III. Eir'melana

Venara sat in her bed, huddled beneath a pile of books and mismatched blankets. Some were made of heavy grey lambswool trimmed with fur, others of even heavier velvet, dyed green and embroidered in gold. Both sets had been gifts from Josephine, who had desperately tried to reshape every aspect of Venara's wardrobe and style into something befitting of her station. It was she who was responsible for the ridiculously comfortable bed of marble and gold, imported directly from Val Royeaux, and the recently refurbished hearth, which featured new carvings of prancing hall. Venara didn't mind. Though ultimately unnecessary, the gesture was heartwarming.

And Josephine did have very fine taste.

Venara shifted on her bed and pulled a candle—which was set on the side table—closer. Despite the roaring fire in the hearth and numerous candles dripping wax at various strategic places throughout the room, reading light was poor during winter nights. And Venara had a lot of reading to do. Between the reports and missives and written requests from the nobility, she had no time for her own studies during the day. Some said she was the most talented mage who ever lived and therefore didn't need to study more magic, but Venara refuted that.

First of all, she wasn't the most talented mage who ever lived. Dorian occupied that position. The man had discovered how to functionally work time magic in under an hour while under the immediate threat of death in a corrupted future. The most impressive thing Venara knew how to do was to let her hand glow green, wave it around and—poof!—goodbye demons and Fade rifts.

And that had taken no study whatsoever.

Second of all, she always needed to study more magic. Everyone needed to study more magic. If all mages could stop squabbling and ply their minds together, Thedas would be in a much better state.

Venara sighed and turned a page of her current book. She was progressing very little tonight. The mysteries of the limits of Fadewalking and Dreamer mages continued to elude her.

Some time ago, she had been informed by a mildly surprised and bemused Dorian that she was what the Tevinter called a somniari. A Dreamer. A supposedly powerful class of mage who could walk the Fade without aid of lyrium. During her training with Istimaethoriel, Venara had never learned about such a class. She had always assumed that such a thing was… normal… for every mage.

Apparently, she had been misinformed. Or rather, she had misinformed herself.

She had spent months walking the Fade with Solas, slowly learning how to twist and the shape the realm of dreams to her will. But his teachings had never been formal—rather, she had watched him, learned from him, until she was able to transform the world around her on her own. And then she had been thrown back into the Fade physically at Adamant, and she had never dreamed lucidly again.

She had refused to.

Having the power to stop her own dreams… that, too, was apparently rare. And odd. Dorian was very helpful for pointing out these kinds of discrepancies.

And so now here she was, studying late into the hours of the night, trying to learn about this other power her former lover had unlocked in her, a power she had later blocked. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted to use that power again (seeing the Fade as it really was still haunted her, even though it had been over a year since the incident).

Venara pulled the blanket draped around her shoulders close. It was her favourite. Made from thick, dark grey wolf's fur and embroidered with simple thread, it had been a gift from Keeper Hawen for aiding his clan when they were camped on the Exalted Plains. Though the blanket was not of her own clan, there was a sense of familiarity about it and it was now well-worn with use.

Venara took a long sip from the warm mug she cradled between her hands. Several years ago, she had never even heard of tea—at least, not in the way humans brewed it. And now, a deep, dark tea, brewed the Antivan way (Josephine had showed her), was her favourite drink, especially on a long winter night. Skyhold, though fully repaired and reinforced, did what castles did best and was incredibly drafty. The tea worked wonders for keeping her warm during her study sessions.

"I detest the stuff."

Venara looked down at her mug, at the swirling dark brown liquid lightened by the faintest hint of milk. Solas' voice still echoed in her mind. She shut her eyes and gulped down another mouthful, nearly burning her tongue.

Not again, she thought. Not tonight. I need to concentrate.

And so she lowered her mug, reached out and drew another book to her. She flipped it to the marked page and held it open with her foot, which was encased in a very thick, wool sock. She then returned to warming her hands on the mug.

It was, she decided, completely unfair.

So much of Skyhold reminded her of him. The castle walls they had walked, the view from the mountain pass. She avoided using the rotunda to access the library, there was far too much of him in there. A lingering presence she could never shake because of those damn stupid frescos. Even her chambers were not free of his memory. How many nights had they spent here, speaking into the long hours of the night, debating history and philosophy and magic? How many times had they laid on this bed, holding each other as they met in dreams to walk the Fade?

She knew exactly how many times. And she wished she could forget.

Venara sipped more tea. The taste was surprisingly bitter. Maybe she needed to add sugar.

