Chapter Text
Ariadne was incredibly pleased to finally be home from Emprise du Lion. It was far too cold, both there and in Ferelden. She longed for the warmer weather back home in Ostwick, and wished she had more layers on. After so long on the road, she could finally get back into her wardrobe and wear layers instead of her leathers.
She probably wore this dress the most, her preferred dress for wandering Skyhold. It was a dress very close to her heart, and was apparently all the rage back in Ostwick among the Banns. For something so practical, it was truly shocking that the nobility had adopted the clothing. It might be a slight stretch to call it a dress or even a gown, but considering that it was becoming known as the “Ostwick gown” Ariadne accepted that it was a two piece dress.
The skirts of the dress were simple enough. She could fill it with petticoats on cold days and in casual situations, or wear the thick quilted skirt as-is. The main skirt had carefully arranged slits to ensure that she could ride a mount without risking her modesty. Not that she was particularly modest, but she didn’t need to flash the Inquisition every time she rode a mount. Provided she wore a loose linen top or a chemise beneath it, that could simply be the outfit. The full Ostwick gown was the combination of the skirt and the jacket. The jacket was sewn to look like part of the skirt, and for many nobles they would even be sewn together (removing the practicality of the outfit). The jacket also had a very nice hood for inclement weather or hiding your identity among other ladies wearing similar outfits.
Yet instead of seeking the company of others she went to a quieter place. The Chantry gardens were always a good place for reflection, and at a late hour like this, people preferred to be out carousing, not spending a few hours with the Maker.
It was funny. A few months ago, she was preparing to say goodbye to a life of wild fun and instead give her life to the Maker. She hadn’t been too enthused for the idea, but there weren’t many options for her. Apparently young nobles weren’t lining up to marry the wayward Trevelyan, and without a suitable match she would have to be sent to the chantry. Ariadne hadn’t been wholly suited to a life of worship, but there were worse lives out there.
Sat on a pew, she stared up at Andraste. She knew she wouldn’t speak to her. She also knew that Andraste probably didn’t do half the things the Chant said she did. But she could relate to being a grander than life figure. Ariadne was just a woman. One who was a warrior. A woman who believed in something small. Who nurtured that cause and set it on the warpath. A woman who was deeply afraid of the future, but found comfort in something outside herself.
Ariadne rubbed her hands together and started echoing the words the Revered Mother had trained into her brain. Maker, though the darkness comes upon me; I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. Did Andraste know her end was coming? Did she fear the enemy, fear losing her loved ones? And for her enemy, did she pray for their hearts to change? Surely, she saw the light leave the Tevinters’ eyes. Ari knew she replayed each killing in her mind, knowing she had just destroyed a family.
It had to be the Maker’s will. She couldn’t afford to think otherwise. She must weather the storm and destroy Corypheus. I shall endure; What you have created, no one can tear asunder. It needed to be true, for the people depending on her.
She only felt the dampness on her skin when someone lit a candle and murmured a prayer. Their sudden intrusion into her senses caused her to jump, the creaking of the wooden pews scaring them in return. Cullen’s shape quickly registered and she stammered out an apology.
“Oh, if you’re busy I can leave?” Cullen responded, scratching his neck.
Ariadne wanted to laugh, but the desperation of her prayer clung to the edges of her mind, weighing her down. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you have to leave Commander,” she stated, searching his face for any indication of his intentions. When she found none, she added, “I wouldn’t mind the company. It’s been a while since I prayed any of the Chant with anyone. A bit awkward when half the Chantry is convinced you’re a heretic.” Her flat attempt at humour earned her a laugh from Cullen and he settled down in the pew next to her.
“I suppose you weren’t reciting Benedictions 4? It’s practically the templar motto,” he prompted. She knew he was looking to her for guidance, for a directive.
But right now, she wasn’t the Inquisitor. She certainly wasn’t the Herald of Andraste. And Sister Ariadne was back in Ostwick. “I bet it is. I, um. It’s embarrassing really. Trials 1. Prayer for the despairing,” she admitted.
