the cacophony of battle. But her expression was unmistakable—a fierce, unrelenting drive to reach the Temple, to find Ariana.

    Cullen’s own resolve hardened as they pushed through the final stretch together. Whatever awaited them at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, they would face it head-on. For the Divine. For Thedas. And, for Cullen, above all else—for Ariana.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s eyes fluttered open to an eerie, otherworldly silence. The air was thick, humming with an oppressive energy that made her skin crawl. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt sluggish, as though weighted by an invisible force. The ground beneath her wasn’t quite solid—translucent and shifting, it pulsed with an unnatural green light that seemed to move in time with her heartbeat.

    Her hand throbbed, and when she glanced down, she saw a faint green glow emanating from her palm. Panic tightened her chest. What is this? Where am I? The memory of searing pain flickered at the edges of her mind—the Divine’s voice, the artifact, the blinding light—and then
 nothing. The harder she tried to piece it together, the more fragmented it became, as though her own mind refused to cooperate.

    The whispers began, faint and disjointed, threading through the air like an unseen current. Shadows flickered at the edges of her vision, but when she turned, they vanished. The landscape was a twisted, surreal nightmare—jagged cliffs and impossible spires that seemed to ripple and shift as she moved.

    “Hello?” Her voice broke the silence but didn’t echo. Instead, it was swallowed by the landscape, absorbed into the hum of magic surrounding her. A wave of disorientation hit her, and she staggered, clutching her side. “Is anyone there?”

    The only response was the whispering, growing louder, words tantalizingly close but always just out of reach. She stumbled forward, her boots sinking slightly into the unstable ground, every step feeling like a battle against the terrain itself.

    Then, cutting through the chaos, came a voice. Low, urgent, and commanding. “This way.”

    Ariana froze, spinning toward the source. A figure stood on a jagged outcrop ahead, silhouetted against a green rift in the sky. Their hand was raised, beckoning her.

    “Who are you?” she called, her voice trembling with equal parts fear and desperation. The figure didn’t answer but turned to ascend a set of rough-hewn steps spiraling toward the rift.

    Ariana hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to stay back. But a chilling, inhuman screech shattered her resolve. She whipped around to see grotesque forms materializing from the shadows—demons, their shapes shifting and twisting as they lunged toward her, their limbs clicking unnaturally against the uneven ground.

    Run. The thought surged through her like a command, propelling her forward. She bolted toward the figure, her heart pounding as she leapt over cracks and fissures that opened beneath her feet. Memories flickered in her mind—the Divine’s cry, the explosion at the Temple, her Rangers—but every time she reached for them, they slipped away like smoke.

    The spider-like demons gained on her, their guttural chittering echoing louder with each step. One lunged, its jagged claws grazing her cloak. She stumbled, scrambling to her feet as terror coursed through her.

    “Take my hand!” The figure’s voice rang out again, clear and commanding.

    Ariana’s gaze snapped upward. The figure was at the top of the stairs now, their hand extended toward her. The rift blazed behind them, its light throwing their face into shadow.

    The demons were too close. Their shrieks and chittering clawed at her sanity as she raced up the steps, her legs burning with the effort. One demon leapt toward her, its claws raking the stone beside her as she dodged. She lunged upward, her fingers brushing the figure’s hand.

    The figure grasped her firmly, pulling her the last few steps. The rift’s light engulfed her, the pain in her palm searing through her arm with unbearable intensity. She screamed, the sound lost in the blinding brilliance that consumed her vision. The world fractured and dissolved into light.

    Ariana awoke to freezing stone beneath her cheek. Her body trembled uncontrollably, every muscle screaming in protest. The green glow from her palm flickered faintly, pulsing in time with her labored breaths.

    Voices reached her, faint at first, then sharper.

    “She’s alive! Someone get help!” Riley’s voice cut through the haze, frantic and filled with relief.

    Ariana tried to move, but her strength failed her. Her vision swam, shadows and figures shifting above her. She caught glimpses of Rangers rushing toward her, their faces taut with fear. Riley was at her side, gripping her shoulders as if willing her to stay conscious.

    And then—is that Cullen? His form blurred at the edge of her vision, but the sight of him, even half-formed, sent a jolt through her fading thoughts.

    The cold pressed in again, her body too weak to resist. Darkness swallowed her, but not before Riley’s voice echoed once more, strong and steady. “Hold on, Wolf. Just hold on.”

  • Chapter 56 – The Road to Ashes

    28 Haring 9:40 – 14 Guardian 9:41

    As Ariana stepped back into the tavern, the warmth and hum of conversation greeted her, a stark contrast to the chill of Val Royeaux’s evening air. Elliot and Eshara sat near the hearth, finishing their meal. Their presence brought a faint smile to her lips, though it did little to ease the weight she carried after her meeting with the Divine.

    “Back already?” Eshara quipped, her tone light as Ariana approached. “Where’s the artifact?”

    “There was no artifact,” Ariana replied, her words clipped but not unkind. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

    Elliot raised an eyebrow, glancing at her cloak and boots, still dusted from her walk. “Didn’t even sit down yet and you’re already talking about leaving?”

    Ariana exhaled, waving off his comment. “I’ll explain later. For now, get some rest. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

    Eshara frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it? You drag us all the way to Val Royeaux, and now we’re just heading back without so much as a proper meal?”

    Ariana smirked faintly, though the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. When we’re back, I’ll ask Isabel to prepare a feast—one to put every Orlesian banquet we’ve seen to shame.”

    “That’s a high bar,” Eshara said dryly, though her lips twitched with a small grin. “We’ll hold you to it.”

    Elliot chuckled softly. “Good. I’m starving, and Orlesian portions aren’t exactly
 substantial.”

    Ariana let out a genuine laugh at that, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. But for now, we’ll be back on the road for a while. So get your rest while you can.”

    She didn’t linger to hear their grumbling; she slipped away to her room upstairs. As she leaned back against the door, the weight of her meeting with the Divine pressed down on her anew. Her fingers brushed the pendant at her neck, the familiar contours grounding her. But tonight, it didn’t bring the solace she needed. Instead, her thoughts wandered—to the Rangers, to the impossible task ahead, and inevitably, to Cullen.

    Knight-Commander Cullen seems to be a good sort

    The Divine’s words had been maddeningly calculated, she couldn’t help but wonder at her goal. Was it just to break through her anger, did she know that Cullen’s name would accomplish that? Aren’t you engaged to him? The phrasing of Justinia’s question had been deliberate. She knew it would distract her. And yet she couldn’t help but wonder… was she? Did he think about it the same way? Was Cullen going to be at the Conclave? As the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall was he expected there?

    And now? she thought bitterly, Now I’m expected to risk everything again—for peace that may never come.

    The journey back to Ferelden was long and uneventful, the familiar rhythm of travel offering little distraction from Ariana’s racing thoughts. She spent most of the time riding in silence, lost in her own thoughts. Her conversation with the Divine a constant companion. Eshara and Elliot had clearly noticed her mood, but they gave her space, knowing better than to press her when she wasn’t ready to talk.

    Ariana broke the silence for the first time in hours. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet but clear.

    Eshara glanced over, one eyebrow arched. “For what?”

    “For dragging you halfway across Thedas without telling you why,” Ariana replied. “And for making you spend the end of the year on the road instead of with the others.”

    Elliot looked at her, his brow furrowed. “We’re Rangers. It’s what we do.”

    “And it’s not like you could’ve known this job would take us back so quickly,” Eshara added with a shrug. “But if you really feel bad, we’ll take that feast when we get back.”

    Ariana chuckled softly. “You’ll get your feast. I promise.”

    As the evening wore on, and they settled down to rest for the night, Ariana found herself staring up at the sky a little away from the campfire. The stars were just beginning to peek through the twilight sky, and the chill in the air was sharper now than it had been in Val Royeaux. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the Visus constellation.

    I’ll follow this star it one more time, Cullen. Please be there.

    She had barely noticed Elliot approach until he cleared his throat softly behind her. “Wolf?”

    Ariana turned, her expression softening slightly at the sight of him. “What is it, Elliot?”

    He hesitated, glancing down before meeting her eyes. “You’ve seemed
 off since Val Royeaux. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, her heart warming at his concern. “I’m fine, Elliot. Just
 thinking. A lot.”

    “About the job?” he asked tentatively.

    She nodded, leaning against the tree behind her. “It’s a big one. More than I expected.”

    Elliot studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Whatever it is, we’re with you. You know that, right?”

    His earnestness caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. Finally, she nodded, her voice soft. “I know. Thank you.”

    Elliot lingered for a moment longer before giving her a small smile and retreating back to the campfire. Ariana stayed where she was sitting, the cold air biting at her skin as she turned her gaze back to the stars. She didn’t know how to tell them what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: the road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes would be unlike any she’d walked before.

    ~~~

    By the time they arrived at the manor, the familiar sights and sounds of the Rangers at work greeted them. The courtyard bustled with activity—sparring pairs clashed swords, laughter echoed from a nearby group of recruits, and the scent of roasting meat wafted from the kitchens. It was a scene that should have felt like home, but Ariana’s mind was too clouded to take comfort in it.

    Riley, standing at the edge of the courtyard with her arms crossed, immediately spotted them. Her sharp eyes swept over the trio, lingering on Ariana. “You look like someone dragged you through half of Orlais and back,” Riley called out, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “The client give you trouble?”

    Ariana dismounted, her movements slow with exhaustion. “Not the client,” she replied, brushing dust from her cloak. “But we need to talk. Somewhere private.”

    Riley’s smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. She handed the reins of Ariana’s horse to a nearby recruit and fell into step beside her. “Let me guess—it’s trouble, isn’t it?”

    “Always,” Ariana said, her voice carrying a dry humor that didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced back at Elliot and Eshara, who were already being swept into the lively courtyard. “Let them unwind,” she added softly to Riley. “We’ll catch up later.”

    Riley nodded, her curiosity evident but unspoken. As they entered the manor, the sounds of the courtyard faded, replaced by the quiet warmth of the house.

    Ariana led the way to the library, her steps deliberate yet heavy with the weight of what she was about to reveal. She had stopped first to find Isabel, who joined her without hesitation, her sharp eyes immediately sensing something serious. Riley followed closely, her boots echoing off the stone floors with impatient strides.

    Once inside, Ariana closed the door with a deliberate click. The quiet of the library enveloped them, the faint scent of old parchment and polished wood grounding her in the moment. Riley dropped into one of the chairs, propping her boots on the edge of the table with her usual disregard for decorum. Isabel remained standing, arms crossed, her expression calm but wary.

    “There was no client,” Ariana began, her voice steady though her shoulders were tense. “Or rather, not what you expected.”

    Riley’s brow arched immediately, suspicion flickering in her sharp gaze. “Oh? So what was it? Some Orlesian noble whining about misplaced jewels?”

    Ariana hesitated, the words she had practiced in her head suddenly feeling heavy and awkward. Finally, she said it: “It was the Divine.”

    Riley’s boots hit the floor with a thud as she sat upright, her expression a mix of shock and exasperation. “Oh no. No, no, no!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “Not doing this again, Wolf! I’m not cut out for being anyone’s spy, and neither are you.”

    Isabel’s calm facade cracked slightly, her brow furrowing. “The Divine
” she repeated slowly, the name itself enough to deepen her concern. “What does she want this time?”

    Ariana crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the table. “There’s going to be a Divine Conclave. On 15 Guardian. The goal is to bring the mages and the Templars together to negotiate peace.”

    Riley snorted, leaning back in her chair with an incredulous look. “Right. And I suppose we’re being recruited to, what, serve wine and keep the nobles from pulling each other’s hair?”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened as she met Riley’s sarcastic gaze. “She wants the Rangers to act as a neutral force,” she said firmly. “To keep the peace and prevent violence.”

    Riley’s expression froze mid-scoff. Isabel’s arms unfolded slightly, her sharp intake of breath betraying her alarm.

    “You’re serious,” Riley said flatly, sitting forward. “She wants us to be
 what? The Chantry’s watchdogs?”

    “Not the Chantry,” Ariana corrected, her voice softening slightly. “A neutral presence. One that isn’t aligned with either side but has a reputation for standing for what’s right.”

    Riley shook her head, her disbelief quickly morphing into frustration. “Maker’s breath, Wolf. Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t a neutral job. This is sticking our necks into a bear trap and hoping it doesn’t snap shut.”

    Isabel, ever the voice of pragmatism, stepped forward, her expression calm but grave. “And what’s your role in this, Ariana? Because I know you wouldn’t be telling us this unless she’s asked something more of you.”

    Ariana sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She asked me to stand by her side. To act as her personal guard during the Conclave.”

    Riley exploded out of her chair, pacing the length of the room with a string of curses. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shouted. “This is madness, Wolf! Do you remember what happened the last time the Divine roped you into one of her plans? You lost everything!”

    Ariana flinched slightly but kept her composure. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said quietly. “But this isn’t about the past. This is about trying to end the Mage-Templar War before it destroys Thedas.”

    “And what if it destroys you instead?” Isabel interjected, her voice trembling slightly. “What about Emma? About all of us? If you do this—if this goes wrong—what happens to everything you’ve built?”

    Ariana stepped closer to Isabel, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I’m not asking anyone to follow me into this—not you, not Riley, not the Rangers. This is a volunteer mission. If no one steps forward, then we don’t go.”

    Riley whirled around, her hands on her hips. “Oh, for the love of
 Of course, I’m going with you!” she snapped. “You think I’m going to let you walk into the middle of that mess alone? Maker, Wolf, you really know how to pick the worst possible jobs.”

    Ariana allowed a faint smile to break through her tension. “Thank you,” she said softly, her gratitude genuine.

    Isabel sighed heavily, her composed mask slipping further. “If you’re going, we’ll prepare,” she said, her voice resigned but resolute. “But Ariana
 if this fails, if this Conclave falls apart
” She didn’t finish, but the unspoken warning lingered heavily in the air.

    “I know,” Ariana replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her. “Believe me, I know.”

    She straightened, her determination hardening into resolve. “Riley,” she said, turning to her, “start gathering the Rangers. Make it clear this is a volunteer mission. No one is to feel obligated. But we only have 35 days to prepare and get to Haven.”

    Riley gave her a long, searching look before nodding. “I’ll handle it,” she said, though her tone carried a note of reluctant acceptance. “But don’t think I’m not going to grumble about it the whole way.”

    “And supplies?” Isabel added, already mentally calculating what they would need. “If we’re calling in Rangers from across Thedas, we’ll need to ensure they’re properly equipped.”

    “Order whatever we need,” Ariana said firmly. “Spare nothing. If this is our last stand for peace, we’re going to do it right.”

    Isabel nodded, though her worry lingered in her gaze. “It will be done. But Ariana
 don’t ask us to stand by and watch you break yourself again. If this goes wrong—”

    “I’m sorry,” Ariana interrupted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If it all goes wrong, I’m sorry.”

    Riley placed a firm hand on her shoulder, her grip steady and grounding. “We’re not there yet,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Let’s get through today first.”

    The three of them stood in heavy silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on all of them. But for now, they had a plan. And, for now, that was enough.

    ~~~

    The halls of the manor bustled with activity as the Rangers prepared for their most ambitious mission yet. The air was thick with purpose and tension, every corner filled with voices discussing strategies, packing supplies, or sharpening weapons. Just as the Divine had predicted, the Rangers were willing to follow Ariana into anything—even what could very well be certain death.

    Nearly every Ranger called upon accepted the task without hesitation. Over a hundred had already gathered in Redcliffe, the quiet village now transformed into a staging ground for the Silver Rangers. More arrived daily, and another 150 remained scattered across Ferelden and Orlais, preparing to join the growing force. With only three weeks until the Conclave, the pressure mounted, but the Rangers worked with an unwavering resolve that only strengthened Ariana’s determination.

    Isabel was a force of nature, coordinating supplies with the precision of a seasoned commander. Trade caravans arrived regularly, loaded with weapons, armor, provisions, and medical supplies. Every transaction bore the mark of Isabel’s sharp tongue and no-nonsense approach. Merchants quickly learned that any attempt to exploit the situation would not be tolerated.

    Eshara oversaw the mages, training them in shield spells and non-lethal deterrents, ensuring they were prepared for a role that demanded restraint over power. Elliot and Riley worked together, drilling the newer recruits and ensuring their lines of communication were solid. Every Ranger needed to understand the plan inside and out—it wasn’t just their survival at stake, but the survival of what peace might still exist in Thedas.

    Ariana, meanwhile, was consumed by the logistical nightmare of coordinating the Rangers for such a monumental task. She spent her days—and most of her nights—in the library, surrounded by maps and reports. Charts of Haven, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the Frostback Mountains sprawled across every surface, each annotated with her meticulous notes. Scouts came and went, memorizing routes and terrain. The plan had to be seamless, adaptable, and above all, decisive.

    The Rangers would operate in three phases. Ariana would take no more than fifty to the Temple itself. Any more would risk projecting an image of aggression rather than peacekeeping. The rest would be positioned in concentric waves, spread out across the Frostbacks, ready to defend or intervene if necessary. Scouts would blend into the area early, monitoring the movements of both Templars and mages without being seen. Their presence had to remain a secret until the Conclave began.

    Late one night, Ariana stood in the library, surrounded by the maps and plans she had spent days perfecting. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she traced potential patrol routes with her finger. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders. The wrong move, the wrong placement, could tip the balance and turn the Conclave into chaos.

    The door creaked open, and Riley stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. She carried a folder in her hand, her expression unusually tense. “Wolf,” she said, her tone light but laced with unease, “you’re wearing a hole into that map.”

    Ariana glanced up, startled out of her thoughts. “There’s no room for mistakes, Riley. Not this time.”

    “There never is,” Riley replied with a faint smirk, moving closer to the table. “But if anyone can pull this off, it’s you. The Rangers believe in you, even if you don’t always believe in yourself.”

    Ariana sighed, her gaze returning to the maps. “I hope that belief isn’t misplaced. This has to work, Riley. It has to.”

    Riley set the folder down on the table, her smirk fading into a grim line. “Wolf, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said, her tone more serious now.

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, her posture tensing. “What is it?”

    Riley hesitated, clearly weighing her words. “It’s about Kirkwall. The Circle there
 it’s fallen.”

    Ariana froze, her hand still resting on the map. “What?” she said sharply, her voice tight with disbelief.

