Varania wasn't sure what was worse; the corruption of the spirit itself, Cole's immediate fear or Solas's anguish when it was done. The peace the spirit felt seemed to negate its own pain, even if that meant its sentience was gone. And Cole seemed to follow suit, seeing that in death the spirit returned to what it was meant to be. After all, that was what worried him more than anything - the loss of who he was.

She didn't blame him, not now that she was finally discovering who that person was in herself.

But that release did not seem to comfort Solas. He ended the lives of those mages so coldly it actually shocked Varania, despite how much death she herself had dealt. She questioned herself. Maybe she should have stopped him? Their deaths did not seem to bring him any closure.

He'd looked at her with such affection when she offered her condolences and still seemed surprised that she would understand his friendship with a spirit. To her, it hadn't seemed extraordinary - a friend was a friend no matter what form they took. Solas thanked her, thanked them all for their help in releasing the spirit, but then disappeared into the wilds on his own. Varania thought he'd be a few hours behind them on their return to Skyhold, but she was wrong.

Three days.

It was a very long time to wander and to wonder after his safety. A part of her wanted to go after him. What if he was hurt? Dead? But she knew that was foolishness and more than a little overprotective. Solas was a man after all, and though he hadn't admitted to his age, he was clearly older than her thirty years. He'd lived for a very long time on his own and frankly, without her and her mark to attract the attention of demons and Corypheus's forces, chances are he was safer on his own than he ever was with her.

She was afraid that he'd realized that and was never going to return.

Just generally doing without his comforting presence was awful enough all by itself without imagining that he might not come back. She'd finally started to wrap her head around how she felt about him and to accept that she actually felt something for anyone. For so much of her life, she'd not allowed herself to even have likes or dislikes. Varania didn't even allow herself the affection of friendship. Anything more was simply out of the question.

When she came to the Dalish she couldn't even tell them what she liked to eat. She liked what her Master gave her or there were consequences. Getting to choose what she wanted was foreign. But once she let herself decide for herself, her preferences came in a rush. She liked Ferelden cheese and tea from Antiva and she really hated beets. Those frilly Orlesian pastries were delicious and so was cocoa from Par Vollen. She did not find human men particularly appealing, though Cullen had pretty hair and Loghain had beautiful eyes.

When she kissed Solas in the Fade it wasn't just a kiss. It was more, at least for her part. Even if he didn't feel the same, she wanted to tell him. And then, she needed to tell him who she was.

He deserved no more lies. She deserved no more lies. She was what the Maker and the world had made her. Solas would either accept her as she was or not at all. If he did not accept her, no matter how she felt, there was nothing more to say.

None of that mattered if he never returned.

These thoughts came a little too easy in the dark on the night, alone in her bed. She couldn't sleep, fearing what the Fade might show her and worried she couldn't tell the difference between what was true and what was a lie. Instead, Varania made her way down to the kitchens, where she found a lone servant mixing dough and making bread, looking bleary and exhausted. It had taken some convincing, but she'd excused him to bed and took on the task herself. Mage or not, when there were banquets, parties, festivals, all the slaves in Danarius's house had to help prepare. Even if he had her sorting books once she learned to read the majority of the time, Varania was quite proficient at kneading dough. And it was calming, safe and familiar.

The Inquisitor kneaded the dough and shaped it into loaves to rise again, softly whistling to herself a Tevinter lullaby deep in the dark of the night. She didn't realize she wasn't alone until she finished the tune and rich man's voice chimed in.

"That's a beautiful song, though very sad," Loghain said. Varania looked up to find him in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. He nodded in greeting. "I'm sorry to disturb you Inquisitor, but Wardens have quite the appetites. I thought to find something to eat." He looked amused. "I did not expect to find anyone at this hour and certainly didn't expect to find you making the bread. Do you do everything yourself?" His face tried to smile, but there was too much sadness in his eyes for it to be truly a smile. There was an undercurrent of sadness in everything he did. It was impossible to miss.

"Thankfully for everyone, I'm usually too busy to be in the kitchen. I am good at bread though, after all I have a lot of prac...," she stopped mid word and looked up at him. "Wait, you don't know, do you?"

Loghain uncrossed his legs and came into the room with only a few strides of his long legs. Human men seemed impossibly tall. He certainly had the potential to be intimidating, but he slouched a little, she assumed under the weight of all the madness of the Wardens. "Know what?"

Varania made a little noncommittal noise. She wasn't sure how to feel when she told people about her past. Telling this Warden, whoever he used to be, was probably safe enough. He wasn't really in any position to judge her. She only knew a bit of his story, gleaned from Varric. She might have been literate, but slaves didn't get to learn anything that didn't benefit their master. Ferelden history wasn't a very useful subject in Minrathous.

"Have you met Hawke's lover, Fenris?" she asked by way of a reply. Loghain shook his head.

"No, he was not with her, though she does speak of him fondly and often," Loghain explained. "I assume that somehow relates to what I do not know?" He smiled again, that sad half smile.

"Fenris is my brother," Varania said without ceremony. "He and I were once slaves. In Tevinter." She shrugged, hoping to prevent the obligatory sympathy. "And this," she gestured to the bread dough. "This is familiar. That is all."

Loghain nodded again. He didn't immediately apologize, as if his entire race somehow needed to feel badly for the actions of Tevinter and she was grateful for that. She was so tired of hearing it.

"That seems logical, and I do understand more than you likely expect. Though I usually am drawn towards splitting wood myself. No one wants to see me try to cook anything that isn't meat," he said, chuckling a little. He reached into the barrel next to the table and pulled out an apple without any elaboration. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Varania went back to kneading and for a while they were silent.

"Is there a reason this is a secret?" he asked. "I was told you were Dalish. And you do have the tattoos."

