"Inquisitor!"
The well felt like perfect rainwater, puddled in a leaf. It was cool and yet felt sun-warmed, all at once. It lapped at her ankles, she could taste it in the back of her throat; she could smell it and feel the scent in the top of her head, crisp and earthy and ionic.
Then the light began, lightning reflected in a pond, moonlight glowing up from beneath the water's surface. The well effervesced, transformed and swirled up around her in a torrent.
Varania heard Solas calling her name, but he seemed very far away.
This was magic like she'd never experienced, engulfing and overwhelming. She understood why Abelas fought so hard to protect it. It felt as if for a moment, she understood the entirely of existence. There were voices, innumerable but mellifluous. A song swelled around her and knowledge, sweet and bitter hung in every note. She knew who everyone was, everyone and she knew oh by the Creators and the Maker she knew and then just as suddenly it was gone and the ground under her feet was torn away. She fell to her knees.
The world rocked, her head spun and the harmonious chorus became dissonant. Voices screamed, shouted into incomprehensible sounds, drowning each other out in the din.
"Inquisitor!"
She wasn't sure who screamed this time, a man's voice; a woman's? It was impossible to tell. Varania could viscerally feel the danger, despite all the screaming and voices. Self preservation drove her to her feet. The ground felt unbalanced, but she hung on like a sailor in a storm. She shifted her eyes up just in time to see Corypheus appear on the balcony above them.
He was huge, larger than any man should be, strange and hideous. Despite watching him die, his body utterly destroyed by the barrier at the gate of the temple, this body was just as the one before. It was bursting at the seams, red lyrium gleaming out between tendrils of over stretched flesh. He screamed in frustration, in anger and in hatred as he rushed toward them.
There was nowhere to run.
Varania spun, the voices directing her. The Eluvian shimmered behind her and with a gesture, she opened it. She had no idea how she did it, but that didn't matter. What mattered was getting away. They were in no shape to take on Corypheus, especially knowing what they did now; that he was more immortal than they realized.
The others followed her directions without question, disappearing through the magical barrier. No one even blinked, even had a second thought. Maybe it meant she was actually a real leader now, but she didn't have the time to consider it.
Varania was the last to leave, transfixed by Corypheus floating through the air towards her like a raptor. He was close, too close before the voices became a cacophony. She practically fell through the Eluvian, feeling it close behind her without any effort on her part.
She felt the sound of breaking glass in her bones, but when she looked up, she found herself on her ass outside of Morrigan's Eluvian, the shimmering glass dark but whole.
Mythal's Eluvian was shattered. She didn't need to see it; she just knew it. The temple's life was finally at an end.
She wanted to mourn it, but there was no time. The voices swirled in her head, insistent but so loud she could hardly make them out. Varania lost consciousness but didn't even realize it, caught up in a thousand years and a thousand lives of memory.
When she woke, she was warm and there was the soft sound of a crackling fire. Before she even opened her eyes, as consciousness slowly returned, she immediately felt a pang of loss. She felt the loss of the temple and its guardians keenly as if they were her family. She felt a twinge in her throat, like tears; a memory was lost and she couldn't dredge it back up again. Something. The voice had told her something desperately important, but she couldn't remember it now. There was a little hollow spot where that memory belonged. The voices were still there, but they were quieter now. They ebbed and flowed like soft waves lapping against the beach.
She blinked her eyes, rubbing at them with the back of her hand as she sat up. She was in her quarters, tucked into her bed. It was warmer than she usually kept it, the fire roaring merrily in the hearth and the tall doors to the balcony shut. Icy, snow mixed raindrops splattered against the stained glass.
Dorian was curled on the settee, his legs tucked under him and a book on the tips of his fingers. He seemed to hear her stir and turned, a slow smile appearing under the curls of his moustache.
"I was hoping you'd wake when it was my turn," he smiled at her. "You all right in there?"
Varania shrugged. "I think so?" That felt honest. "I'm still in here, anyway."
"Solas-" He made a face and apparently changed his mind about continuing. He cleared his throat. "Well, Morrigan took the time to explain what happened," Dorian said. "Solas was in sort of a state about the whole thing. I expected he'd want to be here, but he refused."
Varania frowned. She didn't like the way that sounded. She knew he wasn't happy about her drinking from the well, but what choice did they have? If Corypheus wanted the knowledge, they needed it, even if it was all currently a jumbled mess in her head. But Solas often had motivations she didn't understand. She was sure he had a very good reason he was angry, but she was certain he wasn't going to tell anyone about it.
"I'm not as surprised as you'd think," she admitted.
Dorian raised a carefully groomed eyebrow in reply but didn't comment. Probably had to bite his tongue in half to do it, but he was managing better than she expected. Instead, he got up and came over to her, sitting on the side of the bed and putting a hand on her knees through the blankets.
"For what it's worth, whatever his problem is, I think you did the right thing. I'm certain Cassandra isn't happy either and Sera just looks terrified by the whole thing but neither of them have much imagination." He smiled again and cocked his head. "You're honestly the strongest willed mage I've ever known. I'm not worried."
Varania was incredulous. "Me?" Dorian came from a long line of Tevinter magisters, knew the most powerful mages in the Imperium but she was the strongest willed? Clearly, he was humoring her.
"If anyone was going to resort of blood magic, I honestly thought it would be you," he said. He gave her a look. "Because we both know you know how."