    “It’s confirmed,” Riley said, her tone steady but heavy. “Reports say the Circle dissolved into chaos. Mages revolted. Templars retaliated. It was
” She shook her head. “It was a bloodbath.”

    “When?” Ariana demanded, stepping closer to Riley, her voice rising.

    Riley hesitated, and that hesitation was all Ariana needed to understand. “When, Riley?” she repeated, her tone sharper now, her anger barely restrained.

    “About four months ago,” Riley admitted, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting Ariana’s fiery eyes again. “I didn’t tell you before because I—”

    “You didn’t tell me?” Ariana interrupted, her voice breaking with anger and disbelief. “Four months, Riley,” she said again, her voice cracking with anger and disbelief. “You didn’t think I deserved to know that the Circle—his Circle—fell? That everything he fought to hold together collapsed?”

    Riley took a step back, her hands raised in defense. “Wolf, I wanted to tell you, but with everything going on, with the Conclave—”

    “Don’t,” Ariana cut her off, pacing the room as her thoughts spiraled. “Four months ago we didn’t know about the Conclave. You should have told me. I could have
 Maker, I could have done something!”

    Riley’s expression hardened slightly. “And what would you have done, Wolf? Run off to Kirkwall and somehow fixed what’s been broken for years? You know as well as I do, there was nothing anyone could have done to stop that.”

    Ariana stopped pacing and turned to Riley, her chest heaving with suppressed emotion. “What about Cullen?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “Where is he?”

    Riley sighed, shaking her head. “He’s missing, Wolf. No one knows where he is. Not the Templars, not the mages who survived. He disappeared.”

    Ariana felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under her. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “Missing?” she repeated, her voice shaking. “Or worse—lost in all of this chaos?”

    Riley flinched at the word, but she didn’t avoid Ariana’s gaze. “We don’t know. There’s been no sign of him.”

    The room fell into a tense silence as Ariana turned away, her shoulders stiff. Her thoughts were a chaotic storm, her mind racing through every possibility. She had held onto the hope—however small—that Cullen was still in Kirkwall, alive and well. That he would be at the Conclave. But now
 now that hope was slipping through her fingers like sand.

    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ariana said again, her voice quieter but no less anguished.

    “We thought we were prote–”

    Ariana interrupted before Riley could finish “‘We’? Who’s ‘we,’ Riley?” Ariana demanded, her voice cold and sharp, like the blade she always kept at her side. “You mean to tell me more of you thought it was a good idea to keep this from me?”

    Riley opened her mouth to speak but hesitated.

    “Get them in here, right now,” Ariana demanded, her voice sharp and commanding. “If this is how we handle things, I want to hear their reasons from their own mouths.”

    Riley swallowed hard “By your order, Wolf.”

    ~~~

    The room was a tense, suffocating silence as Ariana paced, her boots striking the wooden floor with deliberate force. The maps and plans spread across the table were momentarily forgotten, her sharp mind focused entirely on the betrayal she now had to confront. When the knock came at her door, she paused, her fists clenching at her sides.

    “Enter,” she said, her voice cold, unwavering.

    Riley stepped in first, followed by Linnea, Michael, and Valentina. The weight of Ariana’s glare seemed to make the room shrink around them. Riley took her place nearest the door, her usual composure slipping under the intensity of Ariana’s gaze. Michael looked hesitant, Linnea’s face was unreadable, and Valentina’s calm, diplomatic air felt like a fragile mask.

    Ariana crossed her arms, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “So,” she began, her tone dangerously calm. “The four of you decided I didn’t need to know that the Circle in Kirkwall had fallen. That Cullen—” her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, “—is missing.”

    “We didn’t want to burden you,” Valentina said carefully, her voice steady but tinged with unease. “With the Conclave approaching, you already had enough—”

    “Stop” Ariana cut in, her tone rising. “You all keep talking to me about the Conclave we didn’t know about 4 months ago. So that’s not your excuse. You’ve barely had that excuse for a few weeks.” She gestured to the maps and plans spread around the room.

    “We weren’t lying—” Linnea started, but Ariana’s sharp glare silenced her.

    “Don’t,” Ariana snapped. “You chose to hide it. That’s worse. I would know.”

    Michael, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. “Ari, it wasn’t just about you. It was about protecting everyone else, too. If you had known, you would’ve gone after him, and that would’ve left the Rangers without their leader.”

    “And how exactly did you come to the conclusion that making that decision for me was acceptable?” Ariana shot back, her voice shaking with restrained fury. “What gives you the right to decide what I can or can’t handle?”

    Michael opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Ariana’s voice dropped, colder than before. “You all need to understand something very clearly. I trust you with my life, but that trust is not infinite. For your sake, this better never happen again.”

    Her words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then, Michael cleared his throat, his eyes locking with hers. “There’s
 something else,” he said hesitantly.

    Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

    Linnea stepped forward quickly, her hand brushing Michael’s arm as if to stop him. “Michael, don’t—”

    “Don’t what?” Ariana interjected, her anger reigniting. Her gaze shifted to Linnea, her voice sharp as a dagger. “You’ve been keeping more from me?”

    Michael sighed, reaching into his coat and pulling out a weathered envelope. “This came from Bann Teagan around the time we heard about Kirkwall,” he said, his voice low. “It’s… from Cullen.”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her fury momentarily replaced by shock. “What? You’ve hidden both of these for 4 months?”

    Michael handed her the envelope, and as her trembling fingers unfolded the letter, Linnea spoke, her tone almost pleading. “We weren’t sure when—or if—we should give it to you. Cullen asked Bann Teagan to pass it along, but with everything happening
”

    Ariana ignored her, her eyes scanning the letter inside. Cullen’s handwriting was unmistakable, his words precise and deliberate. But the weight of the second document beneath it—bearing the seal of the White Spire—made her chest tighten painfully.

    As she read, her mind swam with disbelief. My purpose is not to pursue justice or duty—it is to find her, to ensure she is safe, and, if she allows it, to mend what has been broken between us. The second document was official—a marriage approval from the White Spire, dated almost two years ago.

    “Did you read this?” she asked to no one specific, her tone still carrying an icy edge but about to break.

    Valentina stepped forward “We did…”

    Ariana held up the letter from Cullen again and read it aloud “‘If she chooses to ignore this, I will respect her wishes and will not press the matter further.‘” she paused for a moment closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

    Her voice trembled with rage as she folded the documents. “Get out,” she said, her tone deathly quiet.

    “Wolf, we—” Riley started, but Ariana cut her off.

    “Now,” she snapped, her voice like the crack of a whip. “I don’t want to see any of you until tomorrow. And you’d better hope this is the only thing you’ve hidden from me, because if it’s not
 you’re going to remember what it was like to fail Krieger.” She let the threat linger, her eyes blazing.

    Without another word, the four of them filed out of the room, their steps heavy with tension. The door closed softly behind them, leaving Ariana alone.

    The moment the latch clicked, her composure shattered. She clutched the letter and the document tightly, her legs giving out as she sank to the floor. The words blurred through her tears, but their meaning cut deeply.

    He was looking for me. He was going to fight for us. And now
 it might be too late.

    A broken sob escaped her, and she pressed the letter against her chest, holding it against the ring on her necklace. Her heart aching with a pain she hadn’t felt in years. The weight of her guilt threatened to crush her, but amidst the despair, a flicker of determination ignited.

    You wouldn’t die that easily.

    “I’ll find you, Cullen,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with raw emotion. “I’ll find you, no matter what.”

    The quiet resolve in her words steadied her, even as the storm of emotions raged within.

    ~~~

    The execution needed to be flawless. Every step, every movement had to be calculated. Ariana had over 250 Rangers at her disposal, and each of them had to blend into their roles seamlessly. The scouts, already dispatched to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Haven, were tasked with gathering information and securing entry points. The rest of the Rangers—those who wouldn’t be stationed inside the Temple—needed to arrive after the Conclave had begun. By then, most eyes would be on the negotiations, making it easier for the Rangers to quietly take their positions without drawing attention.

    Ariana’s plan hinged on precision and discretion. The fifty Rangers who would secure the Temple were carefully selected, a mix of Templars, mages, and rogues. The Templars, with their combat expertise and ability to counter mages, were crucial. Ariana had often bristled at the idea of working alongside them in the past, but the Templars who had defected to join the Rangers had proven themselves invaluable. Their presence gave her a strange comfort now—they could handle whatever might arise.

    Riley and the Vanguard would command the main forces outside the Temple. They were to arrive later, ensuring the Rangers’ movements didn’t overwhelm the Conclave before it even started. Riley understood the stakes, and Ariana trusted her to handle the logistics outside the Temple while she focused on the critical moments within.

    But even as the plans came together, Ariana couldn’t shake her unease. She stared at the maps sprawled across her desk, her eyes tracing the routes and placements over and over again, as if repetition could ease the weight pressing on her chest.

    If Cullen were here, he’d have a dozen suggestions by now, she thought, the memory of their days going over his reports pulling her focus. She exhaled sharply, forcing the thought aside, but it lingered, an unwelcome ghost haunting the edges of her mind.

    The report about Kirkwall had been days ago, but the ache it stirred in her hadn’t dulled. She had tried to bury herself in work, to lose herself in the endless tasks of preparing the Rangers. It hadn’t helped. The idea that Cullen had been looking for her and now might be dead—that she had wasted years waiting for a chance to see him—was a wound she couldn’t bring herself to confront fully.

    Her hand drifted instinctively to the leather choker around her neck, her fingers brushing against the engagement ring that had hung there this whole time. She pulled it free, letting it dangle in front of her as the firelight flickered across its surface.

    “You will be my wife, Ari. No one—not Meredith, not the Order—no one will come between us.”

    It had been his promise to her—a future they never got to share. And now? Now it felt like a symbol of everything she had lost. The life they could have had. The man she might never see again.

    She closed her eyes, the weight of her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “You’re not dead,” she whispered fiercely, as if saying it aloud could will it into truth. “You can’t be.”

    Her fingers trembled as she slid the ring off the chain and onto her finger. The familiar weight of it was comforting. A piece of herself she hadn’t realized was missing. If you’re out there, Cullen
 I’ll find you. The silent vow settled into her chest, a spark of determination amid the chaos.

    But not yet. She couldn’t. Not while the Conclave loomed ahead, the stakes too high to abandon. The war between mages and Templars had consumed Thedas, and this might be the only chance to stop it. She hated it—the constant choice between duty and the people she loved. But this was the path she had chosen, the one she had committed to when they set out to become the Silver Rangers.

    She took a steadying breath, pushing her emotions aside. The Rangers needed her focus now, not her grief. After the Conclave, she promised herself. After this, I’ll go. No matter what.

    A knock at the door broke her reverie, and she quickly tucked the ring under her glove before turning toward the sound. “Come in,” she called, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

    It was Riley, as expected, holding a fresh stack of reports. “Wolf, I’ve got the last of the troop placements ready for review,” she said, stepping inside and setting the papers on the desk. Her sharp eyes immediately caught Ariana’s distant expression. “You alright?”

    Ariana forced a faint smile, shaking her head. “Just tired,” she replied. “Too much to do, too little time.”

    Riley nodded, though her concern didn’t fade entirely. “Well, don’t fall apart on me now. We’re almost there.”

    “I won’t,” Ariana assured her, her voice firm. “Let’s finish this.”

    As Riley began walking her through the placements, Ariana focused on the task at hand, burying her doubts and fears beneath the work. There would be time to grieve later. Time to hope. Time to find him—if he was still out there.

    For now, there was only the Conclave. And Thedas needed her to succeed.

    ~~~

    Her timing had been perfect. Ariana arrived in Haven the evening before the Conclave, her recognizable white fur cloak blending with the frosty surroundings. The cold stung her exposed skin, but she welcomed it—it kept her sharp, her mind focused. Her Rangers were still making their way through the Frostbacks, following the carefully laid plans she’d established. They wouldn’t arrive until the next day, but for now, Ariana was alone, which suited her purpose just fine.

    Pulling her hood lower against the icy wind, she dismounted and made her way toward the small village. Haven’s quiet was deceptive, its simplicity masking the gravity of what was about to take place. She planned to quietly find the Divine’s quarters, ensuring every detail was finalized before the Rangers fully arrived. Her boots crunched against the packed snow, the sound almost too loud in the stillness.

    She had just passed the makeshift tavern when a familiar voice shattered her focus.

    “And there we were, walking through the hallways—vases floating, books flying from shelf to shelf, and ghosts running across the hallway
”

    Ariana froze mid-step, her breath catching. Varric?

    She turned toward the sound instinctively, her confusion mounting. Why was he here? Why now, of all times? Her mind raced with questions, but her body moved of its own accord, carrying her to the warm glow spilling from the tavern’s windows. Tugging her hood down to avoid drawing suspicion, she slipped inside.

    The room was a mix of local villagers and travelers, and at its center sat Varric, as animated as ever, captivating the crowd with his storytelling. His hands moved with exaggerated flair, his voice rising and falling with practiced drama.

    Ariana lingered in the doorway, the sight tugging at emotions she couldn’t quite name. It had been so long since she’d seen him, and she felt unexpected relief at the sight of her old friend, her mentor. But alongside it came the questions—why was he here? How had he come to Haven? Had he known she would be here?

    As he reached the climax of his tale, she interrupted, her voice cutting through the room. “Tell them about the golem yet?”

    Varric froze mid-sentence, his hand paused in mid-air. His head whipped toward the doorway, and for the briefest moment, his surprise was unmistakable. His sharp features softened when his gaze landed on her, and he recovered quickly, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

    “Well, now you’ve gone and ruined the good part,” he said, though his voice carried an unmistakable warmth.

    Ariana smirked, stepping inside as the onlookers exchanged curious glances. “You were too slow, Varric. Someone had to keep the story moving.”

    The crowd chuckled, though their attention quickly shifted as he stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat and crossed the room toward her. “Pup,” he greeted her softly, placing a hand on her back and steering her toward the door. His usual wit was absent, replaced by something far more subdued. “What are you doing here?”

    She allowed him to guide her out of the tavern, the cold air biting at her face as the door swung shut behind them. “I’ll give you one guess,” she replied, her tone light but weary.

    “Again?” Varric sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What does she want this time? Not a lot of shadows to play in up here. Come on, let’s find someplace quiet.” He motioned to a nearby house, clearly trying to steer her away from prying ears. 

    Ariana shook her head. “I need to talk to her first, Varric. I need to see her before I put everything in motion.” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “I’ll find you in a while?” 

    Varric frowned slightly, an expression so brief it might have been imagined, but his hesitation was palpable. “Are you sure?” 

    She tilted her head, studying him. “Are you okay?” she asked, catching the unusual tone in his voice. 

    He waved her off with a faint smirk. “Fine, pup. Just
 be careful.” He pointed toward a house just past the tavern. “I’ll wait there. Don’t take too long.” 

    Ariana nodded, watching as he walked away, her heart heavy with unspoken questions. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead, and turned toward the Divine’s quarters.

    One step at a time, she reminded herself as she set off toward the Divine’s quarters.

    ~~~

    Pulling her hood back up and adjusting her mask, Ariana made her way to the Chantry. The frostbitten air stung her cheeks, though it did little to numb the ache in her chest. The weight of the Conclave pressed heavily on her, but even more so was the gnawing thought of Cullen—missing, possibly dead. She clung to the hope that it wasn’t true, that somehow he was still alive, even if the pain of his absence felt sharper than ever tonight.

    The quiet of the village was broken only by the crunch of her boots against the frozen ground. As she reached the doors of the Chantry, a nervous-looking sister approached her, hesitating before speaking.

    “Are you
 you know?” the sister asked, her eyes darting nervously to the distinctive white fur cloak.

    Ariana’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I think so,” she replied, her voice softer than usual. “Is she waiting for me?”

    The sister nodded quickly, her movements almost anxious. “She is. Please, follow me.”

    Ariana stepped inside, the sudden warmth of the Chantry washing over her in stark contrast to the cold outside. The sister led her briskly through the main hall, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. They stopped at a heavy door, and the sister motioned for her to enter before retreating.

    Pushing the door open, Ariana stepped inside. Divine Justinia stood near the center of modest room with a large table at it’s center, with a map and what appeared to be scattered reports. The Divine’s serene presence as commanding as ever. The flickering light from the torches cast long shadows across the walls.

    “I’m here,” Ariana said simply, her voice betraying a hint of weariness.

    “As I knew you would be,” Justinia replied, her tone calm, her expression as composed as always.

    Ariana studied her for a moment, the Divine’s confidence brushing against the edge of her own doubts. “And the Rangers will arrive in waves, starting tomorrow,” Ariana continued. “We have a plan, and for all our sakes, I hope it works.”

    The Divine gave a small, thoughtful nod. “As do I. The world hangs precariously, Lady Trevelyan. But I have faith in you—and in the Rangers.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened as she took a steadying breath. Faith, she thought. It felt like an empty word after everything that had happened in Kirkwall, after every failure and loss. Still, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. “I know where I’m stationing my forces,” she said, her voice firm despite the storm swirling within her. “Where do you want me?”

    Justinia’s gaze lingered on her, as though weighing the depth of the question. “By my side,” she said at last, her words deliberate. “Your presence is as much a symbol as it is a shield. I need those in attendance to see that the White Wolf stands for peace—not for the mages, not for the Templars, but for the hope of reconciliation.”

    Ariana’s eyes flickered with a mix of skepticism and resolve. “By your side,” she repeated, her tone cool. “You realize that makes both of us walking targets.”

    “Would you be here if you weren’t willing to bear that risk?” the Divine countered gently, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

    Ariana let out a quiet huff, her smirk faint but fleeting. “Fair point.”

    “The dais will give you a clear view of the proceedings,” Justinia continued. “Your Rangers will form a perimeter outside the Temple grounds, with scouts monitoring the surrounding area for any sign of unrest. But you, Ariana, are not just here as a soldier. You are here as a symbol of what is at stake if peace is lost.”

    Ariana folded her arms, leaning slightly against the doorway. Her voice carried a dry edge as she quipped, “I suppose ‘no pressure’ isn’t part of the job description.”

    The Divine’s expression softened, her voice steady and calm. “You have carried more than most would dare, child. And yet, you endure. I trust you will bear this burden as you have borne so many others.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened, Justinia’s words cutting deeper than she expected. “Very well,” she said quietly, her resolve hardening despite the weight of it all. “I’ll stand with you. But if this goes south
” She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t have to.