Varania shrugged. "I am Dalish," she said. "Or I was for a while. I lived with the Lavellan clan for more than a year. They took me in and made me one of their own, after a fashion. I am of the Lavellan clan or I was when I left it, so it is a truth. It's just not the whole truth." She sighed. "It's hard enough for some of them that I'm an elf. It would be harder if I was a slave. And even worse if I was Tevinter. But that is what I am. I was a slave to a magister and he taught me to read and he nurtured the beginning of my magic." She took the dough she was kneading and shaped it into a careful loaf, placing it on the pan next to the others. "It wouldn't make me very popular."

"Being popular is a double edged sword," Loghain said. "Though I understand why you wouldn't tell them. There are times I wished being a Warden could provide me with the same anonymity it gives others."

"I suppose in Ferelden and Orlais you would be well known. To be honest, I hadn't heard of you in Tevinter, but slaves aren't given much education. Varric told me a little of your story, about the Blight and Ostagar. Solas," she cringed a little when she said his name, "He said that the spirits of the Fade remember you as both a hero and a villain." She gave him a look. "I'm sure only you know the truth. I know how wrong the stories people tell often are. Tevinter, the Dalish. It's as if they had a competition to see who could misunderstand the most."

Loghain laughed bitterly. "The Wardens are no better though I doubt that's a comfort. Sometimes I've gotten the impression people prefer ignorance to the truth. I know I have in the past. The truth is often not comforting."

"So I've discovered."

There was a moment of silence then, a bit awkward. Loghain cleared his throat.

"I do apologize for disturbing you Inquisitor," he said. He made as if to leave. Awkward or no, she didn't like the solitude that loomed if he left.

"You aren't disturbing me," she said, trying to keep his company. "I was disturbed long before you came in. I'm glad for the company, to be honest. I almost want to ask you to stay."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "I suppose at this hour, your options for companionship are limited, so I can't fault your taste."

She laughed. "I don't know you well enough to know if you are overly hard on yourself or too honest."

"A bit of both, in all likelihood, but after all these years as a Warden, I have gotten good at late night conversations held in confidence. We Wardens do love our secrets. So what can this old man do to help you pass the time?" He didn't seem put out by her request, only amused. He was humoring her, but that was better than being alone.

"I don't know," Varania admitted. "I just don't like the idea of more quiet."

"That quiet always leads to thinking, which can be a mixed blessing in a position as you are in," he said, sounding as if it was something he understood. "I must say, I was pleased to discover that you are both an elf and a mage. The world needs to see more of both of those in positions of power."

Varania smiled unexpectedly. "I'm surprised to hear that. Most people are a bit put off by the combination."

"When this is done, when the immediate threat is defeated, you should tell them where you come from," he said. He looked a bit green for a moment, as if he was remembering something nauseating. "Though I have not always lived to my own standards and I have made some unforgivable mistakes regarding your people, I've always believed that elves were the equal of any man. And in time I came feel the same of mages. It doesn't surprise me that the three most famous heroes of this age have all been mages." He chuckled. "And women. It's about time."

"You surprise me again."

"Do I?" he chuckled again. "I suppose I surprise myself sometimes. Though I had to get quite old before I had any sense at all." He sighed at that. "I also wanted to compliment you on your inner circle, though as I know, that's often more a matter of fate than intent. It is good to see such a mix of people. It gives you more perspective. Elves, Dwarves, a Qunari even. It is wiser than it might appear. It is a mistake to let your view become too narrow. An error I only learned in disaster."

"They are quite the group," she admitted. "I wish I could take credit for it, but it's been just dumb luck."

"I did however noticed you seem short one elf the last few days," Loghain commented.

"How did you know?" She looked up at him in surprise. So many details escaped her. It's why she needed all those advisors. She'd be lost without them.

"It's the soldier in me, I suppose," Loghain explained. "I notice routines, guard rotations. Every morning the boy with the big hat, the odd one, would walk with the elf, Solas I believe you called him, through the courtyard speaking with and comforting the wounded. The boy has been alone the last two days and he seems a bit lost on his own."

"Yes, Solas is...missing. We, tried to help his friend," she began, but chose to not elaborate on what type of friend. She wasn't in the mood for that inevitable discussion. "We were too late to do anything but comfort the dying. He went to mourn his friend and hasn't returned." She paused and struggled with herself. "I don't know that he will. He will be missed if he doesn't return."

Loghain gave her a knowing look. "He'll be back, though he'll wonder at his motivation."

She was skeptical. "How could you know that?"

"I saw how he looked at you, when you came to find me at Crestwood," Loghain said. That sadness was back in his eyes. "The look of a man who wants something he shouldn't have."

Varania shook her head. "Shouldn't have?"

"So he thinks," Loghain said. "I've worn the same expression enough times to recognize it." Varania made to reply but Loghain held up his hand to stop her. "Whatever you think yourself, it is what he thinks. But he'll be back, even so. Trust me."

"I hope you're right."

Loghain took the last bite of the apple and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed. "I am not right all that often, but I am this time. Just give him some time. He's very broken. I recognize that as well."

Varania couldn't even reply. She just looked down at her hands. She'd almost forgotten in her own distress that Solas had feelings of his own that were not all about her. She felt a sudden wave of guilt for being so selfish.

Loghain seemed to sense the shift in her mood. "Good night Inquisitor," he said, making his way to the door. "The world and men run on their own time. You'll have to forgive us when we are foolish and hesitant." It was an odd declaration, but he said nothing else, just paused at the door for a moment. He almost seemed that he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it at the end, leaving without another word.

"Good night, Warden Loghain," Varania said to his back. She wasn't even sure if he heard her, sudden solitude washing over her.

"I hope you're right," she repeated to the silence. Like before, no one heard her.