“When I was fresh out of Kinloch, I lived that prayer. You’ll have no judgement from me,” Cullen reassured her. “I’m happy to join you in that. I know I’m not the best at talking. But if you need someone to listen to you, I can do that.”
Ariadne looked up from her palms and carefully considered Cullen. The end of the prayer came to mind. I am not alone. Even; As I stumble on the path;
With my eyes closed, yet I see; The Light is here. Perhaps the light was here.
“If the Conclave didn’t end the way it did, I would have been saying my vows to the Maker now. Instead people consider me her Herald. That what I do is ordained by the Maker. It’s a lot for one person,” she confessed. Saying those words aloud made it feel that much more real. “I still don’t believe in the Maker half the time! He’s a comfort when things are going wrong, when I’m lost. But He never feels real. What feels real are the rickety pews and terrible feeling in my gut.”
She took a deep breath. Her next words wobbled anyway: “I had a path and it’s gone. I can make decisions one by one. But it doesn’t feel like there is a future.”
Ariadne hugged herself. And then a larger set of arms squeezed her. “It’s the burden of command. It’s always easier to follow orders than give,” Cullen’s voice soothed. “But there are always reasons to abandon the well-worn paths. And I have to believe that the person I am today is better than the boy who was trapped in Kinloch and the man who served in Kirkwall. For now, I serve the Inquisition as its Commander and you as your friend. I have to trust in myself and the Maker that when the time comes I’ll choose the best path for myself.”
Ariadne knew deeply in her heart that Cullen was right. It didn’t make it any easier to accept, nor did it reassure her in the way she wanted. But being told her future wouldn’t be satisfying either. “Then as a friend, can you believe that for me too? It’s hard to see sometimes,” she asked, squeezing his arm.
“Thank the Maker, that's what you’re asking of me. If it had anything to do with your inability to finally get with Josephine, I’m afraid even Andraste herself couldn’t help,” he teased.
Ari sighed and rubbed her hands on her face. Wallowing wasn’t a good look on her. Neither was moping about and doing nothing about it. However, doubt still crept into her mind about what could go wrong if she had been misreading Josephine this whole time. “It’s not that hard to tell her. I only risk the smooth functioning of the Inquisition if she doesn’t like me back,” she protested, wriggling out of their light hug.
“Leliana and I rarely agree on anything, but we both can tell she likes you. She might not know it yet, but she does,” he began. A cheeky smile decorated his face as he added, “And frankly we’re both tired of you undressing her with your eyes in the war room."
“You’re lucky I tolerate you. Say a prayer with me or I’m leaving you to your own devices,” Ariadne responded, smacking him on his arm.
Cullen put on a show of folding his hands, and let Ariadne lead him in the Prayer for the Despairing. They both knew she needed divine intervention to finally confess to Josephine.
—
Someone must have heard their prayer. Or at least their conversation in the Chantry. If she was a betting woman, she’d bet on Varric or Sera listening in.
In any case, a light knock at her door woke her up. The morning light suggested she had overslept, and had definitely missed the morning war room meeting. She also probably missed breakfast. Ari called out for the person at the door to enter, sitting up to run her fingers through her hair. It desperately needed to be rebraided, but that could wait. Perhaps she could convince her visitor to help.
Josephine entered with a platter of food and a few cups of coffee. Ariadne must be dreaming. She must be in the Fade because Josephine was normally far too busy to deliver food. Also, it was completely unfair that Josephine was completely put together. Her bed head certainly was a mess. And of course she fell asleep in last night’s clothes.
“It feels like our roles are switched here. I took care of you after you were poisoned,” Ariadne teased. “To what do I owe the honour?”
Josephine sat on the side of the bed, placing the tray on Ari’s lap. “Hardly. I haven’t been seated beside you for days and summoning medics,” she responded, taking a sip of the coffee. “Besides, I’m doing what any good friend would do. Deliver breakfast to our sleepy Inquisitor.” Lady Montilyet tapped Ari on the nose at her last few words.