    “Then we will face it together,” Justinia said without hesitation.

    Ariana gave a small nod and turned toward the door. The sweep of her cloak trailed behind her as she made her way out. Pausing briefly, she glanced back over her shoulder, her voice quieter now. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

    And with that, she stepped out of the room, her mind heavy with the thought that if this truly was their last chance at peace, she would give it everything she had left to give.

    ~~~

    The firelight flickered in the small room Varric had claimed for the night. The space was modest, the walls adorned with little more than shadows cast by the dancing flames. Varric sat in a chair, his feet up on the table, nursing a mug of ale as though it were the only thing keeping him warm in the mountain air.

    The door creaked open, and Ariana stepped inside, pulling down her hood and mask. Her fur cloak trailed behind her as she shut the door, her expression guarded but tinged with weariness.

    “Pup,” Varric greeted lightly, though his voice carried an edge of concern. “So, how’d the meeting go? Let me guess—she wants something ridiculous.”

    Ariana moved toward the small hearth, holding her hands out to the warmth. “She wants peace,” she said, her voice quiet. “Or at least, she wants to pretend it’s possible.”

    Varric’s brows furrowed. “And what part are you supposed to play in this little charade?”

    “She wants the Rangers to act as peacekeepers during the Conclave,” Ariana explained, turning to face him. “And she wants me
 by her side. As a figurehead, a deterrent. The White Wolf standing for peace.”

    Varric let out a low whistle, setting his mug down. “That’s a big ask, pup. And you said yes, didn’t you?”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. “I did.”

    “Why?” he pressed, leaning forward, his concern growing. “You know how this ends. Andraste’s ass, we were both there when the spark of this war was lit. Why throw yourself into the fire now?”

    “Because we were both there, Varric,” Ariana shot back, her voice sharp with emotion. “We saw it happen. We fought to stop it, and we failed. If we’d done more—if we’d stopped Meredith or Orsino before it all fell apart—maybe this war wouldn’t be tearing Thedas apart right now.”

    Varric’s expression softened, but the worry in his eyes remained. “Pup, what happened in Kirkwall
 that wasn’t on you. Or me. That was a powder keg waiting for someone to strike a match.”

    “And maybe we should’ve been the ones to snuff out the fuse before it got that far,” Ariana countered, her voice heavy with guilt. She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to the floor. “This
 this feels like a chance to make up for that. To do something that matters. If this Conclave fails, there won’t be another chance for peace in our lifetimes.”

    Varric sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ariana, you can’t take the weight of Thedas on your shoulders. You’re not the Maker, and you’re not responsible for the mess the Chantry and the Templar Order created.”

    “Maybe not,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “But I can’t walk away, Varric. Not now. Not when there’s a chance to stop this before it gets even worse.”

    He studied her for a long moment, his frustration giving way to a weary understanding. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he said with a faint smirk, though the concern in his tone lingered. “But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t throw yourself headfirst into the impossible.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Speaking of impossible, why are you here, Varric? You’re not exactly the mountain village type.”

    Varric hesitated for a fraction of a second, though his response came smoothly enough. “Seeker Pentaghast dragged me here. I’m her ‘guest.’”

    Her brow furrowed, suspicion flickering in her gaze. “Guest? You mean prisoner.”

    He shrugged, his smirk returning. “Tomato, tomahto. She’s looking for Hawke.”

    Ariana’s heart sank at the mention of her old friend. “Does she know where Hawke is?” she asked, her voice quiet but tense.

    “Thankfully, no,” Varric replied, his tone casual, though she caught the flicker of something in his expression—relief, or perhaps guilt. “She thought I did. And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell her. Hawke’s better off staying far away from all this.”

    Ariana’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of the Conclave and everything it represented pressing down on her. “It’s never simple, is it?” she murmured, half to herself.

    “Not in this lifetime,” Varric replied, leaning back in his chair. “But for what it’s worth, pup, I hope this crazy plan of yours works. Just
 promise me you’ll be careful. No heroics, alright?”

    “I’ll try,” Ariana said, her voice soft but steady. “I should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

    Varric raised his mug in a mock toast. “Stay safe, pup. And if you see things going south, don’t wait—get the hell out of there.”

    Ariana nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You too, Varric,” she said quietly before slipping out into the cold night, her mind already racing with everything still left to do—and the faint, stubborn hope that Cullen might somehow be out there, alive. Or maybe… maybe he’s here.

  • Chapter 55 – Not Weakness but Wisdom

    12 Wintermarch 9:38 – 28 Haring 9:40

    The routine after Varric left was a comfort Ariana hadn’t expected. Life at the manor resumed with a familiar rhythm, one that allowed her to slip back into her role as the White Wolf with startling ease. Yet, no matter how seamlessly she led the Silver Rangers, there were moments when the weight of what she had lost threatened to crush her.

    Isabel, ever the steady presence, managed the household effortlessly, relieving Riley of many day-to-day concerns. Emma flourished in the manor’s lively environment, darting between Rangers, her laughter echoing in the halls. She fashioned imaginary adventures for herself, always insisting the Rangers play their parts as knights or heroes. But Ariana couldn’t help but notice the wistful tone in Emma’s voice whenever she asked about Cullen.

    “Will he come back someday?” Emma had asked just days earlier, her wide eyes full of hope that Ariana couldn’t bear to extinguish.

    “He’s busy, cub,” Ariana had replied softly. “But you know Cullen. He always keeps his promises.”

    The words felt hollow even as she said them. It wasn’t just Emma who still waited for him.

    One evening, the kitchen was filled with the warm glow of candlelight and the soft hum of activity. Ariana perched on the counter, absently turning a cloth in her hands as Isabel finished drying the last of the dishes. The rhythmic sounds of their nightly routine grounded her, but tonight the usual comfort was absent.

    “Isabel
” Ariana’s voice was tentative, barely above a whisper.

    Isabel set the dish she was drying aside, turning her full attention to her. “What is it, child?” she asked gently, noting the uncharacteristic hesitation in Ariana’s tone.

    Ariana drew a deep breath, her fingers twisting the cloth tighter. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

    Isabel frowned. “For what? What are you apologizing for now?”

    “For everything,” Ariana confessed, her gaze dropping to her lap. “For dragging you and Emma into my chaos. For Cullen
” Her voice broke as she continued. “I see the way Emma looks when she asks about him. I feel like I’ve taken him away from her. I should have listened to you all those years ago.”

    Isabel’s expression softened as she crossed the kitchen, setting the towel down. She stood in front of Ariana, her voice steady and firm. “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

    “But if I’d told him sooner—” Ariana began, only for Isabel to cut her off.

    “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Isabel said gently but firmly. “You said it yourself, Ariana. He wasn’t ready to stand against the Order or Meredith. Even if you’d told him, even if he’d known everything, the path you’re on
 it would have still led to this.”

    Ariana’s hands trembled as she gripped the cloth tightly. “But we were planning our wedding,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet agony. “He had the ring made. He asked my father to petition the Order. I thought—I thought we had a chance.”

    Ariana let out a soft, bittersweet laugh, catching Isabel’s questioning look. “I’m just remembering,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of fondness and sorrow. “When we were planning the wedding, Cullen couldn’t understand why there needed to be twenty-seven flavors of cake. He actually looked offended by it.” Her lips curved faintly. “He said he didn’t care if the cake was made of stone, as long as I was there.”

    Isabel chuckled at the memory, “That does sound like Cullen. That man can be practical to a fault.”

    Ariana reached for her ring, looking at it “Do you know why he chose the star?”

    Isabel smiled softly, shaking her head, just letting Ariana continue.

    “He asked if I would follow the star I had been following, just one more time
” her words trailed off, lost in the memory of the night he proposed.

    “And, do you want to follow it again?” Isabel asked softly.

    “More than anything,” Ariana sighed “But I think it’s too late now.”

    Isabel reached out, resting her hands over Ariana’s. “You still have a chance. I don’t believe this story is over.”

    Ariana’s head snapped up, tears brimming in her eyes. “How can you say that? After everything?”

    “Because I know him,” Isabel said simply. “And I know that he loved you more than anything. Truly. And I saw the way you looked at him—like he was your world. That doesn’t just vanish because of a war or a lie.”

    Ariana shook her head, the tears finally spilling over. “I couldn’t even tell him the truth,” she whispered. “And now I don’t even know if he ever thinks of me. If
 if he even cares about any of it anymore.”

    Isabel’s gaze fell to the small pendant around Ariana’s neck, the leather cord holding both the constellation charm and Cullen’s engagement ring. The sight of it, so close to Ariana’s heart, brought a bittersweet smile to Isabel’s lips. “Do you think he made that ring for you because it didn’t matter to him?” she asked gently. “He loved you, Ariana. He still does. And I’d wager he’s thought about you every day since you left.”

    Ariana’s sobs broke free then, unrestrained and raw. Isabel pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly as the weight of years of guilt and heartbreak poured out.

    Later that night, as the house grew quiet, Ariana sat alone in her room. She reached for the leather choker she always wore, her fingers brushing the small pendant of the Visus constellation and the engagement ring hanging from the cord. Slowly, she lifted it, holding the ring in her palm as her tears threatened to return.

    She whispered into the stillness, “If you’re out there, Cullen, I hope you’re safe. I hope
 I hope you remember us.”

    Happy birthday


    And for the first time since that night in Kirkwall, she allowed herself to believe he might be thinking the same thing.

    ~~~

    As the months passed, it started to become clear that Kirkwall had been only the beginning. Something they had all expected, yet had hoped they had been wrong. The soft morning light streamed through the windows of the library, casting long shadows across the map-strewn table where she sat with Michael and Linnea. Both wore expressions that mirrored her own—a mix of exhaustion and determination. Reports had been flooding in for weeks now, and each one seemed worse than the last.

    Michael leaned forward, his hand resting on the edge of the table as he spoke. “The Circles are falling, Ariana. Starkhaven, Ansburg, Markham—all of them have reported riots or outright destruction. Mages are fleeing in droves, and some are even banding together to fight back.”

    Linnea nodded, her brow furrowed. “We’ve had requests for aid from at least three groups of mages in the past fortnight alone. They’re desperate, asking for protection, for someone to get them out before the Templars arrive.”

    Michael shifted, a note of hesitation creeping into his voice. “And it’s not just mages. Rangers in the field have reported Templars approaching them, asking to join us. They say they’ve had enough of the Order and want to fight for something better. Some of the Rangers here were already Templars before joining. It’s
 becoming a trend.”

    Ariana sat back, her fingers steepled as she absorbed their words. The weight of it pressed heavily on her chest, but her expression remained calm. She had to be. They were looking to her for guidance, for answers she wasn’t entirely sure she had.

    After a moment, she asked, “What about Kirkwall? Have we had any word?”

    Michael glanced at Linnea before replying. “Still holding, according to all reports. It’s one of the few Circles that hasn’t fallen yet. At least not any more than it had before
”

    Ariana’s gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She exhaled softly. Still holding. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Cullen in the middle of it all, trying to hold Kirkwall together with sheer will. He had always been unrelenting in his duty.

    “Good,” she said at last, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her. “For now, anyway.”

    Linnea studied her for a moment, but said nothing. Instead, she shifted the conversation back to the reports. “What do you want us to do about the mages requesting aid?”

    “We’ll take on the jobs that make sense,” Ariana replied, her tone measured. “But we can’t stretch ourselves too thin. If we try to save everyone, we’ll end up saving no one.” She paused, her mind already moving to the next steps. “I’ll reach out to Bann Teagan. If anyone knows the best path for helping these mages, it’ll be him. He’s been a consistent ally, and with King Alistair still absent, he’s our best option.”

    Michael frowned slightly. “And the Templars who want to join us? What do we do about them?”

    “We vet them carefully,” Ariana said without hesitation. “Riley and Malcolm can handle that. They know what to look for, and I trust their judgment. But make sure every single one is questioned thoroughly. No exceptions.”

    Linnea exchanged a glance with Michael before speaking again. “There’s something else. Aveline and Donnic—they’ve been working in Denerim for a while now, haven’t they? Maybe they’ve heard things. They might know more about what’s happening in the capital or have information we don’t.”

    Ariana nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. Send a message to Aveline. Let her know what we’re seeing and ask if she has any insight. She’s someone we can trust, and Donnic has always been resourceful. They might have heard something useful.”

    The room fell silent for a moment as they processed the conversation, the weight of the decisions they faced settling heavily over them. Ariana leaned forward again, her gaze sharp as she addressed them both.

    “We’re walking a fine line,” she said. “We have to be careful, but we can’t let that stop us from doing what we’ve always done—protecting those who can’t protect themselves. This is exactly why the Rangers exist. We’re not just a safe haven. We’re a force for change. Let’s make sure we act like it.”

    Michael and Linnea nodded in unison, their determination mirroring her own. As they left the room to carry out their orders, Ariana couldn’t help to notice how their hands brushed briefly. She smiled, shaking her head. It was amusing that they were trying to hide it. For her part, Ariana was just happy they were finding comfort in each other.

    She sat back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the map on the table. It was dotted with markers—each one representing a Circle in turmoil, a town needing aid, or a battle yet to be fought.

    Her fingers brushed against the pendant at her neck, her thoughts briefly drifting to Cullen. Still holding, she thought again. Her heart ached with the memory of him, the way he had looked at her that last day in Kirkwall, the words they had thrown at each other cutting deeper than any blade. But then
 he had dropped his weapons, he had crossed the distance to tend to her injury. And when she kissed him, he had returned it. He had held her still despite it all. Was he thinking about her too?

    She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was no room for distraction now. The Rangers depended on her, and the world around them was unraveling faster than she could sew it back together. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was this: they would face it together. Someday.

    ~~~

    The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Valentina sat at the head of the long table, her fingers steepled as she studied the parchment in front of her. Riley leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed, her expression tight with frustration. Michael paced the length of the room, his boots echoing faintly on the wooden floor, while Linnea sat with one leg crossed over the other, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answers were hidden among the beams.

    “We can’t tell her,” Michael said, his voice low but firm, breaking the silence.

    “And why not?” Riley shot back, her tone sharp. “She’s our leader. She has a right to know.”

    Michael stopped pacing, turning to face her. “You’ve seen how much she’s carrying already. Do you really want to add this to it? That Kirkwall’s Circle has fallen? That he’s disappeared?”

    Riley pushed off the wall, stepping toward the table. “She’ll find out eventually. Better it comes from us than some report or rumor.”

    Linnea sighed, her eyes finally dropping from the ceiling to the table. “Do we even know what happened to him? Cullen’s name wasn’t on the casualty list.”

    Valentina tapped the parchment in front of her. “No, but that’s part of the problem. He’s missing, not dead. And knowing Ariana
” She let the sentence hang, the weight of it settling over the group.

    “She’ll go looking for him,” Michael finished, his voice heavy. “And Maker knows what she’ll find—or if she’ll even find him at all.”

    “Exactly,” Valentina said. “She’s barely allowed herself to grieve what happened in Kirkwall. If she thinks there’s a chance to find him
”

    “She’ll chase it,” Riley admitted, her voice softer now. “But does that mean we keep this from her? Is that who we are?”

    Silence fell again, each of them grappling with the weight of the decision.

    Linnea finally spoke, her voice measured. “We don’t have all the information. Right now, all we know is that the Circle has fallen and that Cullen isn’t accounted for. Maybe we wait. If more details come in, we can reevaluate.”

    Michael frowned, resuming his pacing. “And if she finds out we knew and didn’t tell her? How do we explain that?”

    “She’ll be angry,” Valentina admitted, “but she’ll understand why we waited. At least, I hope she will.”

    Riley ran a hand through her hair, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re all acting like she’s some fragile thing that’s going to shatter the moment she hears his name. This is Ariana. She’s faced worse than this.”

    Michael stopped pacing again, his gaze locking with hers. “I know who she is, Riley. But she’s also human. And Cullen
 he’s not just anyone to her.”

    Valentina leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “The question isn’t whether she can handle it. The question is whether telling her now serves any purpose. What can she do with this information?”

    “She could prepare,” Riley argued. “If Cullen is missing, there’s a chance he’s in danger. She’d want to help him, just like she’d help any of us.”

    “And that’s the problem,” Michael said quietly. “She wouldn’t just help him. She’d drop everything. The Rangers, the mages we’re protecting—all of it. She’d risk it all for him.”

    The room fell silent again, the weight of the decision pressing down on them.

    Finally, Valentina exhaled, standing and smoothing the creases from her tunic. “We wait,” she said, her voice calm but decisive. “Until we know more, we don’t burden her with this. If something concrete comes up, we’ll tell her. Agreed?”

    Michael nodded reluctantly, though his expression was troubled. Linnea gave a small nod, her face impassive.

    Riley hesitated, her jaw tight. “Fine,” she said at last, though the word was laced with frustration. “But if she finds out we kept this from her, it’s on all of us.”

    Valentina’s gaze swept over the group, her eyes lingering on each of them. “We’re in agreement, then. This stays between us for now.”

    Before Valentina could fully extinguish the last lantern, Linnea’s voice cut through the heavy silence.

    “There’s
 something else,” she said hesitantly, her gaze shifting to the side as if unsure whether to speak.

    All eyes turned to her, the tension in the room coiling tighter.

    Linnea hesitated before pulling a folded letter from her satchel and setting it on the table. The seal of Bann Teagan was unmistakable, the edges of the parchment slightly worn. “This came with the last set of reports,” she explained. “It’s from Cullen. He sent it to Bann Teagan, asking him to pass it along
 to Ariana.”

    Michael’s eyes widened, and Riley stepped closer, her brows knitting together. “What does it say?”

    Valentina unfolded the letter carefully, her sharp eyes scanning the contents. As she read, her expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

    “It’s a request,” she said flatly, “for information on Ariana’s whereabouts. He wanted Teagan to deliver this along with another document.” She pulled out a second parchment, its official seal still intact. “Approval from the White Spire for their marriage.”

    Riley let out a low whistle, her frustration replaced by a mix of disbelief and unease. “And Teagan just
 sent this along without a word?”

    “He’s missing now, Riley,” Linnea reminded her softly. “Teagan likely didn’t think it would reach Cullen at this point. But it still complicates things.”