She stared at the open tome, her eyes scanning the pages. She forced herself to concentrate.

Accounts of the techniques of Ancient Tevinter dreamers, or somniari, are confusing at best. It is unknown how far their powers extended. Indeed, it is theorized that much of what is said to lie within a somniari's capabilities is shadowed by myth and legend. However, when one can shape the Fade to their will, transform their very dreams, who can say what is not possible? Perhaps, within this school of magic, anything is possible…

"Damn it," Venara breathed.

She had promised herself she would let him go. She had told herself that. It had been his choice to leave, and she had to respect that. She wasn't going to go chasing after him like some love-struck fool in one of Varric's romance serials. The idea was tempting, but ultimately useless. If Leliana's agents couldn't find him, what chance did she have?

Besides, even if she did find him, she would probably turn into a stuttering fool and embarrass herself.

Accounts of the techniques of Ancient Tevinter dreamers…

Really, was she desperate to be that kind of person, the one who held on so tightly they nearly suffocated themselves over a broken heart? No lover was worth that. None.

Accounts of the techniques of…

But forget all that. Forget how it appeared. What galled her about this whole situation was that they had shared something, a bond that went beyond companionship and love—he had so much as admitted it! And then he had cited that it was a reason—no, the reason—their relationship had to end. He was a distraction to her duty.

Fine. All right. Fair.

But he had also left without so much as a goodbye and that set her teeth on edge. That's made her angry, what made her confused, what made her unable to let him go. She had no sense of closure, he had simply… disappeared. And he had left behind so many unanswered questions—more questions than answers, really—and he was the only one who knew enough to be able to help her.

The orb. If it belonged to one of the Evanuris, who did it belong to?

Her hand. The mark. It was growing. How could she stop it?

Her abilities. Dreaming. What had started off as an innocent romance had turned into a magic that was perhaps her most powerful—and most dangerous—tool. Why show her that, encourage her abilities, but say nothing about it?

Accounts of the techniques…

He had told her he respected her. He had told her he loved her. If you truly cared for someone, if you loved them, if you respected them—if you had the chance, you did not forget to say goodbye.

Too many people were never given that chance.

Accounts of the…

Accounts of…

Accounts…

Damn it.

She had riled herself up and was now completely unable to focus.

Venara threw herself back into her pillows and sunk into them. She raised a hand and bit her fingernail.

"You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I."

"Indomitable focus?"

"Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that would be…fascinating."

Venara stopped chewing her fingernail and pressed her knuckles against her lips. She hated that her mind worked in this manner, recalling memories that now had completely different meanings at the most inopportune moments.

There you go, Solas, she thought. You have retroactively caused my focus to be dominated. We'll have a talk about that if I ever see you again.

Venara drained her tea and set the mug down. She pulled the blankets closer around her and resumed reading. Though her mind usually slid over the text with ease, gleaning information at a mere glance, she forced herself to slow down and take in every word. It was her only defense against rampaging memories.

She turned page after page, determined to finish this section tonight. The fire in the hearth crackled. Snow lashed against the windows. There had to be something in here that was helpful. She needed to know more. Where magic was concerned, she always needed to know more.

There.

It is suggested that a dreamer may deliberate seek out other dreamers within the Fade. Most often, this has occurred when mages willingly enter the Fade together, such as in the case of Augustina and her apprentice Karem (for further reading, see Augustina's apocrypha, Journals II—IX). However, in Journal VII, Augustina writes the following addendum to her journeys:

"We walked. And then we were found. Black as night, a shadow in shadow. No demon was he, but he would have slayed us or turned us if we had not cloaked ourselves in the shadows of the mind."

From this passage, it is reasonable to assume that Dreamers can slay each other in the Fade. Augustina uses an example of cloaking magic to hide herself and her apprentice, preventing them from being detected and from coming to harm. It appears that it is possible to purposefully hunt or find another Dreamer within the depths of the Fade, but how this is accomplished is unknown.

However, there are a number of possibilities, as detailed below.

"Aha," Venara murmured. "Got you."

So much for letting go.

If it was possible to find him in the Fade—and he would always be there, he loved the Fade—she would find him. And she would not let him go until she had had a few words.

Venara pulled the book close and flopped back down on the pillows. She would read until dawn.

When her servants came to wake her for breakfast, they would discover a darkened room. There would be embers in the hearth, candle wax dotting the stone floor, and a young elven woman who had fallen asleep, fully dressed, amidst a pile of books.