"I've never-" she started and he cut her off.
"That's just the thing," he explained. "You haven't, as far as I can tell. Even I sometimes practice what southerners would consider blood magic, using my own." He made a dismissing hand gesture. "Not anymore, of course, but I've never even seen that from you when no one else was looking."
Varania shrugged. She wanted to be nonchalant. Blood magic itself wasn't the problem.
"Solas said it made it harder to work with the Fade," she said and that bit was true at least. "And Keeper Dashana didn't like it. I haven't even tried since I left Tevinter. I don't think it's a matter of will." She looked at her hands in her lap. "Fear, really."
Dorian scoffed. "I don't believe that for a second," he said. "You just waltzed right into the well because it had to be done. You didn't even flinch. You aren't the easily spooked type."
"I'm not afraid of ancient elven gods," she said, matter-of-fact. "They didn't cut lyrium into my brother's skin."
Dorian's hand came and rested on top of hers. "You're right, they didn't. And you're better than the people who did. Fear is the primary reason mages resort to blood magic and scared or not, you aren't using it."
Varania looked up at him as he squeezed her hands.
"If anyone has reason to be scared, it's you." He smiled broadly. "But here you are. I'm proud of you."
"Not sure I deserve accolades for this, but I'll take it." She gave him a wan, forced smile. "So how mad is he?" She didn't bother saying she was asking about Solas. Dorian would know.
Dorian chuckled. "I can't tell. Does he ever smile?"
"All the time," Varania said to him, hiding her nerves under a sly smile. "Just not at you."
"There's no accounting for taste," Dorian said, in that special bravado he liked to use when he was hiding his own nerves and insecurity under a blanket of narcissism. "I mean you are cute and all that, but?" He gestured at himself up and down. "How could this not make someone smile?"
Varania grinned at him. He had this way of making her feel like things were okay, even when they weren't okay. And the voices from the well were mostly quiet when she smiled. "It sure makes Bull smile."
Dorian immediately blushed, which seemed out of character. He cleared his throat but didn't say anything.
Varania's smile spread a bit wider. "You have it bad, don't you?"
"Of course not; he's a ridiculous uncultured horn-headed beast," Dorian said, shaking his head. "Why I couldn't have found a nice Templar..." His voice trailed off and he got a faraway, dreamy look on his face.
"You're in love with him." It was a statement, not a question.
Dorian's head snapped back to her and he looked like he was going to protest but he gave up quickly. He muttered under his breath. "Stultus mirabile taurum spuria...do you think he knows?"
Varania didn't know what that meant, but she understood anyway. "If he doesn't, you better tell him."
"Kaffas." Dorian pursed his lip. "I know. How did this happen?" He lamented his terrible luck at being in love. Varania shook her head at him.
"It's wonderful," she said softly. "I'm happy for you."
Dorian's face had a goofy smile. "It is wonderful, but don't you dare tell anyone I said that." He patted the bed. "Now that I'm completely flustered, how's your head? That's why I'm actually here, not to be pestered about my sex life."
"Love life," Varania corrected.
Dorian frowned. "Fine," he groused. "You. Head." He gesticulated wildly. "Clearly your sass is still working. How's everything else?"
"I'm fine," she said and that felt like the truth. Since she'd woken, the voices were just white noise. It felt like she would be able to listen if she focused her attention, but they weren't like a spirit. She wasn't possessed. It was just like having vivid memories.
Someone else's memories, but that aside, she felt all right. She was honestly more worried about Solas than herself. His absence spoke louder than any words.
"Good," Dorian said. "Then get out of the bed and go find your bald elf and talk some sense into him."
Varania smiled. "What would I do without you Dorian?"
"Fail horribly and wear mismatched armor, I assume." His voice was only half serious, but that was typical.
She dragged herself out from under the covers and headed towards the stairs before Dorian stopped her.
"Ugh," he groaned at her. "And apparently wander around half dressed with uncombed hair. Come back here."
Dorian made sure she looked presentable before he let her leave, even brushing through her hair himself. It reminded her of home, if Tevinter was home. She supposed it always would be, in a way.
It was a Tevinter thing, she supposed, but her mother always combed her hair, even when she was an adult. Varania did it for Leto, whenever he'd let her. When Master Danarius was in a mood, he was forever sending for slaves to comb their hair.
Back then, Varania's hair was long, almost to her hips and the Master loved to run his bone comb through it. It was strange, but she remembered it fondly. A part of her wanted to to hate everything about her past, but that would be a lie.
There were moments that were worth remembering, even knowing how awful it was. Sometimes that idea, that memory of someone else making choices for her, was comforting now that so much lay on her shoulders. She had her advisors and she trusted them, but in the end, she was the one who had to choose.
Just like she chose at the Well of Sorrows. Now, she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they were.
She headed down the stairs, leaving Dorian to finish his book in the warmth of the fireplace and wished that she could have just stayed with him, even as much as she wanted to talk to Solas. His anger; she only saw him direct it at others. She'd never experienced it herself but she knew it was cutting. She wasn't sure she had the fortitude to bear it.
But if she could bear the weight of the Inquisition on her back, she could manage the ire of one middle aged-acerbic elf.
Of course she could.
It would be fine.
Really.
Varania managed to not run away. It was a step.
Stultus mirabile taurum spuria - In Latin: "Foolish wonderful bastard bull" via google translate