    Michael ran a hand through his hair, his pacing starting anew. “So, he was still looking for her. Even after everything
” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, his frustration gave way to something closer to guilt.

    “And now he’s gone,” Riley said quietly, her earlier fire subdued. “He wanted to find her, to explain himself—and we’re keeping this from her.”

    Valentina carefully refolded the letters, her movements deliberate. “Which only reinforces my point. We wait. If we tell her now, she’ll chase this lead. And what will she find? Nothing but more pain.”

    Linnea frowned, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “But if she ever learns we had these
”

    “She won’t,” Valentina said firmly. “Not unless we’re sure telling her will help. Until then, we keep this to ourselves.”

    The others exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them voiced further objections.

    As they filed out, Michael lingered once more, his hand brushing briefly over the back of one of the chairs. “We’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured to Valentina, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire.

    “I know,” she replied softly, her gaze fixed on the flickering embers. “But right now, it’s the only game we’ve got.”

    Riley paused by the door, her sharp gaze cutting through the room. “Linnea,” she said quietly, but with the weight of a command. “Start looking for him. Quietly. If Ariana can’t go after him, we’ll do it for her.”

    Linnea nodded once, her expression solemn. “Understood.”

    The room dimmed as the final lantern was extinguished, leaving them in shadows. And in that darkness, the weight of their secrets loomed heavier than ever.

    ~~~

    Ariana found peace in her day-to-day life, rediscovering the joy of adventure and reconnecting with the Rangers. After years spent away from most of them, it was refreshing to immerse herself in their camaraderie again. Many of the newer recruits had never even met her before now. Yet one familiar face remained a pleasant surprise—Elliot. No longer the nervous, wide-eyed kid she’d escorted from Kirkwall all those years ago, he now carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned Ranger. Still, his unwavering admiration for the White Wolf hadn’t faded.

    The sun hung low in the sky as Ariana sparred with Elliot in the courtyard, their movements quick and calculated. She ducked under his swing, spinning gracefully as her wooden sword struck his side. He stumbled back, wincing but grinning despite the sting.

    “Come on, Elliot,” Ariana said, her tone teasing but encouraging. “You’ve got to stop telegraphing your swings like that. I can see them coming from a mile away.”

    Elliot huffed, adjusting his grip on the training sword. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one fighting you.”

    “Problems with Orlesian nobles again, Wolf,” Riley’s voice carried across the courtyard as she approached, cutting through the moment.

    Ariana glanced up, breathing heavily from exertion. She tossed her training sword to Elliot, who caught it with a slight fumble. “What is it this time?” she asked, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe her face.

    Riley smirked, folding her arms as she leaned casually against a post. “They hired us to retrieve a stolen artifact. Now they’re claiming the one we returned is a forgery.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, draping the cloth around her neck. “And
 could it be?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    “No,” Riley replied firmly. “It’s a magical artifact, and both our mage and theirs verified it was authentic.”

    Ariana began walking toward the manor, Riley falling into step beside her. Elliot trailed behind, still catching his breath but grinning faintly, as though sparring with the White Wolf was an achievement in itself.

    “Do we think it was stolen again after delivery?” Ariana asked, her mind already sifting through possibilities.

    “Unlikely,” Riley said with a shrug. “This feels more like posturing. They’re Orlesians, after all.”

    Ariana let out a resigned sigh. “And you’re telling me this because
?” she asked, glancing at Riley with a knowing look. “They want the White Wolf to investigate?”

    Riley’s smirk widened. “It’s in Val Royeaux, and, well, let’s face it—you’re better at dealing with those kinds of nobles. They insist on your presence.”

    Ariana groaned. “Val Royeaux. Maker’s breath, when was the last time I was even there?”

    “Seven years ago,” Riley said without missing a beat. “Almost to the day. You came back on 26 Haring 9:33.”

    Ariana stopped mid-step, raising an eyebrow at Riley. “Why do you know that so precisely?”

    Riley shrugged, her expression teasing. “Because that’s the day everything changed. You came back with the Divine’s request, and then you left for Kirkwall
 And, well, we know how that ended.”

    Ariana’s playful demeanor shifted slightly, the weight of those memories flickering across her face. “Fair enough,” she said after a pause, shaking off the moment with a faint smirk. “But wait
 does that mean we missed Elliot’s seventh anniversary as a Ranger?”

    Riley grinned mischievously. “We only celebrate the big milestones, Wolf. Sorry, kid, you’ll have to wait another three years for a party.”

    Elliot laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I didn’t even realize it had been seven years. Feels like yesterday I was tripping over my own sword during drills.”

    “And now you’re getting tossed around by me during sparring,” Ariana teased, throwing a grin over her shoulder. “That’s what I call progress.”

    Elliot’s smile wavered slightly, his gaze flicking to her and then away as though her teasing—her attention—was both exhilarating and overwhelming. “I wouldn’t call it progress exactly,” he muttered.

    Riley caught the exchange and smirked knowingly. “Don’t let her fool you, Elliot,” she said, her tone mock-serious. “The Wolf only fights fair when she’s bored. If you ever win, it’s because she let you.”

    “I do not!” Ariana protested, feigning offense. “I’m just giving him the chance to feel like he’s improving, Riley. It’s called mentorship. Look it up.”

    “Is that what we’re calling it now?” Riley shot back, her grin widening. “Funny, I thought it was called humoring the pup.“

    Elliot chuckled, adjusting his sword belt—a gesture Riley didn’t miss. She glanced at Ariana, who seemed blissfully unaware of how flustered Elliot always became around her. “I’m standing right here, you know,” Elliot said, shaking his head. “You two are relentless.”

    Ariana shot him a playful wink, her grin widening. “Welcome to the Rangers, Elliot. Thick skin is a requirement.”

    Elliot rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at his lips. As they reached the manor, Ariana glanced at Riley. “Fine, I’ll go to Val Royeaux. But if this turns out to be another waste of time, you’re cleaning the stables for a month.”

    “Deal,” Riley said with a mock salute, though the triumphant glint in her eyes suggested she had already won.

    ~~~

    As she had so many years ago, Ariana set off for Val Royeaux. But this time, she didn’t travel alone. Elliot, eager for his first job outside Ferelden, had practically volunteered before she could even consider anyone else. His boundless energy was both endearing and exhausting, a stark contrast to the calm, calculating presence of Eshara. One of the Rangers’ most skilled mages, Eshara’s expertise was indispensable for a job centered on a magical artifact.

    The journey felt shorter with their company, the miles passing with the rhythm of hoofbeats and the hum of conversation. Though the winter chill bit at their faces, Ariana found herself quietly grateful for the distraction her companions provided.

    Elliot, perched on his saddle with a grin, gazed at the snow-covered fields stretching out around them. “I still can’t believe I get to go to Val Royeaux. I’ve read about it my entire life. The spires, the markets, the nobility—it all sounds so
 grand.”

    Eshara snorted, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It’s loud, crowded, and pretentious. You’ll see soon enough.”

    “Come on, Eshara,” Elliot replied, undeterred. “You have to admit, it’s probably one of the most impressive cities in Thedas.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’d best temper your expectations, Elliot. The Orlesian court is a world of masks and intrigue. There’s beauty, sure, but there’s also danger beneath all the glamour.”

    Elliot’s excitement dimmed only slightly, though his admiration for Ariana only seemed to grow. “Have you been there often, Wolf?”

    “Not often,” Ariana replied, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “The last time I was in Val Royeaux was seven years ago, though it feels like another lifetime now.”

    Elliot’s expression turned thoughtful, though he didn’t press further. Eshara, however, smirked. “You mean before Kirkwall turned your world upside down?”

    Ariana shot her a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. “Something like that,” she admitted quietly, her tone laced with the weight of memory.

    She remembered it all too well—the grandeur of the Grand Cathedral, its white spires piercing the heavens like a challenge to the Maker himself. The echo of her footsteps against the stone as she’d followed the attendants into that small, forgotten, windowless room.

    “I need you to observe and investigate the situation in Kirkwall.,” the Divine had said, her voice grave yet steady. “Focus on the use of the Rite of Tranquility, and whether it is, in fact, being overused. If the rumors are true, I may need your Rangers’ help to intercept mages destined for Kirkwall and ensure their safety.”

    It had been the first time she had been asked to step into a life of shadows and secrets. And it had been the moment everything changed. It was the moment she had to start lying to the man she loved.

    She shook the thoughts away, her expression smoothing as the spires of Val Royeaux came into view, gleaming against the pale winter sky.

    “Look at that,” Elliot breathed, his voice full of awe as he leaned forward eagerly in his saddle.

    Eshara rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “It’s just a city. Overbuilt and overpraised.”

    “To you, maybe,” Elliot shot back, his gaze lingering on the intricate carvings adorning the city gates. “But to me, it’s
 a lot.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but smile at their exchange. Despite Eshara’s feigned indifference, even she couldn’t entirely hide her appreciation for the city’s grandeur as they passed through its gates.

    They found lodging at a modest tavern—modest by Orlesian standards, which meant it was far grander than most Fereldan establishments. Elliot’s awe persisted as he marveled at the delicate chandeliers and painted ceilings, while Eshara muttered about unnecessary extravagance.

    “Do all Orlesians live like this?” Elliot asked, running a hand along the velvet-lined banister leading to their rooms.

    “Hardly,” Ariana replied, her tone dry. “Most Orlesians don’t even set foot in a place like this. You’re seeing the ‘acceptable face’ of Val Royeaux.”

    Eshara snorted. “Acceptable or not, it’s too shiny for my taste.”

    “Don’t let her ruin your fun,” Ariana added with a faint smile. “But don’t get too comfortable, either. This city has a way of turning on you when you least expect it.”

    Elliot nodded, his admiration tinged with a trace of caution now. “Understood.”

    Later that evening, as the sun set and the city’s golden light reflected off its snow-dusted rooftops, Ariana stood in her room, preparing to meet their client. She’d exchanged her traveling clothes for something more suitable—simple yet elegant, with the cloak of the White Wolf draped over her shoulders.

    As she adjusted the pendant around her neck, her fingers brushed the engagement ring hanging beside it. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face before she steeled herself. Not now, she thought. Focus on the task at hand.

    A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find a messenger bowing politely. “Message for you, my lady,” he said before disappearing back down the hall.

    “Well, that was fast,” she muttered, unfolding the neatly written note. The words were precise and unembellished: Come to the Summer Bazaar. We will discuss the artifact there.

    Ariana tucked the note into her belt and grabbed her gloves. She glanced once more at the pendant and ring before pulling on her cloak. Why is it always cold here? she mused, shaking her head as she stepped out into the bustling streets of Val Royeaux.

    ~~~

    The Summer Bazaar buzzed with life, the cold doing little to deter the crowds. Merchants called out, their stalls a chaotic tapestry of vibrant colors and wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread lingered in the air. Ariana moved through it with practiced ease, her cloak drawn tightly around her. The press of bodies and noise didn’t faze her, but something about the summons she’d received earlier had set her on edge.

    As she paused near a jewelry vendor’s stall, a figure in formal attire stepped into her path.

    “Are you the White Wolf?” the aide asked, their voice polite but clipped, their gaze sharp.

    Ariana nodded slowly, already wary.

    “Follow me,” they said, offering no further explanation.

    She hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly, but fell into step behind them as they wound through the narrow streets. The lively chatter of the Bazaar faded into the background, replaced by the hollow sound of her boots on cobblestones. Her instincts prickled as they approached a modest, nondescript building tucked away from the bustling square.

    The aide opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “The room at the end of the hallway.”

    Ariana crossed the threshold, her tension mounting. This feels too familiar, she thought, her mind flicking back to a similar summons years ago. Pushing the memory aside, she stepped into the corridor, her steps careful, deliberate. The faint scent of wax polish and aged wood lingered in the air, the only sound the soft rustle of her cloak.

    Reaching the final door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. A part of her wanted to turn back, but curiosity—or perhaps defiance—drove her forward. She pushed the door open.

    Her breath caught.

    Seated at the table, her serene presence as commanding as ever, was Divine Justinia. The weight of her gaze was like a physical force, and for a moment, Ariana felt rooted to the spot.

    “Hello again, White Wolf,” the Divine said, her tone calm and measured.

    Ariana’s pulse quickened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Not this again,” she muttered, forcing a laugh that was anything but genuine.

    Justinia remained composed, her expression betraying no reaction.

    “What do you want from me this time?” Ariana demanded, her voice sharp, almost cutting. Reverence, respect—those were things she’d left behind long ago.

    The Divine folded her hands neatly on the table, her calm unwavering. “I understand your hesitation, child.”

    “Oh, do you?” Ariana snapped, her anger bubbling to the surface. She stepped forward, the intensity of her glare unrelenting. “Were you there the night the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded? Were you there when Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment, slaughtering innocent mages because of something she caused? Did you stand by and watch as she became corrupted by red lyrium, while the Chantry turned a blind eye?”

    Justinia’s silence invited her to continue, and she did, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose everything because of someone else’s inaction? Because I do. You left us to rot in that cursed city. You failed us.”

    The Divine’s expression softened, though she didn’t speak. Her silence, so steady and unflinching, felt like an indictment in itself.

    Ariana’s breath hitched, her fists clenching tighter. “I’m not here to play your games. If you want spies who’ll report without acting, find someone else. I’m done being your puppet.”

    “Please, Lady Trevelyan,” Justinia said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Sit.”

    For a long moment, Ariana didn’t move. Her thoughts were a storm of defiance, bitterness, and exhaustion. But curiosity won out, as it always did. When will I learn? With stiff, deliberate movements, she sat, her posture rigid and her arms folded across her chest.

    “I do understand your anger,” the Divine began, her voice softer now, almost sorrowful. “You are right to feel betrayed. We feared intervention would lead to war and failed to see that inaction would lead us down the same path. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as the tension in the room thickened. “Sorry doesn’t bring back the people we lost,” she said, her voice low, trembling with the weight of unshed tears. “I sacrificed everything—my life, my family, my future—and for what? To watch Kirkwall burn while you stayed silent?”

    She leaned forward, her tone gaining an edge. “And the Order—your precious Templar Order—they’re no better. Corrupt, self-serving, blind to their own failings. You’ve trained them so well they don’t even question the orders they’re given, no matter how wrong they are.”

    Her words hung heavy in the air, the weight of years of pain and frustration filling the space between them. For the first time, Ariana noticed the faint flicker of regret in the Divine’s eyes.

    “Knight-Commander Cullen seems to be a good sort,” Justinia said after a pause, her voice carefully measured.

    The mention of his name was like a blow to the chest. Ariana’s heart twisted painfully, the memory of him—of their last moments together—rushing back like a tidal wave. She forced her expression to remain neutral, but the ache in her chest betrayed her.

    “Cullen is a good man, and that just makes my point,” Ariana said, her voice almost hopeful. “He cares, he genuinely believed in the ideals of the Order. He believed in protecting people.” She paused, sighing with resignation. “But he was so well trained by the Order that he never considered taking action against Meredith until it was too late. Even he felt there was nothing he could do. I think he didn’t believe the Order would support him relieving Meredith of command.”

    As the words left her mouth, she suddenly realized with startling clarity why Cullen hadn’t acted. Maybe he had been right. Maybe he couldn’t have stopped it.

    “Aren’t you engaged to him?” Justinia asked, her tone neutral but her eyes watchful, gauging every flicker of Ariana’s expression.

    The single word hit her like a stone, shattering her composure. Ariana’s breath caught, and for a moment, her carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of it that way—not for years. To her, it was something past, something broken beyond repair.

    But
 wasn’t it true? They had never formally ended their engagement. The last thing she had done was kiss him, and he had kissed her back. The thought surged to the surface before she could stop it, the ache in her chest sharpening.

    “You don’t know anything about what happened,” she said sharply, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. She looked away, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the window as if the answer might lie there.

    The Divine, ever composed, leaned forward slightly. “Forgive me, child, but it seems relevant. You speak of him with such conviction, despite your anger. I wonder if perhaps your feelings are more
complicated than you allow yourself to admit.”

    Ariana stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “Enough,” she said, her voice brittle but resolute. “Why am I here?”

    The Divine regarded her for a moment, her serene demeanor unwavering despite Ariana’s outburst. “Because Thedas needs the White Wolf again,” she said softly, her tone calm but carrying an undeniable weight.

    Ariana stared at her, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. Her pulse still raced, her emotions still raw, but the fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter, heavier—resignation, perhaps. Or the faint glimmer of hope she hadn’t yet acknowledged.

    ~~~

    The room had been quiet, the crackle of the hearth the only sound between them.

    “On 15 Guardian, a Divine Conclave will be held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It will bring together the leaders of both the mages and the Templars. We have forty-seven days, Lady Trevelyan, to prepare for what may be the only chance for peace.” Justinia’s tone had been gentle yet resolute, her words carrying the weight of an unspoken urgency.

    Ariana’s brow furrowed, skepticism flashing in her hazel-green eyes. “And what does that have to do with me?”

    “This time, I need the White Wolf and the Silver Rangers to act not as shadows, but as guardians—a neutral force to maintain peace and prevent violence during the Conclave.”

    Ariana scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “That sounds like the Seekers’ job.”

    The Divine inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the point with her usual measured grace. “It is. Or rather, it would have been. Most of the Seekers have abandoned the Chantry along with the Templar Order.”

    Ariana leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t have enough Seekers to secure the Conclave.”

    “That is correct,” Justinia admitted without hesitation. “You have the numbers, but more importantly, you have the trust of those who would otherwise not listen. You are not bound to the Chantry, nor the Order. Your neutrality gives you strength in this matter, Lady Trevelyan. That is why I ask this of you.”

    Ariana shook her head slowly, a faint, humorless smile curling her lips. “You don’t leave much room to say no, do you, Your Holiness?”

    “I leave you all the room you need,” the Divine replied softly but firmly. “But the reality remains: I need the White Wolf and the Silver Rangers to be the force that ensures peace at the Conclave. Without you, the risks of open conflict are far too great.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze sharp as she processed the request. “Because the Rangers are neutral, we’re somehow supposed to convince both sides to hold hands and play nice?”

    “Not just the Rangers,” Justinia said, her calm tone unshaken. “You.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, incredulity flickering across her face. “Me?”

    The Divine’s expression remained composed. “You inspire trust, Lady Trevelyan. You inspire fear. Both are invaluable when emotions run high, as they surely will at the Conclave.”