She scrunched up her face. Josephine covered her mouth and giggled sweetly. Truly unfair. She had Ari at a distinct disadvantage. The food smelled incredibly. The cooks must have cooked some just for her – eggs, potatoes and even a sausage. There were a few pieces of toast with red jam already spread across them.
While she ate, Josephine caught her up on the latest information from the field. Progress had been made into investigating the fake Hard in Hightown series, the missions from the old dowager had been completed, and they were still looking for Tyrdda Bright-axe’s weapon. She also explained that they were awaiting her word to approach Adamant.
Frankly, Adamant scared her a bit. Things could go very wrong and the Inquisition could be very dead. She swallowed the lump in her throat. No time like the present to tell Josephine about how she wanted to be more than friends. Josephine conveniently provided an update on Red Templar sightings in the Emerald Graves after the disappearance of the Venatori there. The perfect segue.
“Did I ever tell you what Leliana told me while you were recovering? It was shortly after I had arrived back from the Graves,” Trevelyan queried. She looked down at her hands. Well, no better time to tell Josephine she supposed. She either knew or didn’t. And considering how Josephine had taken care of her, she was really hoping she knew.
Josephine shook her head. With a deep breath, Trevelyan explained, “She wanted to make sure I had good intentions with you. Something about me leading you on, being an ‘innocent in love’, and implying that I would break your heart.”
Lady Montilyet quickly set down her coffee, an alarmed look on her face. Her cheeks were tinged red, though that could be her rouge. “An innocent in love? I know plenty about love!” she said indignantly. After realising her words, she continued, “Ah, do not worry, Inquisitor. I meant to say I have read plenty of stories. I have no misunderstandings about the nature of our friendship. We are simply close friends. Of course, others would misconstrue that.”
Oh. Perhaps Josephine was straight after all. Or maybe didn’t realise she liked women? Then again, Cullen had suggested she hadn’t considered them as a couple yet. Or maybe Ari was just deluding herself that someone she liked would like her back. Something that she knew wasn’t true, because she was a catch and anyone with eyes would want her.
“I guess I wasn’t flirting hard enough then,” Ariadne said, staring at the embers of the fire from the night before.
“What-” Josephine began. Ari stared at Josephine, clearly dragging her gaze up and down her body.
“I want you Josephine. I guess I didn’t make that clear. Or use enough excuses to stay by your side,” Ariadne interrupted. She leaned closer, breakfast abandoned as she honed her gaze on Josephine’s lips. Ari really wanted to kiss them. Hopefully Josephine felt the same way.
She cupped Josephine’s cheek, ensuring their eyes met. Lady Montilyet’s mouth was slightly agape, her eyes betraying the speed at which her mind ran.
“So let me make this very clear, Lady Montilyet. I am very attracted to you. When I am outside of Skyhold, I am wondering about your wellbeing to the point where Leliana sends me encrypted messages about you. I…” Ariadne paused, withdrawing her touch and looking to the side.
It was Josephine who took her by the chin, so their eyes met again. “You?” she prompted.
“I want to know if you feel the same. If I can kiss you and call you mine. I’d really fucking like that. Is… Is this the part where I get to kiss you?” Ariadne finished.
A soft smile wormed its way across her face. “After a declaration like that? I’d be terribly offended if you didn’t,” Josephine answered, using her grip on Ari’s chin to pull her into a kiss.
It felt like breathing air for the first time after being underwater for an eternity. The kiss was light and loose, their lips no longer strangers. She felt free and entrapped and entirely enchanted. Ari knew the kiss was brief but she wanted to be like that forever. When their lips separated, Ari needed to know it was real. Their foreheads remained in contact, lips separated by only a few centimetres.
“Please tell me I’ll get to do that again?” Ari whispered, eyes closed.
“Many more times,” Josephine breathed, reconnecting their lips.
Their coffee was cold by the time they were finished, the gulf of space between them a distant memory in their minds.
