"Honestly, the entire idea makes me exhausted," Maire Hawke said as she walked beside Varania and ran a hand through her cropped ginger hair. "I know logically there's a difference between what Merrill does, what my cousin Kya does and what's going on with the Wardens. But after everything that happened at The Gallows? I still have a hard time with magic is magic ."
Solas nodded. "After what you've told us, even I cannot fault that. The primary flaw in the practice of blood magic does seem to be its abuse; it's use as a crutch instead of a tool." He got a sly look on his face. "Wouldn't you agree, Dorian?"
Dorian threw his hands up. "I'm not having this conversation with you. You'll find some way to turn it around. I know when I'm out matched."
Solas chuckled. He loved being right.
Varania walked between Hawke and Solas and hadn't offered much during their exchange. She'd seen enough blood magic in Tevinter to be too wary to try it, yet at the same time, she saw Solas's point. Often it wasn't used for anything different than other magic.
Lyrium or blood? What did it matter?
Despite the dark subject, the mood as they neared Skyhold was pleasant. This far into the mountains they dismounted the horses and walked them. It was too easy to have a beast turn an ankle and wasn't worth the chance. And they weren't in a hurry for once. There was much to plan for now, but no one wanted to face the seemingly insurmountable task that was taking Adamant.
Instead, they avoided the subject entirely and found themselves falling into a comfortable rhythm of companionship.
More had joined them as they moved. Not just Morrigan and her son, but also a variety of volunteers looking to join the Inquisition. By the time they neared the gates, between her inner circle, soldiers, recruits and their supporters, they were nearing one hundred strong. Their footprints and voices rang out in the cold clear air.
They continued to talk about magic and blood and Varania found herself tuning out the words and just hearing their voices like music. Her feet crunched in the snow. Her nose was cold.
She was happy.
Just over the ridge, the bridge to Skyhold came into view and there were a few jovial cheers, a gasp or two, and even some tears from their newest recruits. It amazed her how much the Inquisition meant to people, even as they struggled so hard every day to just keep going. They looked to her, as if she was the reason for it all.
Sometimes it felt like a crushing weight, bearing her down into the mountain, but today if felt like they were lifting her up, carrying her along so she could do what had to be done; to close the rifts and find some way to make the world right again. As the distance closed towards Skyhold, for brief moment everything seemed to be in the right place. Maybe there was something to this crazy idea that she really was chosen for this.
The first footsteps onto the stone of the bridge echoed. Varania slowed her steps and stopped, moving herself out of the way of the parade of bodies to gaze out at the blue shadows decorating the peaks, the pink streaks just beginning to appear at the horizon. Solas stopped beside her, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, but not touching. In the distance, a hawk screamed.
"Is something amiss vhenan?" He spoke softly enough that no one would hear them.
"Not at all," she smiled, looking over at him. As stunning as the view was, she found herself more interested in looking at Solas instead. It wasn't even that she found him handsome, though she did, but there was puzzle behind those blue eyes and she wanted work it out. She reached her hand out toward him. "Everything is..."
She was cut short by a woman's voice, not quite a word but an exclamation, a thousand emotions rolled into that utterance. Both Varania and Solas turned to look in time to see Hawke break into a run across the bridge. Without thinking, Varania grabbed Solas's wrist, almost to keep herself standing. There was only one person that would send Hawke running across that bridge.
"Maker's balls," Varric's voice cut in from behind her. "It's Fenris."
Varania's fingers tightened around Solas's wrist.
"Your brother," he said, hand coming over hers. His fingers felt hot.
She didn't trust herself to speak, only nodded. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Her greatest mistake stood on the other side of the bridge, holding his tall wife in his arms. She could only see parts of him, mostly eclipsed by Hawke and her cloak fluttering around them in the breeze.
"The last time I saw him, he rightfully wanted to kill me," she muttered, uncaring if anyone heard her. "And I do need to talk to him; I want him to understand." She snorted. "But he won't listen. He never did. Not even before."
Solas looked sympathetic. "I do understand." He squeezed her hand. "But he is here, and perhaps that means more than you realize."
Varania looked at him from the corner of her eyes. "You've never struck me as the silver lining type, Solas."
He smiled. "I'm full of surprises."
Varric patted her back as he passed. "He's less likely to kill you these days," he said. "If that's any help."
She resisted the urge to say something flippant in reply but there was nothing flippant about what happened between them. She couldn't joke about it.
Varania gritted her teeth and waited. She waited until everyone else passed into Skyhold. Several of the new recruits looked at her with awe as they went by and Varania did her best not to cringe. It had gotten easier, with victory upon victory, to see herself differently. Sometimes she was able to see the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, sometimes even as just a woman who loved a man; not just the former slave who stumbled into all of this by accident.
But Fenris, he made her remember who she was, whether she wanted to or not. As different as he looked now with his red hair gone white, now cropped short to his head, his eyes were still the same. They were the same eyes she saw in the mirror everyday; overlarge, even for an elf and that same odd grey green with the slightly out of place dark eyelashes.
He just stood there, like a testament to the history she wished she could forget, right outside the portcullis talking to Hawke. A few times Hawke made animated hand gestures in Varania's direction. Varania was glad she couldn't hear what they were saying.
Solas waited with her for a while, but eventually she sent him ahead. As much as he had become a part of her life, as much as she relied on his knowledge, the magic he was teaching her and his steady presence, this was something she could only do alone.