    “Fear,” Ariana repeated dryly. “That’s your selling point?”

    “It is one of them,” Justinia admitted, her tone steady. “But more importantly, you represent what this Conclave seeks to create: a force not beholden to the Chantry or the Order. A true mediator. That is why I need you by my side, standing as a symbol of impartiality and strength.”

    Ariana shook her head, letting out a mirthless laugh. “You want me standing in front of a room full of people who’d sooner string me up if they knew half of what I’ve done.”

    “Yes,” the Divine replied, her voice unwavering. “Because you are proof that those who have walked in the shadows can still fight for the light. You are what Thedas needs to see—a figure who cannot be swayed by politics or tradition.”

    Ariana’s fingers drummed against the table, her mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. And if it all goes wrong? The question gnawed at her. She had seen what happened when fragile truces shattered—Kirkwall’s ruins were a testament to that. She thought of Cullen then, his absence like a wound that refused to heal. The thought that he might have been right, that his inaction wasn’t weakness but wisdom, only deepened her guilt.

    Finally, she let out a long sigh, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I’ll take it to them. But don’t mistake this for agreement, Your Holiness. I’ve seen what happens when you try to hold a broken system together. It doesn’t end well.”

    The Divine’s faint smile returned, her gratitude almost imperceptible but present. “And yet, here you are, willing to try again.”

    Ariana stood, the weight of the Divine’s words settling heavily on her shoulders. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes, then?”

    “Yes,” Justinia confirmed with a small nod. She reached into her robes and produced a sealed letter bearing the official crest of the Chantry. Handing it to Ariana, she said, “Show this to anyone who questions your presence or my intentions. It will serve as proof of my words.”

    Justinia rose as well, her gaze never leaving Ariana’s. “I will be at Haven until the time of the Conclave. You will find refuge there if you choose to come.”

    Ariana brushed the imaginary dust from her cloak as she shifted the Divine’s letter into her coat pocket. “So, to summarize: you’re asking me to be a figurehead, a mediator, a guard, and a backup plan if this whole thing falls apart. Did I miss anything?”

    Justinia’s faint smile returned, calm and unshaken. “That is a practical way to view it, yes.”

    Ariana let out a short breath, her tone dry but less biting. “Well, it’s good to know I’m still your go-to when you need someone to wade into chaos.”

    “You have always been someone who steps forward when others cannot,” Justinia replied gently. “It is why I ask this of you now.”

    Ariana paused, her gaze sharpening as she studied the Divine. The room felt colder, heavy with the weight of what had been said—and what hadn’t. “You have a knack for making it sound like I have a choice when we both know I don’t,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of resignation.

    “You do have a choice, child,” Justinia replied, her tone unwavering. “I would not have summoned you if I did not trust you to make the right one.”

    Ariana huffed softly, shaking her head. “You really know how to make a girl feel indispensable.”

    “Only because you are,” Justinia said, her voice steady.

    Ariana allowed herself a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll take this to the Rangers. See who volunteers.” Her voice grew quieter, the sarcasm slipping away entirely. “But if this goes wrong
 If it turns into another Kirkwall
” She shook her head, trailing off as she glanced toward the door.

    The Divine inclined her head. “Then I trust you will do what is necessary, as you always have.”

    Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening on the edge of her cloak. “No pressure, right?” she muttered under her breath as she turned to leave.

    “Ariana,” the Divine called softly, halting her at the door. “Thedas needs you now more than ever. And whether or not you believe it, I do as well.”

    The Summer Bazaar buzzed with life, the cold doing little to deter the crowds. Merchants called out, their stalls a chaotic tapestry of vibrant colors and wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread lingered in the air. Ariana moved through it with practiced ease, her cloak drawn tightly around her. Despite the liveliness around her, the meeting with the Divine lingered heavily in her thoughts, her steps purposeful yet laden with the weight of what she’d been asked to do.

    The Divine’s words echoed in her mind: You are what Thedas needs to see—a figure who cannot be swayed by politics or tradition.

    She shook her head, her grip tightening on the letter tucked safely in her coat pocket. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the enormity of the task or how easily Justinia had unraveled her defenses. The Divine’s calm certainty had cut through her anger, leaving her with a truth she couldn’t deny: she would step forward. She always did.

  • Chapter 51 – The Next Chapter

    13 Cloudreach – 24 Solace 9:37

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The question landed like a stone in the stillness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Chapter 50 – Belief Without Question

    12 – 13 Cloudreach 9:37

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

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

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

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

    And then they arrived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The Rangers’ nods were unhesitating, their resolve clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Stand with me, please

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Chapter 49 – The End of a Life

    12 Cloudreach 9:37

    Ariana’s parents had returned to Ostwick a few weeks earlier, but not before Elara made a promise to return by summer. She had suggested a trip to Orlais to find Ariana’s wedding dress or a seamstress capable of crafting the perfect one. To her surprise, Ariana felt a small thrill of excitement at the idea, something she hadn’t expected given how complicated her relationship with her mother had always been.

    Yet, tonight her mind was far from dresses and wedding plans. She found herself caught up in a rather peculiar proposition.

    “So, what do you say, pup?” Varric asked, his grin as mischievous as ever. “You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Ghosts, Varric? Really? I expected better from you.”

    “It’s not just a ghost story,” he replied, chuckling. “It’s Bartrand’s old estate. You know, the one not too far from your place.”

    “You’re telling me I live down the street from a haunted house?” Ariana asked, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

    “Apparently, we both do,” Hawke chimed in, smirking.

    Ariana’s lips twitched into a grin. “Fine. I’ll go with you. If for no other reason than to prove this isn’t some elaborate prank.”

    “That’s the spirit, pup,” Varric quipped, already leading the way. “Let’s see what’s rattling around Bartrand’s old house.”

    As they approached the estate, the air seemed heavier, oppressive. Shadows danced unnaturally across the exterior, and the silence of the surrounding area was deafening. The grand halls, once lavish and filled with life, were now cold and lifeless. Dust clung to every surface, and the faint scent of decay lingered in the air. A soft creak of wood accompanied their first steps inside, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the dense silence.

    “Do you hear that music?” Varric asked suddenly, his expression shifting as his head tilted slightly, as though straining to listen.

    Ariana frowned, glancing at him. “I don’t hear anything. What kind of music?”

    “It’s faint… like a melody. Old, haunting.” Varric’s voice seemed to soften, lost to whatever he was hearing.

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading slightly. “You sure you’re not just spooked, Varric? This place might be dredging up old memories.”

    “Spooked? Please. I’ve faced worse,” Varric retorted, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.

    Ariana couldn’t shake the unease settling in her bones. She didn’t believe in haunted houses—at least, she didn’t think she did. But there was something about this place, an energy that felt alive, sentient, and far from welcoming.

    They pressed on, the oppressive silence broken only by their cautious footsteps. Shadows seemed to shift and twist in the corners of her vision, and more than once, Ariana caught herself glancing over her shoulder. A faint whisper of wind brushed past her ear, though no windows were open, sending a chill down her spine.

    The unease turned to alarm as a vase suddenly floated off a nearby table, hovering in the air before shattering on the ground. Ariana exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Hawke.

    “That’s… unsettling,” Ariana muttered, her voice tinged with forced calm.

    “It’s only starting,” Varric said grimly, his hand instinctively resting on Bianca’s stock.

    In the library, the surreal nature of the estate deepened. Books floated from their shelves, pages fluttering like wings before returning to their places as if nothing had happened. Ariana reached out to touch one, only for it to snap back to the shelf just before her fingers made contact.

    “Well, that’s not normal,” Hawke remarked, her tone dry but her posture tense.

    “Not normal doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Ariana muttered, her unease growing with every passing moment.

    As they moved into the hallway beyond the library, two ghostly figures darted across their path, their forms humanoid but indistinct. The air grew colder, and Ariana felt a shiver run down her spine.

    “Were those… ghosts?” she asked, her voice faltering.

    “Oh no,” Varric said, his tone grim. “I think I know what’s happening.”

    “What’s happening?” Ariana pressed, her eyes narrowing.

    “The idol,” Varric replied. “It has to still be in the house.”

    “What idol?” Ariana asked, looking between Hawke and Varric.

    Hawke sighed, her expression darkening. “The red lyrium idol from the Deep Roads expedition. Bartrand kept a piece of it. We thought it was gone, but…”

    “But clearly it’s not,” Varric finished, his voice bitter.

    “And you think it’s causing all this?” Ariana asked.

    “It’s not a coincidence,” Varric said grimly. “That thing is pure poison.”

    “Then we find it,” Hawke declared, her tone resolute. “And we end this.”

    The main hall was worse than before. More vases floated ominously, their movements deliberate, as though guided by unseen hands. The air felt suffocating, heavy with something unseen and malevolent. Ariana’s breath quickened as the tension grew, her hand tightening instinctively on the hilt of her blade.

    As they neared the stairs, a low, guttural growl reverberated through the air, deep and menacing, sending chills down Ariana’s spine.

    “Is that what you’ve been hearing, Varric?” Ariana asked, her voice sharp with nerves.

    “No,” Varric replied, his tone unusually clipped, his brow furrowed in unease.

    “Oh, good then,” she muttered dryly, though her attempt at humor fell flat in the oppressive atmosphere.

    At the top of the stairs, the scene grew stranger. The dimly lit room ahead was filled with an eerie, pale glow, casting long shadows that flickered unnaturally. A woman stood in the center of the room, her wide eyes darting toward them as they entered. Fear was etched deeply into her face.

    “Are you… real?” she asked, her voice trembling as she took a hesitant step back. “You need to leave. Before he comes back.”

    “Who’s ‘he’?” Ariana asked cautiously, stepping closer but keeping her blade ready.

    The woman’s gaze darted toward the shadows, as if expecting something to materialize at any moment. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s always here. Watching. Waiting.”

    Varric stepped forward, his usually relaxed demeanor gone. His hand rested on Bianca, and his eyes bore into the woman with a mix of suspicion and urgency. “Where’s the idol?” he demanded, his voice sharp, almost harsh.

    The woman flinched, her hands trembling as she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. “There’s no idol—”

    “Don’t lie to me!” Varric’s voice rose, echoing off the walls. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The red lyrium idol. Where is it?”

    The woman’s fear deepened, her eyes darting to the door as though contemplating escape. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I don’t know anything about—”

    “You’re lying,” Varric snapped, stepping closer. His grip on Bianca tightened, and his usual charm was nowhere to be found. “People don’t just stay in a place like this for no reason. What are you hiding?”

    “Varric,” Ariana interrupted, her voice firm as she moved between him and the woman. “That’s enough. She’s terrified.”

    “She knows something, pup,” Varric retorted, his voice sharp. “And I need answers.”

    “Not like this,” Ariana said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Varric opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the floor beneath them trembled violently. The walls groaned, and a rush of cold air swept through the room, extinguishing the faint light. The woman let out a panicked cry and bolted past them, disappearing into the shadows of the hall.

    Moments later, the sound of her scream tore through the air, sharp and gut-wrenching.

    Ariana’s heart raced as they rushed to the source of the scream, descending the stairs with weapons drawn. At the bottom, they found her lifeless body sprawled across the floor, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Standing over her was a massive, spectral figure—a jagged, hulking form with glowing eyes that burned with malice.

    “Is that a… ghost golem?” Ariana asked, her voice disbelieving and tinged with dread. She drew her blades, her grip tightening. “I think I’ve made a terrible life choice today.”

    The creature let out a deafening roar, the sound reverberating through the halls. It charged, its massive arm swinging toward them with crushing force. Ariana darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow as it shattered the stone banister. Hawke leapt into action, her movements swift and precise as she landed a well-placed strike with her daggers, drawing the creature’s attention.

    “Aim for the core!” Hawke shouted, pointing to the faintly glowing center of the golem’s chest. “It’s holding the thing together!”

    Ariana moved quickly, circling around the creature while Varric fired a flurry of bolts from Bianca, each shot glowing faintly as it struck the spectral figure. The golem roared again, its form flickering as Ariana slashed at its core. The blow seemed to destabilize it, and with one final coordinated effort, she drove her blade deep into the center as Hawke struck from behind, and Varric’s bolt pierced the core. The golem let out a final, guttural scream before disintegrating into a haze of spectral light.

    As the dust settled, Varric’s gaze was drawn to a faint glimmer in the debris. His expression darkened as he knelt, his hand hovering over a jagged shard of glowing red lyrium.

    “It’s still here,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All this… because of this cursed thing.”

    “Varric,” Hawke said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Put it down.”

    “I can’t,” Varric replied, his voice strained. “You don’t understand. This… it’s what’s left of Bartrand, of everything he destroyed.” His grip on the shard tightened, his knuckles white.

    “Varric,” Ariana said gently, stepping closer. “You don’t need to carry this. Let it go. This thing ruined Bartrand and almost ruined you. Don’t let it finish the job.”

    “It’s not that simple,” Varric said, his voice breaking. “It’s all that’s left of him.”

    Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone softening. “And it’s not your burden to bear. Let me take it. I’ll keep it safe. You’ve done enough, Varric. It’s time to let it go.”

    For a long moment, Varric didn’t move. Then, with a heavy sigh, he handed the shard to Hawke, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had been lifted.

    “Fine,” he said quietly. “But if it starts whispering sweet nothings to you, Hawke, I’m taking it back.”

    Ariana let out a small laugh, the tension finally easing. “You did the right thing, Varric,” she said, giving him a reassuring nod.

    “Let’s get out of here before this place decides to collapse on us,” Hawke said, tucking the shard safely away.

    As they stepped out into the cool night air, the oppressive energy of the house seemed to release its hold. But the memory of what had transpired—and the dangers of the idol—lingered with them as they walked back into the quiet streets of Hightown.

    ~~~

    The oppressive weight of the night clung to Ariana as she stepped into her house, the door creaking closed behind her. The events at Bartrand’s estate had left a shadow over her thoughts, but that shadow deepened as she saw Cullen standing in the hall, the dim light catching on his polished armor. His expression was etched with worry, the kind that sent a pang through her chest.

    “Where have you been?” His voice was sharp, laced with tension, his hazel eyes scanning her as though confirming she was unharmed.

    Ariana blinked, her guard immediately rising. “Just down the street at a haunted house,” she replied, her sarcasm biting. “You know, because that’s normal.”

    Cullen stepped closer, his brows knitting together. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Ariana. It’s not safe out there.” His voice dropped, heavy with urgency. “You need to stay inside tonight. Please.”

    She frowned, the edge in his tone unsettling. “What’s going on? Wait, why are you fully armed?”

    He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting hers again. “Something’s brewing between Orsino and Meredith. The tension’s been building for weeks, but tonight… something feels different. Wrong.”

    Her stomach tightened, the foreboding in his words settling like a weight in her chest. “Orsino sent for Hawke and Varric tonight,” she said slowly, her voice edged with worry. “They’re with him now.”

    Cullen’s face darkened, his jaw tightening. “This won’t end well then.”

    “What won’t end well?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Cullen, you’re not telling me anything.”

    He sighed heavily, the lines on his face deepening. “Meredith has ordered the tower searched, top to bottom. Every mage, every room—she won’t stop until she’s rooted out all blood mages.”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You know what that means,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “She’ll accuse anyone who looks at her the wrong way. Innocent mages will die, Cullen. You cannot let this happen.”

    “And what do you expect me to do?” he snapped, his frustration finally surfacing. “Defy her? Risk throwing the entire Order into chaos? The Templars need leadership, Ariana, and right now—”

    “They need you!” she cut in, her voice rising. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “You know she’s gone too far. You’re the Knight-Captain, Cullen. You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late.”

    For a moment, he looked at her, his resolve wavering. The storm in his eyes reflected the weight of her words, the battle raging within him. “And then what?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with pain. “Meredith is the Knight-Commander. My duty is to her.”

    Ariana’s grip tightened, her voice trembling. “Your duty is to protect people, Cullen. To do what’s right. You know this isn’t right.”

    He stepped back, breaking her hold. His face was a mask of conflict, his voice hollow. “It’s not that simple, Ariana.”

    “It is to me,” she whispered, her heart aching as the distance between them grew. “Please, Cullen. Help me stop this. Help me save them.”

    “Ari
” His voice broke, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might relent. But then he shook his head, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry.”

    She reached for him again, her hands trembling as they rested against his chest. “We’re supposed to be in this together,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her plea. “Stand with me, please. The Templars will follow you.”

    Cullen’s gaze dropped to her hands, his jaw tightening. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—hope, perhaps, or the faintest shadow of belief in her words. But then he shook his head again, stepping back just enough for her hands to fall away.

    “I’m not sure that’s true,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with conflict. “Even if I wanted to, relieving Meredith of command would fracture the Order here in Kirkwall. It could tear us apart.”

    “You’ve seen what she’s done,” Ariana argued, her desperation clear. “You know where this path leads, Cullen. If you don’t act now, it won’t just be the mages who suffer—it will be everyone.”

    His face was a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, and a deep, aching sorrow. “And what happens when the Templars start questioning everything?” he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind. “When they see their leaders divided, when they lose faith in the Order entirely? That chaos would destroy us.”

    Ariana clenched her fists, her chest tightening with every word. “And standing by while Meredith tears this city apart won’t?”

    “I don’t have the power you think I do, Ariana,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t risk what little unity we have left.”

    Her heart ached at the resignation in his voice, at the weight he carried alone. “You’re stronger than you think, Cullen,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “But if you won’t stand with me now, then who will?”

    His silence was deafening, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own. Finally, he turned toward the door, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his decision.

    “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely audible as he opened the door. “Stay safe, Ari. Please.”

    And with that, he was gone, leaving Ariana standing alone in the suffocating silence.

    The silence that followed was deafening, her outstretched hand trembling as she let it fall to her side. Her heart pounded, her mind racing. She wanted to scream, to break something, to tear down the walls she’d built between her identities. For the first time, she had been on the verge of telling Cullen everything—who she really was, what she truly stood for—but she couldn’t.

    She let out a shuddering breath, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. Time had run out. Meredith’s madness would force her hand, and when it did, the White Wolf would no longer be a shadow in the dark. She would have to face the consequences of her double life, and Maker help her, she wasn’t sure if Cullen would still stand beside her when the truth came to light.

    With a trembling resolve, Ariana turned toward the stairs, her mind already calculating her next move. If the storm was coming, she would be ready for it—even if it cost her everything.

    ~~~

    Isabel stood at the base of the stairs, her face pale, her eyes locked on Ariana with a mixture of disbelief and fear.

    “This
 can’t be happening,” Isabel whispered, her voice trembling as if saying the words aloud might summon more devastation.

    Ariana’s chest tightened, but her expression hardened into one of resolve. “Get changed,” she ordered, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “Travel clothes. Pack light, bring Emma, and anything you absolutely need. You’re leaving the city tonight.”

    Isabel’s lips parted as if to protest, but the unyielding determination in Ariana’s eyes silenced her. This wasn’t a request—it was a command. Ariana would not risk them staying, not with chaos ripping through Kirkwall like wildfire. Isabel gave a single, tight nod before hurrying away.

    Ariana’s legs carried her up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. She had been here before, packing for flight, leaving behind pieces of herself to protect what little she could. In her room, she knelt by the bed and pulled out the chest, the latch clicking open to reveal her past. Her hands brushed over the familiar fabric of the White Wolf’s cloak. Each movement felt heavier, the weight of her decision settling like stone in her chest. She had fought for years to keep her lives separate, but now, the fragile threads holding them together were snapping.

    She donned her gear with practiced efficiency—leather bracers, reinforced boots, twin daggers strapped to her thighs. The weight of the cloak on her shoulders felt like stepping back into an old self she had tried to leave behind. The White Wolf wasn’t just a mask; it was who she truly was, even if she had tried to build something different with Cullen. But could the two lives ever truly coexist?

    As her fingers hovered over her gloves, her gaze fell to the ring on her finger, its faint blue crystal catching the dim light. Her breath hitched. This ring was a symbol of everything she wanted—a life with Cullen, a family, love, and stability. But it was a life built on lies, on half-truths and secrets.

    Her hand trembled as she slid on her gloves, covering the ring. She felt as though she were sealing away a part of herself. The Wolf demanded action, demanded she protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But the woman who loved Cullen, who dreamed of something beyond the shadows—she was still there, buried under layers of duty and necessity. She had told herself she would choose Cullen if it ever came to it. But she realized now that she had lied to herself. This was the moment, she could choose him here and now. All she needed to do was stay home. But she would never make that choice.

    The final strap clicked into place. Just as she straightened, the world seemed to heave beneath her feet. An earsplitting explosion tore through the air, the sound reverberating through her bones. She staggered, clutching the bedpost for balance as the house shook violently around her.

    When the tremors subsided, her ears rang with a high-pitched whine, but the sickening reality of what had just happened drove her forward. She bolted toward the balcony, her heart pounding.

    As she stepped outside, her breath caught in her throat. The Chantry was gone. In its place, a towering column of red light split the night sky, casting an eerie glow over Kirkwall. Flames roared hungrily, devouring the remnants of the holy building, while smoke billowed upward like a vengeful specter. The distant screams of terrified citizens reached her ears, a symphony of chaos that filled the city.

    Ariana’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the railing, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Andraste guide us
”

    This was it. The moment she had dreaded but somehow known would come. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. Whatever fragile peace she had tried to create was shattered, the life she had built with Cullen teetering on the edge of ruin.

    She turned sharply, her resolve hardening. There was no time to waste. She raced downstairs to find Isabel already in the main hall, clutching Emma tightly with a pack slung over her shoulder. The fear in Isabel’s eyes mirrored Ariana’s own, but her movements were steady, her grip on Emma firm.

    “We need to leave now,” Ariana said, her voice sharp and commanding. “The city won’t hold.” She turned to the household staff, her gaze sweeping over them. “If you want to leave, come with us. If you stay, barricade the doors. Fortify the house. It will hold if you’re careful.”

    Some nodded and began packing hastily, while others moved to fortify the estate, their faces grim but resolute.

    Ariana stepped closer to Isabel, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You stay right behind me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Close and to my left, always. Do you understand?”

    Isabel nodded, her grip tightening on Emma as the little girl buried her face in her mother’s neck. Despite the chaos, Isabel’s calm gave Ariana a sliver of reassurance.

    Ariana drew her blades as they stepped out into the fiery streets of Hightown. The world had become a battlefield—flames licked the sides of buildings, casting long, flickering shadows; shouts and cries echoed through the night, mingling with the distant clang of steel. Every sound, every movement, set Ariana’s nerves on edge.

    “We head to the Rangers,” she said, her voice unwavering as she addressed the small group that followed her. “Stay close. Stay together. Do not stray.”

    With each step, Ariana felt the weight of the White Wolf embrace her like an old friend. This was her life. The one she built through sacrifice, mistakes, and her own choices. The one where she could protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. She had just hoped that Cullen could have been a part of it.

    Whatever lay ahead, Ariana would face it as she always had—with blades in her hands and a fierce determination burning in her chest. The Wolf was ready, and this time, she wasn’t running.

    But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

    ~~~

    The group moved through Hightown as swiftly as the panicked crowds allowed. Though chaos reigned, the disarray was driven more by confusion than outright violence. Frightened citizens wandered aimlessly, shouting for loved ones or stumbling through the streets in a daze. Ariana stopped briefly to give the same advice to anyone who approached her: “Barricade yourselves in your homes. Stay safe. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

    As they descended into Lowtown, the air thickened with heat and smoke, and the tension became palpable. Here, chaos had taken a sharper edge. Shadows darted through the narrow alleys, and the clash of steel against steel echoed from the direction of the Docks. Angry shouts and cries for help pierced the night. Ariana tightened her grip on her daggers, her pulse quickening as her group pressed on.

    A familiar voice cut through the noise. “Wolf!”

    She turned sharply, relief flooding through her as Riley and three other Rangers—Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto—approached, flanked by six more. Their armor bore fresh scuffs, their weapons drawn and ready. Riley’s familiar voice brought a rare moment of reassurance.

    “Riley,” Ariana said, her tone brisk but grateful. “You’re a sight. I need ships. Do we have any docked and ready?”

    Riley nodded but hesitated, her expression grim. “We do, Wolf, but there’s more.” She glanced at Valentina before meeting Ariana’s gaze. “Meredith has invoked the Right of Annulment.”

    The words hit Ariana like a blow to the chest, momentarily knocking the air from her lungs. Her mind reeled, the full weight of the declaration crashing over her. It was worse than she had feared. The Templars would purge the Circle, innocent and guilty alike, leaving nothing but blood and ash in their wake.

    “Your orders, Wolf,” Riley said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing around them.

    Ariana straightened, shoving her shock and despair aside. There was no time to waste. “Lamberto,” she said firmly, turning to the broad-shouldered Ranger. “Take a squad and escort this group to the docks. Get them on the ships. Defend the docks with your life if you have to. Reinforcements will join you as soon as possible.”

    “By your order, Wolf,” Lamberto replied, his tone steady and resolute. He motioned to his team, who began forming up with swift, practiced precision.

    Isabel stepped forward, clutching Emma tightly, her face pale but determined. “Ariana,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re not coming with us?”

    Ariana’s throat tightened, but she shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, her voice softening as she pulled Isabel and Emma into a brief but fierce embrace. “I’ll find you. I swear it.” She knelt to meet Emma’s wide-eyed gaze, her heart clenching. “Stay with your mother, alright? She’ll keep you safe.”

    Emma nodded solemnly, her small hands gripping Ariana’s cloak. “You’ll come back, right?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    “Always,” Ariana said firmly, brushing a strand of hair from Emma’s face. “Be brave, my little cub.”

    She straightened and met Isabel’s gaze. “Go. Stay safe. Lamberto will protect you.”

    Isabel hesitated, her eyes filled with unspoken fears, but she nodded. “You too,” she whispered before following Lamberto and the others as they disappeared into the smoke-filled streets.

    Ariana turned back to Riley, Valentina, and Linnea, her voice hardening. “We’re heading to the warehouse. The Rangers need their orders, and I need to know who’s still standing.” Without waiting for a response, she raised her horn and blew a sharp, commanding blast. The call echoed through the streets, summoning the scattered Rangers.

    By the time they reached the warehouse, it was a hive of activity. Rangers moved with focused urgency, their sharp efficiency a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Scouts poured in, delivering reports, while others prepped supplies and coordinated escape routes. Despite the tension, the group operated like a well-oiled machine, their discipline forged through years of shared battles.

    Ariana climbed onto a crate at the center of the room, her voice cutting through the din as she addressed the assembled Rangers. “Templars are hunting mages,” she began, her tone steady but commanding. “And frightened mages will turn to blood magic if they think there’s no way out. We’re going to give them one. Our job is to find them and get them to the docks. No mage gets left behind.”

    Her gaze swept over the crowd, settling on Linnea. “Spread the word. Every scout we have is to search the streets, the slums, and Darktown. Make sure the mages know this is their chance. Escort them if necessary, and get them to the ships.”

    Linnea nodded sharply, already signaling to her scouts to prepare.

    Riley stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “And the Templars?” she asked, her voice carrying a weight that made the room fall silent.

    Ariana’s expression darkened, and her response was measured but firm. “Incapacitate them if you must. Reason with them if you think they’ll listen. But if it comes down to it
” She hesitated, the gravity of her next words heavy in her chest. “Kill only as a last resort. We don’t need more bloodshed, but we protect our own. And
” Her voice softened, her gaze dropping for a moment. “If any of you find Michael, I need to know he’s safe.”

    Linnea nodded, her hand resting on the pommel of her blade. “What’s our path, Wolf?”

    “Start in Lowtown and Darktown,” Ariana replied without hesitation. “We’ll clear the streets and move toward the Gallows. Scouts, run constant communication between groups—no one gets left in the dark.”

    Valentina’s voice rang out, sharp and resolute. “We’ll get it done, Wolf. Whatever it takes.”

    The Rangers echoed her, their unified response reverberating through the room: “By your order, Wolf.”

    The group began to disperse, each Ranger moving with purpose into the night. Only Riley lingered, her gaze steady as she studied Ariana.

    “And you?” Riley asked quietly, her concern evident.

    “I’ll find where I’m needed most,” Ariana said, adjusting her cloak with calm resolve. “But first, I need to find Hawke and Varric. Orsino sent for them earlier. I need to know what’s happening.”

    Riley hesitated, then nodded, her voice softening. “Don’t get dead, Wolf.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile. “Not tonight.”

    As Riley led her squad into the fray, Ariana stood for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on her. She pulled her hood over her head, the White Wolf stepping fully into the chaos. Kirkwall was burning, and her path was clear: protect those who could not protect themselves, no matter the cost.

    Tonight, the city was a battlefield, and she would fight until her last breath.

    ~~~

    Ariana pulled her hood up, her fingers brushing over the mask as she secured it in place. The legend of the White Wolf wouldn’t falter tonight—not while there were lives to save. Yet each step through Kirkwall’s burning streets was a bitter reminder of what she stood to lose. Beneath her gloves, the ring on her finger burned like a brand, the weight of its promise a cruel contrast to the reality unfolding around her.

    This isn’t how I wanted this to end, Cullen. But it’s who I am. She tried to push the thought aside, but it clung to her, heavy and unrelenting.

    Her heart clenched as her mind turned to him again, that fragile hope still flickering within her. Please let him see what she’s doing. Please let him stand with me. But doubt whispered insidiously. Cullen was bound by duty and oaths she couldn’t untangle him from—not even for her.

    The streets were chaos incarnate, filled with fire and desperation. Mages ran in terror, their cries blending with the clash of steel as Templars bore down on them. Ariana moved like a shadow, striking swiftly and precisely. She disarmed and incapacitated where she could, her blades flashing in the firelight. But when cornered, she had no choice but to end a life, and each time she did, it carved a deeper scar into her soul.

    “Do not fight,” she urged trembling mages whenever she reached them. Her voice was steady, a beacon of calm in the chaos. “Follow my Rangers. Trust us. We’ll get you to safety.”

    Most listened, their desperation outweighing fear. But Ariana couldn’t save everyone. Twice she arrived too late, finding mages who had succumbed to blood magic, their bodies grotesque and twisted, their minds lost to demons. She fought beside the very Templars she despised to put them down, the White Wolf forced to be their ally in those fleeting, harrowing moments.

    Even then, she heard whispers: “The White Wolf is here. Beware.”

    Her teeth clenched as she muttered bitterly, “I just saved you,” before vanishing into the next alley.

    The city seemed to pulse with its own malevolence, every corner hiding new horrors. Finally, she spotted familiar figures in the distance. “Hawke!” she called, relief rushing through her as she sprinted toward them.

    Hawke turned, her usual smirk replaced by a somber expression. Varric stood at her side, crossbow at the ready. “Ariana,” Hawke said, her voice heavy.

    “What happened?” Ariana demanded. “No—how did this happen?”

    Varric was the one to answer, his voice uncharacteristically grim. “Anders blew up the Chantry.” His words hung in the air, stark and cold. “He thought it’d spark a war.”

    “And he was right,” Hawke added quietly, guilt shadowing her features.

    Ariana’s stomach twisted. “Anders
?” She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “There’s no time. The Rangers are moving mages to the docks. If you find anyone, send them there.”

    Hawke nodded. “We’re heading to the Gallows. Meredith’s out for blood, and we’re at the top of her list.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. “Be careful, Champion,” she said softly. “I’ll get there when I can.”

    Hawke’s smirk returned briefly, though it lacked its usual bite. “You too, Wolf.”

    Ariana gave a brief nod before vanishing back into the shadows.

    In Lowtown, the chaos escalated. Flames licked at the edges of wooden structures, and the air was thick with smoke. Then she heard it: the sound of steel striking stone, and voices raised in fury. She followed the noise to find a group of mages cornered in a narrow alley by six Templars.

    She acted without hesitation, raising her horn to her lips and blowing a sharp, commanding note. The sound echoed through the streets, breaking the Templars’ focus just long enough. Ariana leapt into the fray, landing between the mages and their pursuers.

    “Do not fight,” she whispered to the mages over her shoulder. “I’ll protect you.”

    The Templars advanced, their blades gleaming in the firelight. Six against one.

    But before the first blow was struck, one of the Templars faltered. “I
 I can’t do this anymore,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He stepped away from his comrades, his sword lowering. “I’ll stand with you, if you’ll let me.”

    Ariana’s sharp gaze softened. “Thank you,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Stay with the mages. Protect them.”

    The other Templars hesitated, their formation breaking. Ariana seized the opportunity, her movements swift and deadly. Within moments, two of them were disarmed and unconscious.

    Then, a voice cut through the chaos—a voice she knew too well.

    “Stop! Surrender yourselves!”

    Her blood turned to ice as she turned to face him. Cullen stood at the end of the alley, flanked by three more Templars. His armor gleamed in the flickering light, and his expression was grim, resolute.

    “The Right of Annulment has been invoked,” he declared, his voice cold and distant. “Anyone aiding the mages will be arrested. Even you, ‘White Wolf.’”

    The words struck her like a physical blow. Her breath caught, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to blur. Cullen


    He had chosen the Order. He had chosen Meredith. Her heart cracked, the weight of betrayal crashing down on her.

    Their eyes met, and she saw the conflict in his gaze, the doubt he tried so hard to suppress. But it wasn’t enough. Not now.

    The Templars advanced again, and Ariana moved on instinct. She fought like a whirlwind, incapacitating another enemy with precise, controlled strikes. Her blades flashed, her every move deliberate—no deaths, not even now.

    And Cullen
 he watched her, his brow furrowed. Her fighting style was familiar, but the chaos of the moment left him unable to place it.

    Reinforcements arrived in the form of her Rangers, their sudden appearance shifting the tide. “Go, Wolf!” one of them shouted. “We’ll cover you!”

    She hesitated, her gaze flickering to Cullen once more. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, a thousand unspoken words passed between them—love, betrayal, heartbreak, and resolve.

    Ariana turned away, her voice sharp but quiet as she addressed the mages. “Follow me.”

    With a final glance at Cullen, she disappeared into the shadows, leading the mages to safety as her heart shattered in her chest.

    ~~~

    Ariana led the group of mages to the docks, her steps unwavering even as exhaustion clawed at her. The cries of chaos echoed behind her, the city’s flames painting the sky in hues of red and orange. The mages clung to one another as they followed her, their trust evident despite the fear etched into their faces.

    As they reached the pier, Ariana saw Riley standing near the edge, her posture steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. She moved toward her, her steps purposeful but heavy with emotion.

    “Status?” Ariana asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her.

    “Two ships have already left, full,” Riley replied briskly. “Yours will be the last. Isabel and Emma are safe—they’ve already departed. Everyone is headed for Redcliffe.”

    At the mention of Isabel and Emma, Ariana’s breath hitched slightly, her expression softening. Relief flickered through her, but it was fleeting, buried beneath the weight of everything else. “Good,” she said curtly, her tone betraying the strain she carried.

    Riley’s gaze shifted to the Templar who stood beside Ariana, his armor dented but his resolve clear. “New recruit, Wolf?” she asked, her tone edged with dry humor.

    Ariana nodded. “Someone who wants to help,” she said, glancing at the Templar. Then, addressing him directly, she added, “Stay here. More mages are being brought to this ship. You’ll leave with them—watch over and protect them.”

    The Templar gave a sharp nod. “Of course.”

    Riley smirked faintly, her tone light despite the gravity of the moment. “Welcome to the Rangers, kid. You’ll find some of your fellow former Templars already by the ship.”

    Riley turned her attention back to Ariana, her expression softening. “Are you alright?” she asked, her concern evident.

    “I’m fine,” Ariana replied curtly, her tone clipped. She rolled out her neck and adjusted her blades, trying to shake off the heaviness pressing down on her. “Just tired.” Then, after a pause, she asked, “Any sign of Michael yet?”

    The Templar stiffened slightly at the name, then turned back to Ariana. “Ser Michael Trevelyan? He was still in the Gallows when all this began,” he said, his voice hesitant. “He’s a capable warrior. I’m sure he’s alright.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. She wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at her. “Thank you,” she said quietly, though her mind raced.

    “As soon as this last group clears, we head for the Gallows,” she said firmly, her voice sharpening with determination. “Hawke will need help there. And I need to find Michael.”

    Minutes later, the final groups of mages began arriving, escorted by Rangers whose faces bore the weariness of battle. Despite their exhaustion, they moved with purpose, guiding the mages to the ship. Ariana oversaw every detail, ensuring no one was left behind. Each mage she saw safely aboard was another weight lifted, though it did little to ease the ache in her heart.