Her feet were numb, even in her heavy boots. The coldness of the snow seeped in the seams now that she was still. Her heart thudded in her chest and there was a vague ache behind her eyebrows and between her shoulder blades. She'd faced an ancient magister with aspirations of godhood, but walking across the bridge to see her brother seemed more terrifying.
She squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She forced herself to believe in herself for a moment, even if it wouldn't last. This was her home. She hadn't done it alone, not at all, but she was the Inquisitor. Whatever mistakes she'd made, whatever hatred he bore her, it was out of her hands now. She couldn't undo the past.
She was sorry for what she'd almost done to Leto...Fenris...but she couldn't imagine that was going to be enough.
With faked bravado, she finally made her way across the bridge. Her footsteps echoed around her. Fenris didn't look up until the last moment, turning his eyes away from where Hawke held his hands in hers. The expression on his face was utterly blank.
"Welcome to Skyhold, Le..." she almost said his given name, the name he'd let go of when the lyrium burned away his memories and he forgot her. Varania corrected herself. "Fenris."
He snorted at her and Hawke rolled her eyes, the expression shrugging her entire body in an exaggerated way.
"Fenris." She used his name as a scolding.
He glanced back at her, meeting her eyes for a moment before his shoulders slumped a little. Fine, his posture said. He looked back at Varania; this time his face looked sour.
"Inquisitor," he managed. His voice was at once familiar and totally foreign. The silence that followed was silence long and uncomfortable. Eventually Hawke sighed melodramatically.
"Fine," she said, frustrated. She turned to Varania. She looked more sympathetic than Varania expected. "Fenris came to Skyhold at my request. I wanted...," she paused and looked back at Fenris as if she was daring him to interrupt. When he said nothing and just looked at her blandly, she continued. "I wanted to bring Fenris and Bethany to the safest place I could. And this is it."
"I thought your sister Bethany died during the Blight." Varania furrowed her brow. "I overheard you speaking to Blackwall."
Hawke made a bitter sound. "My sister did die during the Blight. Bethany is my daughter." She gave Fenris another pointed look. "Your niece."
Varania wasn't sure how to reply. Every mistake she'd even made was a on a slow replay through her head. Her brother's child, here, in Skyhold. She felt a sudden pang, an emptiness she thought she'd put behind her. She remembered her mother's face.
"Oh," was the terribly articulate reply she finally came up with. "I...congratulations."
Hawke smiled. "Bethany is almost three now, so it's a bit late for all that." She looked back at Fenris as if she was trying to communicate with him without words. After a moment she added. "Why don't you go take Bethany to see Uncle Varric? I'm sure he's missed her."
Fenris nodded at her and turned away without a word. Varania watched him walk away. It was still Leto, even under those lyrium brands, walking with that same slouching posture their mother always scolded him about.
Stand up straight, Leto. You should be proud to be so tall.
Hawke's voice interrupted her. "Despite how he's acting, Fenris wanted to come here. He...I don't know. He understands more now." She put her hand on Varania's arm and Varania turned to look at her. "I know what you did was out of desperation. I know desperation. I've been there before."
"Thank you for trying to help, but I know I was wrong," Varania said, turning away to look back in the direction Fenris had gone. She saw the last flash of white hair as she turned the corner at the top of stairs. "And I probably should have died for it, but I didn't. And now, there are things only I can do."
"You shouldn't have died because you made a mistake." Hawke voice was soft.
"Maybe, maybe not," Varania said. Fenris's presence made her feel small, twelve years old and terrified. He made her feel twenty-two and made her remember that burning sensation in her lungs when she ran from Kirkwall and almost threw herself into the Waking Sea.
When I look at you now, I think you got the better part of the deal.
She meant it then, and she meant it now.
She was still a slave, this time to the anchor in her hand. She didn't get to make her own choices. How could she have been so foolish to let herself thing otherwise?
"Maker, the two of you are so alike; you're going to brood yourselves to death," Hawke groused. She shook her head. "Think about what I said. And talk to him. Please." She sighed. "For both your sakes and for mine. And for Bethany. She doesn't have much for family, just my brother Carver who is as far away from Orlais as I could get him and you. I don't want her to lose what little she has."
Varania made a little noise. "I can't imagine I'm good family to have."
"Well, I disagree," Hawke said quickly. "I see what you've done here, how all these people feel about you. Whatever you think, you keep making the right, good choices. These good people love you, including Varric. He said you impress him all the time. He thinks you really are the Herald of Andraste, you know. I trust him. You should too." Hawke patted her arm again. "Just think about it."
She left her then, heading up the stairs after Fenris, with a spring in her step she hadn't seen from Hawke before. Varania sighed.
The feelings swirling in her chest answered a few questions Varania had about herself, all those things she still wrestled with. She wasn't so secure as she was pretending to be. She wasn't sure about anything except that despite being in the middle of all these people, despite having a lover and friends and more than she could have even imagined she wanted, sometimes she still felt desperately alone. No one else could really understand her; what she'd been through, how she'd lived before.
She missed her mother, but she was dead. She missed her brother, but he hated her. He'd tried to help her, even if it had hurt her in the end. He tried to find her again and she offered him back into the jaws of servitude. Fenris hated her and he had every right to do it.
Varania hated herself too.
Lyrium and Blood. They mattered after all.