    “Are all Rangers accounted for?” she asked Riley once the ship was nearly ready to depart.

    “With the ones that just arrived, yes,” Riley confirmed.

    Ariana nodded, her voice steady but tinged with finality. “Good. I need fifteen volunteers to stay behind with me. Everyone else, head for Ferelden with the mages. We’ll regroup at the manor when this is over.”

    “I’m staying,” Riley said immediately, stepping forward with her usual confidence. “Can’t let you get yourself killed, Wolf. Somebody’s gotta keep you in line.”

    “So are we,” Valentina said, stepping into view with Linnea and Lamberto at her side.

    Ariana allowed herself a faint smirk despite the heaviness in her chest. “Very well. Let’s hope you’re all up for the task.”

    The volunteers stepped forward one by one, a mix of Rangers she had fought alongside for years and newer recruits whose determination shone in their eyes. As the final ship set sail, Ariana turned to the remaining Rangers. Her voice was steady, but her words carried a fire that burned brighter than the city behind her.

    “We head for the Gallows now,” she said, her tone resolute. “Let’s carve a path.”

    As they boarded a small boat to cross the harbor, Ariana sat silently at the prow, her hood pulled low against the chill. There was no room for doubt, no time for grief. Every choice she’d made, every life saved, had led her here. If Cullen wouldn’t fight for justice, she would do it alone. She would not falter, not now. The rhythmic splash of oars against water did little to calm her racing thoughts. The image of Cullen’s face—his hardened expression as he invoked the Right of Annulment—played on a loop in her mind. 

    *The Right of Annulment has been invoked. Even you, White Wolf.* 

    The words struck like a dagger each time they echoed in her mind, the betrayal cutting deeper than she’d thought possible. She had believed in him, trusted that he would do what was right, that he would stand against Meredith when the time came. But he hadn’t. He had chosen duty over justice. Over her. Had she been a fool to believe he could stand against Meredith? To think that love could bridge the chasm between who he was and who she needed him to be?”

    Her fists clenched at her sides, her gloved fingers brushing against the ring hidden beneath the fabric. The weight of it felt unbearable now—a promise she wasn’t sure either of them could keep anymore.

    She had hidden the White Wolf from him, told herself it was to protect him, but now she wondered if it had only widened the distance between them. Could he have stood with her if she had been honest? Or would he have walked away even sooner? She wanted to believe he would come to his senses. That the man she loved would break free from the chains of duty and stand beside her.

    And yet, beneath the heartbreak, anger simmered. Anger at Meredith, at the Chantry for failing to act before things had escalated this far. Anger at Cullen for his inaction, for his inability to defy the Order. And anger at herself—for letting the White Wolf sit idly by for so long, for believing she could balance both halves of her life without breaking something.

    Riley’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Wolf? We’re almost there.”

    Ariana glanced back at the Rangers, their faces set with determination. They believed in her. They had always believed in her. And that, more than anything, reminded her of who she was. The White Wolf wasn’t just a mask—it was a promise. A promise to protect, to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, no matter the cost.

    As the boat neared the Gallows, the fires of Kirkwall reflected in the water, casting eerie shadows across their faces. Ariana pulled her hood tighter and adjusted her blades. The battle wasn’t over yet. And tonight, the White Wolf would not falter.

  • Chapter 46 – A Promise in the Dark

    5 Harvestmere 9:35 – 16 Wintermarch 9:36

    Cullen sat at his desk, carefully weighing each word as he drafted the note. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but his focus remained steady. He leaned back, tapping the pen against his chin as he tried to recall the memory he cherished most vividly. It had been years, but the details were etched in his mind like a finely drawn map—her laughter echoing against the ruins, the sunlight catching in her hair, the sound of sparring swords mingling with the distant crash of waves.

    Ari,

    Meet me by the ruins on the cliffs at dawn tomorrow. Bring whatever you might need for the day—and perhaps be ready for anything.

    I’ll be waiting.

    —Cullen

    He read the note over again, smiling faintly before carefully folding it. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining her expression when she read it. Would she remember that day near Lake Calenhad? Would it bring her the same comfort it brought him?

    Then, as quickly as the warmth settled over him, doubt crept in. Cullen’s hand lingered on the parchment. Was this enough? Could a simple gesture—an echo of the past—bridge the growing gap between them? He’d seen her struggle, the weight she carried, and he wondered if this memory held the same meaning for her as it did for him. Still, he pushed the thought aside. It doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be real.

    He grabbed his cloak and made his way to Hightown, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he navigated the quiet streets. The sky was deepening into twilight, and the distant hum of the city felt muted, almost reverent.

    When he reached the Trevelyan estate, Isabel greeted him at the door, her usual knowing smirk firmly in place.

    “Cullen, are you here for Ariana?” Isabel asked, her tone teasing as her green eyes sparkled with curiosity.

    “Not tonight,” Cullen replied, holding out the folded note. “Can you leave this on her bed? It’s a surprise for tomorrow.”

    Isabel raised an eyebrow as she took the note, her expression shifting slightly. “A surprise, you say? For her birthday?”

    Cullen hesitated, his tone softening. “It’s
 a reminder. Of a simpler time.”

    Isabel studied him for a moment, her smirk fading into something gentler. “A simpler time, hmm?” she said, her voice tinged with both amusement and understanding. “You know, Cullen, she might not say it, but she’ll appreciate the effort. She always does.”

    He smiled at that, grateful for her reassurance. “Thank you, Isabel.”

    She nodded, her smirk returning as she stepped back. “Now, go get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it for whatever you’re planning.”

    The ruins the next morning were everything Cullen had hoped for—quiet, timeless, and serene. The faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs mingled with the distant calls of seabirds. A cool breeze carried the scent of salt and damp stone, and the rising sun painted the sky in shades of pink and orange.

    Cullen had prepared everything: the training swords leaned against a moss-covered pillar, a basket of food rested on a nearby stone, and a small stack of books sat carefully wrapped in cloth. He glanced toward the horizon, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.

    It wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t need to be. It was a memory brought to life, a gift meant to remind her of the bond they’d forged long ago—and perhaps, to remind her of the man who would stand beside her through whatever lay ahead.

    ~~~

    The words in the note made Ariana’s heart skip a beat. She recognized them instantly, the memory flooding back with startling clarity. That first birthday near Lake Calenhad had been one of the happiest days of her life—a day filled with laughter, light, and the ease of simply being together. She smiled to herself, tucking the note into her pocket. It was such a Cullen thing to do—to remember something so small yet so meaningful. It reminded her of the man she fell in love with, the man who still made her heart ache with both joy and longing.

    She left the estate before dawn, wrapping herself in a cloak against the morning chill. The streets of Kirkwall were silent, the faint glow of lanterns guiding her steps as she made her way toward the cliffs. As she approached the ruins, the sight of the two training swords leaning against the pillar brought a wave of nostalgia so powerful it stole her breath. She paused, her gloved hand brushing the rough stone of the pillar, the memory of that long-ago day playing vividly in her mind.

    Her eyes swept the ruins, searching for him. Cullen was nowhere to be seen, but she felt his presence lingering in the air, like a familiar warmth.

    A faint shift of rocks to her left caught her attention. She smiled to herself, pretending not to notice.

    When Cullen lunged from behind the pillar, wrapping his arms around her, she let out a surprised laugh, her heart leaping as she turned in his embrace to face him.

    “You remembered,” she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion as she leaned up to kiss him.

    “I’ve never forgotten,” he replied, his voice warm and steady, his hazel eyes filled with affection. He cradled the back of her head, holding her close as if anchoring himself in the moment. Then, with a playful grin, he stepped back, bending to grab the training swords. Tossing one to her, he said, “Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

    Ariana caught the sword with practiced ease, her eyebrow arching. “Are you sure you want to do this, Knight-Captain?”

    “Are you ready to be bested, Lady Trevelyan?” Cullen retorted with a smirk, his playful challenge setting her heart alight.

    They sparred as the sun rose higher, its golden rays casting long shadows across the ruins. The clash of wood against wood echoed in the crisp morning air, mingling with the distant sound of waves. Ariana moved like water, her strikes fluid and precise, her footwork light and agile. Cullen was relentless, each strike carrying the weight of his strength, his focus unwavering.

    Their laughter punctuated the sparring match, each teasing the other between breaths. Ariana’s breath came in quick bursts as she dodged another heavy strike, her grin wide. “You’ve gotten better,” she remarked, feinting to the left before spinning to tap his shoulder with her sword. “Maybe I’ve taught you too much.”

    Cullen laughed, breathless, his stance steady as he adjusted. “And you’ve gotten faster,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow.

    They continued, each round more intense than the last, neither willing to yield. Finally, after a particularly swift exchange, they called a draw, collapsing onto the grass side by side. Their laughter mingled with the sound of the waves crashing far below, the warmth of their shared moment dispelling the coolness of the morning air.

    “I’m impressed, Knight-Captain,” Ariana teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “Not many can keep me on my toes.”

    “So it seems,” Cullen replied, his tone filled with quiet admiration. He turned his head toward her, his gaze softening. “You realize just how remarkable you are, don’t you?”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his gaze. She searched for the right words, her emotions tangling in her throat. “You always bring out the best in me,” she managed quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show.

    Cullen reached over, his fingers brushing against hers as he smiled. “Then I’ll make sure you never forget how extraordinary you are,” he said softly.

    Ariana felt her heart swell, her love for him an ache and a comfort all at once. Beneath the rising sun, surrounded by the ruins that carried echoes of their past, she let herself believe, even if only for a moment, that the weight of their world could be lifted.

    ~~~

    After sharing the food he had packed, Cullen pulled out one of the books, opening it to a marked page. He began to read aloud, his voice steady and calm as he recounted the tale of an Elvhen warrior who defied impossible odds. Ariana rested her head on his lap, her eyes half-closed as she listened, a soft smile playing on her lips.

    “Are you sure we can’t run away?” she murmured, her voice wistful, barely louder than the whisper of the waves below. “I could spend the rest of my life like this.”

    “Someday, Ari. I promise,” Cullen replied, his fingers gently combing through her hair. His words were tender but resolute, a vow spoken as much to himself as to her.

    The sun dipped lower as the day wore on, casting the ruins in warm golden hues. As they sat together, watching the ships in the harbor, Cullen couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up here. He had met the woman in his arms, the love of his life, six years ago. At that time, she was just a girl running away from a fate that had been decided for her, but she had been strong enough to carve her own path. More importantly, she had chosen to walk that path with him all those years ago—she had chosen him.

    Cullen knew full well that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t by her side. The weight of his unspoken thoughts pressed against his chest, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. The words escaped him before he had fully thought them through.

    “Ari,” he began softly, his voice almost hesitant. She looked up, her hazel-green eyes bright with curiosity. Cullen exhaled, his golden eyes searching hers as if seeking strength. “Marry me,” he said, the words firm but soft, a quiet plea. “Marry me, Ari. Please.”

    Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth as tears began to spill over.

    He pulled back slightly, reaching into the pocket of his coat with a faintly nervous breath. “I—” Cullen paused, his voice catching as he revealed the small, simple ring resting in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t ostentatious, but its design held a quiet elegance: the centerpiece was a sapphire, its surface polished to a brilliant gleam, set within a starburst pattern. The star was surrounded by delicate engravings of vines and leaves, their intricate curves etched with painstaking precision. The blue stones that flanked the star glinted like tiny shards of sky, catching the light and drawing the eye to the center.

    “The star
” Cullen began softly, his thumb brushing over the engraved lines, “I thought maybe you could follow it one more time.”

    The ring wasn’t grand or extravagant—it was a reflection of him: simple, steady, and deeply meaningful. It was a token of the life they dreamed of, a life beyond the shadows of Kirkwall and the burdens they both carried.

    For a moment, time seemed to still. Cullen’s heart pounded as he watched Ariana’s eyes widen, the shock flickering across her face like the first ripple in still water. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips trembling slightly as if the words caught in her throat.

    Her hands moved instinctively, brushing over the ring he held as if to confirm its existence. Cullen caught the faint hitch in her breath, saw the way her gaze softened even as her brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

    When her eyes finally met his, they were shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips parted again, this time curving into a radiant smile that seemed to light up the dimming sky. He felt her fingers tremble as they wrapped around his, her grip tightening as if grounding herself in this moment.

    “You
 you mean it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying both awe and vulnerability.

    Cullen nodded, his voice steady but low. “I’ve never been more certain of anything, Ari.”

    Her laughter came softly, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of her joy and relief. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, her smile widening. “Yes, Cullen. Of course, yes.”

    Relief coursed through him, and as she threw her arms around his neck, he pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her embrace and the steady beat of her heart against his own. He felt her tears dampen his collar as she buried her face into his shoulder, but he knew they weren’t born of sadness. They sat like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, with the cliffs and sea as their silent witnesses.

    Cullen pulled back just enough, taking her hand and gently took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. The delicate craftsmanship caught the fading light, a tangible symbol of everything they had shared, of the quiet strength that bound them together. She traced the star with her thumb, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with love and wonder.

    As they sat in each other’s arms, staring out over the cliffs where the horizon kissed the sea, Cullen’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to the shadows that loomed over their lives. Meredith, the Templar Order, the weight of duty—they were ever-present, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But as he felt the steady beat of Ariana’s heart against his own, he knew this was a battle he would fight. For her. For them.

    “She won’t let us, will she?” Ariana’s voice broke through the silence, quiet but heavy with unspoken fears.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened as he exhaled slowly, the truth clawing at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. His arms tightened protectively around her. “But I won’t let her stop us—not forever.”

    Meredith’s shadow loomed over every facet of his life, her grip relentless. He had endured her commands, her oppressive methods, her ability to instill fear in others—all in the name of duty. But this? This was a line she would not cross. Not for him. Not for them. Ariana was his light, his home, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that he would not let Meredith take that away.

    He pressed a kiss to the top of Ariana’s head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You will be my wife, Ari,” he said, the words a quiet promise. “No one—not Meredith, not the Order—no one will come between us.”

    The ring was more than just a promise—it was his vow that no matter what the future held, nothing would come between them. Not Meredith. Not the Order. Nothing.

    For tonight, they allowed themselves to simply exist in this moment, the future awaiting them—uncertain but no longer so daunting.

    ~~~

    Cullen couldn’t sleep that night. Despite the peace of the room and the warmth of Ariana curled against him, his thoughts churned ceaselessly. There had been a small part of him—a cowardly, unworthy part—that had expected her to say no. Maybe even hoped she would. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her—Maker knew he wanted her more than anything. But she was nobility, and he was
 who he was. 

    She deserved more than he could give her. A part of him had whispered that this wasn’t her path, that someone like Frederick, someone of her standing, might make her life easier. Safer. Meredith’s fixation on Ariana as a “distraction” had already complicated her life. What would Meredith do now, knowing they were engaged? 

    He glanced down at her, sleeping peacefully on his chest. Her dark hair spilled over his shoulder, and her hand rested lightly on his heart, the ring he had given her catching the faint moonlight. The sight of her eased his fears, as it always did, silencing the storm in his mind—if only for a moment. 

    She had said yes without hesitation, without doubt. And in truth, he had never doubted her love for him. Whenever she said it, he felt the truth of it in her words, in her actions. But still
 was it enough? Did he need to be the one to remember who she was, what she had been born into? Did it matter? 

    He stared at the ring, the tiny sapphire catching the faint light. What if I fail her? The thought clawed at him, unrelenting. He had failed so many—mages, colleagues, himself. How could he be enough for someone like Ariana? She deserved a life free of shadows, of chains. Could he truly give her that?

    Without realizing it, his fingers traced lazy circles over her hand, lingering on the delicate ring now gracing her finger. The star engraving and blue crystal had been chosen with care, something simple yet meaningful, like her. But as much as he wanted to believe it was perfect, the doubts remained. 

    “You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Ariana’s sleepy voice cut through his thoughts, soft and tinged with amusement. 

    Cullen let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head at himself. “One of us has to,” he teased, though his voice held a hint of guilt. 

    Ariana propped herself up slightly, her hazel-green eyes catching his in the faint light. “Do you
 regret it?” she asked, her tone low and hesitant, as though unsure she truly wanted the answer. 

    “Maker, Ari
 no. Never.” He squeezed her hand, willing her to feel the sincerity in his words. “You’re the only thing in my life I’ve ever been sure of. Even when I didn’t know why, I knew I needed you. It’s just
” His voice faltered as his fingers returned to tracing the ring. 

    “It’s perfect, Cullen,” she said, her voice steadier now. She sat up slightly, leaning on her elbow to look at him. “I don’t know yet how to figure out everything I am or everything I need to be. But this?” She gestured toward the ring, her lips curving into a soft smile. “This is one of the few things I’m certain of. Who I am, who I’m meant to be—it’s here, with you.” 

    Her words struck something deep within him, unraveling the knot of worry he had carried since he first slipped the ring onto her finger. 

    “It reminds me,” she continued, her voice growing gentler, “that you’re the only person who’s ever truly seen me. You’ve always understood me, even when I couldn’t understand myself. Don’t overthink this, Cullen. I never needed or wanted anything grand or extravagant. I would never wear it if it was. This
 is the most like myself I’ve felt in a long time.” 

    She leaned in, brushing her lips against his, and he responded instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. The kiss was slow and reassuring, a silent promise exchanged between them. 

    As she settled against him again, her head resting on his shoulder, Cullen felt the doubts start to fade. She was right. She had chosen him—not the life she was born into, not some safer, more predictable path. She had left that behind, ran from it, even. She had stayed in Ferelden during the Blight for him, spent years searching for him. 

    And she had said yes to him.

    He exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest beginning to lift. She had chosen him—not out of obligation, not because it was easy, but because she wanted him, flaws and all. If she can see something worth holding onto, then I’ll fight for us. Always. Cullen pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, his voice firm as he murmured, “I’ll protect this, Ari. I’ll protect us. No matter what.”

    In the quiet of the night, with her steady breaths against his chest, Cullen allowed himself to believe that they could make it work. For now, that belief was enough.

    ~~~

    Cullen woke first, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Ariana, in a rare moment of peace, was still fast asleep, her features relaxed and her breathing steady. He smiled, taking a moment to commit the sight to memory before slipping out of bed without disturbing her. 

    As he made his way down the stairs, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and bread baking greeted him. He chuckled quietly to himself, already guessing what scene awaited him in the kitchen. 

    Sure enough, Emma was perched on the counter, her tiny hands buried in a bowl of flour, streaks of white powder covering her face, her dress, and—somehow—the floor around her. Isabel was nearby, scolding gently but making no real effort to stop the chaos. 

    The moment Emma saw Cullen, she let out a delighted squeal, holding her arms out toward him. “Cullen! You’re here! You want flour?” 

    Cullen laughed, “I’d prefer the bread” he said stepping forward to scoop the flour-covered toddler into his arms. She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, promptly transferring the flour onto his shirt. 

    “Would you stop encouraging the mess she’s making, Cullen,” Isabel teased, walking over with a towel in hand to clean off Emma—and now Cullen. 

    “It’s alright, Isabel,” he said with a grin, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before she could swat him away. “I still need to change anyway.” 

    Isabel raised an eyebrow, clearly noting the unshakable smile on his face. “Well
 what’s this then? Someone is in a particularly good mood this morning.” 

    Cullen hesitated for a moment, then sat down at the kitchen table, settling Emma onto his lap. He looked back at Isabel, his expression softening. “I asked her to marry me, Isabel.” 

    Isabel froze for a moment, the towel in her hand stilling as her sharp green eyes fixed on him. 

    “She said yes,” Cullen added, the memory of the night before flooding his mind—the way Ariana’s eyes had lit up, the joy in her voice, the feel of her in his arms as she said the words he hadn’t dared to dream of. His smile widened at the thought, uncontainable.

    Isabel’s smile didn’t fully reach her eyes. She set the towel down deliberately, her movements slower than usual. Cullen caught the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers lingered on the edge of the table. It wasn’t hesitation born of surprise; it was something deeper, heavier.

    “Well, of course, she did,” Isabel said, her tone light but carrying a noticeable edge that didn’t escape him. “That girl is in love with you.” 

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, her response not what he had expected. “But?” he asked, suddenly less sure of himself. 

    Isabel’s gaze softened, but her voice carried a quiet steel. “You’ve got to understand, Cullen. Ariana’s been through storms most of us wouldn’t survive. She’ll carry that weight alone, even if it breaks her. Not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she’s trying to protect you from it. That’s who she is.”

    She paused, her gaze shifting between Cullen and Emma as though carefully choosing her words. “Can you, Cullen, be happy knowing that? Knowing that you may never find out what happened to her during her time in Ferelden? Can you stand by her even then?” 

    Cullen’s chest tightened. He had always known Ariana carried burdens she didn’t share, but now he felt the full gravity of that truth. There were moments—fleeting, but undeniable—when he caught her staring at nothing, her gaze distant, shadowed. He had told himself it wasn’t his place to pry, that love meant patience.

    But was patience enough? He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing absently over Emma’s tiny hand. He now he wondered if he had underestimated the depths of what she carried. Could he be what Ariana needed if he didn’t even know what haunted her? Would love alone be enough to banish those shadows? Or would they always linger, just out of reach?

    His chest tightened as Isabel’s words echoed in his mind. *What happened to her during her time in Ferelden?* There was something more there, something Isabel knew and struggled not to reveal. 

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, her words settling like a weight in his chest. “We all have secrets, Isabel,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm.

    Her sharp green eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable as she studied him. “Do you?” she asked, her tone gentle but probing, as though she hadn’t fully expected that answer.

    Cullen exhaled, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Kinloch Hold,” he began softly, the name alone carrying a shadow that darkened his features. His fingers instinctively clenched against Emma’s small hand before he forced himself to relax. “No one can imagine what it’s like for a tower to fall to abominations.” His voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “I wouldn’t be here if not for the Hero of Ferelden.”

    Isabel’s sharp gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. “And you’ve never told her?”

    He shook his head, his golden eyes steady but shadowed. “Some things are too heavy to place on someone else’s shoulders,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost resigned. “Ariana may not know everything about my past, but she’s never demanded I share it. She accepts me as I am, without conditions.”

    There was a beat of silence before Isabel leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I see,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a thread of something unspoken. “Maybe that’s why it works between you two. You both carry scars, but you don’t demand the other show them.”

    As Cullen mulled over Isabel’s words, Emma tugged on his sleeve, her small voice breaking through the weight of the moment. “Cullen, why does your shirt smell like bread?” she asked, tilting her head in earnest curiosity.

    He blinked, momentarily startled before a soft laugh escaped him. “Because someone,” he said, booping her on the nose, “decided to cover me in flour.”

    Emma giggled, clapping her hands, the sound bright and unburdened. Cullen glanced at Isabel, who watched the exchange with a faint smile, her guarded expression softening briefly.

    Isabel’s demeanor shifted instantly, her usual smirk returning. “Well, my child,” she said, walking over to Ariana. “I hear there’s something you need to tell me
” 

    Ariana looked between them, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding as her gaze landed on Cullen. A smile played on her lips, and Cullen couldn’t help but mirror it. 

    Before Isabel could respond, soft footsteps on the stairs drew their attention. Ariana appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She paused, her gaze flicking between them as she rubbed her eyes. The subtle glint of the ring on her finger caught Isabel’s sharp gaze, and her expression softened.

    “Well, my child,” Isabel said, her tone light but fond, “I hear there’s something you need to tell me.”

    Ariana blinked, her hand brushing over the ring as if suddenly aware of it. Her lips curved into a soft smile. “You’ve heard, then,” she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

    Isabel stepped closer, gently taking Ariana’s hand and tilting it slightly to catch the light. Her sharp green eyes flicked to Cullen, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said simply, her voice unusually soft. “It’s you.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened, her words settling over him like a soothing balm. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear it, the quiet validation grounding him in his decision.

    Ariana’s smile grew, her eyes glimmering with unspoken gratitude as she gently squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Thank you,” she said softly, the weight of the moment shared between them.

    Isabel’s usual smirk returned, and she stepped back, waving a hand toward the kitchen. “Now, go on. Sit down before Emma destroys what’s left of breakfast. Maker knows that child gets away with far too much.”

    Ariana laughed, the sound light and easy as she moved to Cullen’s side, her hand slipping into his. Cullen felt the tension in his chest ease further, the quiet intimacy of the moment strengthening his resolve.

    ~~~

    Little could temper Ariana’s happiness at being engaged to Cullen. The last time she had been engaged, the feeling had been suffocating—a cage disguised as a promise. She hadn’t realized just how different it would feel to be engaged to someone she truly loved. Now, she found herself smiling at the smallest things, often without realizing it.

    Hawke and Varric teased her mercilessly, their banter relentless. Even the Rangers weren’t above joining in—Riley, Valentina, and Linnea all took turns pointing out her uncharacteristic cheerfulness. If she were honest, Ariana didn’t mind the teasing. It felt good to laugh amidst the weight of their lives.

    But winter had returned to Kirkwall, a stark reminder of the darkness that hung over the city. Another year had passed. Despite everything they had accomplished—the mages they had saved, the intelligence they had gathered—the Divine’s orders remained unchanged.

    Stay invisible. Act subtly. Avoid drawing attention.

    The words gnawed at her, a bitter mantra she wanted desperately to reject. How could they remain subtle when the world around them screamed for action? How could she stay silent when delay meant more lives lost to the horrors of the Gallows? More children taken from their families? More people crushed under Meredith’s iron rule?

    The mission that morning had been a tipping point.

    Linnea’s scouts had identified a transport route along the Wounded Coast, one being used to deliver mages to Kirkwall. Ariana had led the effort with her usual precision, but this time, she had made a choice she knew was reckless. She wore her iconic white cloak. She needed people to know that someone—the White Wolf—was watching, was coming to save them.

    The ambush was swift, the Rangers striking with their characteristic efficiency. No casualties, no unnecessary bloodshed—just as Ariana demanded. By the time the mages were freed and the Templars disarmed, the Rangers were already escorting their charges to safety.

    But then, three Templars approached, their movements hesitant. Their armor bore the marks of countless battles, and exhaustion clung to them like a shadow.

    The youngest of the three—a man barely out of training—stepped forward, his sword still in hand but held low. His voice wavered, but his resolve was clear. “We can’t
 we can’t keep doing this,” he said. “We want to help. Please, let us come with you.”

    Ariana studied him closely, her hazel-green eyes sharp but not unkind. She saw the guilt in his expression, the same weight Michael had carried when he spoke of the Gallows. Her voice was calm, measured. “Sheathe your weapons.”

    The young man obeyed immediately, motioning for his companions to do the same. They complied, each exhaling as though they had been holding their breath for years.

    “Why?” Ariana asked softly, her tone carrying the weight of all that was unsaid. “Why leave now, after everything?”

    The young man hesitated, glancing nervously at the Rangers flanking her. “Because we’ve seen enough,” he admitted, his voice trembling but resolute. “We’ve heard the whispers, seen the fear in the mages’ eyes. The Gallows isn’t a sanctuary—it’s a prison. And Meredith
” He faltered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Meredith is losing her mind. We can’t be part of this anymore.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her expression softening but still guarded. “You understand what this means?” she asked. Her voice carried no malice, only the weight of truth. “There is no turning back. We will protect you, and we will accept your help gladly. But once you leave the Order, there’s no going back.”

    The three Templars exchanged quick glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, with quiet conviction, the young man replied, “We are prepared to accept the consequences.”

    Ariana allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. “Then you will always have a home and a purpose among the Rangers.” She gestured to Linnea. “She will get you where you need to go.”

    With that, Ariana turned and walked away, her white cloak billowing behind her. She didn’t look back, leaving Linnea to handle the defectors.

    What she didn’t realize was that not every Templar had been subdued. A single knight, hidden among the rocks nearby, had overheard fragments of the exchange. He hadn’t seen the White Wolf’s face, but the name alone—spoken in hushed reverence—was enough to set events in motion.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s eyes lingered on the report, the words blurring together under the dim light of his office. “A figure in a white cloak. The White Wolf?” The name stirred something deep within him—a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. He thought back to the Qunari uprising, to the moment when that enigmatic figure had saved his life and stood as a bulwark against chaos. Back then, the White Wolf had been a symbol of hope, a hero amidst Kirkwall’s madness. But now, if the reports were true, they had become something else entirely—a force acting outside the boundaries of law and order.

    The knock on his door jolted him from his thoughts. He glanced up, tension already tightening in his chest. “Come in,” he called, his voice sharper than intended.

    The door opened, and Ariana stepped inside, her presence a beacon of warmth amidst the cold stone walls. For a fleeting moment, his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her. Even here, in the heart of the Gallows, she could still bring him a sense of calm.

    “You’re here,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

    “I’m not fond of visiting the Gallows,” she said with a small, teasing smile, settling into the chair. “But for you
 anything.”

    Her words, meant to soothe, struck a dissonant chord. His fingers tightened around the edge of the report, and he hesitated before speaking. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

    Her smile faltered, replaced by quiet concern. She leaned forward slightly. “What is it?”

    Cullen leaned forward as well, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers laced together as though bracing himself. “There’s been a report
 about the White Wolf. It seems they’ve resurfaced in Kirkwall.”

    He watched her closely, searching for any crack in her composure. Her expression remained steady, though he thought he caught the faintest flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or was it something more carefully veiled? “The White Wolf? Here?” she asked, her voice calm, curious. “What makes you think that?”

    “The transport ambush this morning,” he explained, keeping his tone even despite the storm inside him. “Three more Templars defected. One of the knights overheard an exchange—a mention of the White Wolf. And then there’s the description: a figure in a white cloak.” He paused, letting the words hang heavily. “Do you know if the Silver Rangers are involved?”

    She hesitated—a heartbeat’s pause, but enough to set his nerves on edge. “You’ve asked me about their activities before, Cullen,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “Why would my answer be different now?”

    The deflection gnawed at him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He leaned back, exhaling deeply, his fingers tapping against the desk. “The last time I saw the White Wolf, they saved my life,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Why would they turn to this? Why intercept mage transports now?”

    Her eyes softened slightly, though her voice carried a quiet strength. “Perhaps they believe the mages need saving. Would you disagree?”

    The question struck harder than he anticipated. He wanted to disagree, to hold firm to his convictions, but the truth gnawed at the edges of his resolve. “No,” he admitted, frustration bleeding into his tone. “But mercenaries involving themselves in a Templar matter is not the answer. Why are they doing this? Who are they working for?”

    Her gaze didn’t waver, her tone unwavering. “If it’s them
 I’m sure they believe in what they’re doing.”

    The response felt like a wall he couldn’t breach. “You think mercenaries are the answer?” he pressed, his voice rising slightly. “That they can be trusted to do what’s right? Their loyalty is bought, Ariana. It shifts with the wind.”

    “Sometimes, Cullen,” she replied, her tone sharpened like a blade, “the people in the shadows act because the light has failed them.”

    The words cut through him, leaving him grappling with their implications. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he looked down at the report. “If the White Wolf and the Rangers are involved
 I need to know. The Order will not look the other way. I can’t look the other way.”

    Her voice softened, though it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. “And if I do find out something?” she asked. “What would you do with that knowledge?”

    The question stopped him cold. What would he do? His duty demanded action, but his heart faltered at the thought of betraying her trust—or asking her to betray those who had cared for her. He struggled with the thought of those people protecting her in ways he couldn’t. “I need to know, Ari,” he said, his tone firm but carrying a note of desperation. “The Order demands justice.”

    Sadness flickered in her eyes, though she kept her composure. “Then it would be best if I don’t involve myself. I can’t be the one to help you capture the only people trying to help.”

    Her words hit him like a blow. She wouldn’t choose him in this. She wouldn’t choose the Order. “Ariana,” he said slowly, disbelief tinging his voice. “This is serious. If you know anything, I need to know.”

    She reached across the desk, her hand resting briefly on his. “You’re asking me to betray the people who cared for me when I was alone. For what? For Meredith?”

    He pulled his hand back, his jaw tightening. “It’s not Meredith,” he said, though the words felt hollow. “It’s about justice. It’s about what’s right.”

    “Justice looks different depending on where you stand,” she said softly, her gaze unwavering.

    Cullen stared at her, his chest tightening as doubt and frustration warred within him. Do I trust her enough? Or do I trust her too much?

    When she finally rose to leave, her expression calm but unreadable, he felt the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. As the door closed behind her, Cullen stared at the report once more, the words blurring as his thoughts spiraled into uncertainty.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s mind churned with the weight of her conversation with Cullen as she walked back to Hightown. Each step felt heavier than the last as she replayed his words and her own. Had she lied outright, or merely danced around the truth? The distinction felt meaningless. Every step she took deeper into the Rangers’ work, every intercepted transport, every secret she kept from him, pulled her further from the man she loved.

    How can I marry him when I keep lying to him?

    The thought clawed at her until a familiar voice broke through the storm.

    “I hear we have a wedding to plan
”

    She froze, her head snapping toward the sound. A smile broke through unbidden as she spotted Frederick leaning casually against a wall, his arms crossed, his expression warm but laced with quiet understanding.

    “Fred,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but
” Her voice softened, her grip tightening. “I’m just happy to see you.”

    Frederick’s arms enveloped her with a steadiness she hadn’t realized she needed. “Well,” he said lightly, “I expected the bride-to-be to seem happier
”

    His teasing tone carried an undercurrent of concern that made her throat tighten. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hazel-green eyes glassy. “I could use a friend.”

    “Then let’s talk,” he said simply, offering his arm in the familiar way that always made her feel like a girl again.

    The familiar comfort of the Trevelyan estate offered a small reprieve. She led him to the sitting room, where the fire crackled softly, casting warm light against the cool stone. She sank onto the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her vision blurring as tears pricked her eyes.

    “Will you just sit here with me for a while?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    Frederick didn’t hesitate. He shed his cloak, kicked off his boots, and settled beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. Without a word, she leaned into him, letting his steady presence anchor her.

    For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

    “You want to tell me what this is about?” Frederick’s voice was gentle but probing. “Or does being engaged just not suit you?”

    Ariana let out a soft, shaky laugh, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. “I love him, Fred,” she said quietly, her voice wavering. “More than anything. But
” She trailed off, her breath catching as the words she had tried so hard to bury spilled out. “I know I’m going to lose him.”

    Her tears came then, slipping down her cheeks as the admission hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.

    Frederick tightened his hold on her, his voice low and soothing. “I doubt that. I watched the way he looked at you, Ari. I’ve never seen a man more in love. Tell me what’s happening.”

    She shook her head, her sobs subsiding into uneven breaths. “It’s
 it’s the life I have to keep from him. The lies I have to tell
”

    Frederick’s silence was thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “You mean the mages you’re helping? He doesn’t know yet, does he?”

    She shook her head again, unable to speak.

    “I suppose that makes sense,” Frederick said, his tone far gentler than she expected.

    She looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of judgment. “You don’t think I should have told him?”

    Frederick shook his head, meeting her gaze steadily. “No. Not yet.”

    “But why—”

    “Because,” he interrupted gently, “you’d be putting him in an impossible position. If you tell him everything, you’re asking him to keep secrets from the Order—secrets that could destroy his career, his life. Cullen’s a good man, Ari, but you know how much his duty means to him. Could you live with yourself if it tore him apart?”

    Ariana’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. She dropped her gaze, her fingers twisting together. “What if I lose him when he finds out? What if he’s angry?”

    Frederick sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Then he wasn’t the man you thought he was.” He paused, his voice softening further. “But I don’t think that’s the case. He loves you, Ari. He just doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between who he thinks you are and who you truly are.”

    Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “How did you bridge that gap?”

    Frederick chuckled softly, the sound tinged with regret. “I lost you, remember?”

    Ariana’s heart sank. Is that what it would take? Did she need to risk losing Cullen and simply hope he would forgive her in time? The thought terrified her, but Frederick’s words carried an undeniable truth.

    “I don’t want to lose him,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

    “You won’t,” Frederick said firmly, his hand brushing her hair back gently. “But he needs to understand you fully, just as you’ll need to understand him. That kind of love
 it takes time. And sometimes, it takes losing something to truly see its worth.”

    His words settled over her, sinking deep into the cracks of her fear. She leaned into him again, the weight of her secrets still heavy but no longer crushing.

    For now, she wasn’t alone.

    And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t break them apart.