The First Dream: Death by Water

A current under the sea

Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell,

He passed the stages of his age and youth,

Entering the whirlpool.

The Wasteland, TS Eliot


Waves crashed against the sides of the skiff. Rain and salt spray drenched Veda's face. In the gale, Dragon Island was a distant shadow, its beaches toothed with rocks.

Cassandra prayed as she rowed:

Holy Andraste,

bless us with your mercy

and protect us from all evil.

Let us not fall into temptation,

but lead us into the grace of the Maker.

They rode the crest of a wave, the boat tilting back and nearly flipping.

Dorian white-knuckled the side of the skiff. "Embarrassing to admit this, but I never actually learned to swim."

As a child, Veda has learned to float in a shallow pool under the willow trees, her hair streaming behind her. She could tread water, but that wasn't going to save her.

The wind lashed against them, turning the boat from side to side. One of the oars cracked in twain. Cassandra gritted her teeth and kept rowing, still muttering her prayers.

"He ate fish for dinner," Cole murmured. "Now the fish eat him."

Veda put her hand on his shoulder, quieting him. Even the drowned called out for remembrance.

Cold drops of rain hammered into their skin like nails. The sea flung the skiff to one side, then the other, water spilling over the sides. Another wave hit. The craft tipped.

Veda kicked and flailed, forcing her head above water. Salt water in her mouth, filling her lungs. She coughed and spit it out, searched frantically for the others, but they were not there.

The sea pushed the toppled boat towards her. She reached for it, but it came faster than she'd expected, bashing against her skull.

Her head spun, the water churning round her, a dark mouth ready to devour her whole. Her fingers scrapped against the slippery wood, seeking purchase but finding nothing. A wave splashed over her head and the undertow dragged her down, even as she kicked against it.

No sight. No sound. No breath. Her heart an explosion in her chest.

A shaft of green light pierced the black. It reached down, grasping her limp body and bearing it upward.

Veda broke the surface, gasping and choking. Her eyes stung and her lungs were on fire, but she was inexplicably alive and the sea had turned eerily calm. Moonlight played over the gentle tides. The storm was over, as quickly as it had begun.

Pale green light radiated from a lighthouse high on the cliffs of Dragon Island. She swam towards it, her body illuminated in its beam. The currents swirled around her like silk.

Veda reached the shallows, then washed up on the damp sand, the tide spilling over her, lapping at her feet. She clawed her way up the shore, seaweed tangling in her fingers.

There was something dark and jagged in the sand. She grabbed it, examining its familiar shape with dawning comprehension. It was a piece of fossilized bone, black and shining. The jawbone of a wolf.

"Inquisitor? Are you alive?" Cassandra's voice cut through the dark.

Veda looked up. Cassandra and Dorian and Cole were standing on the ridge, silhouetted by the light of the beacon. They were alive. But how?

"We must go back to Skyhold," Cassandra said.

Dorian nodded. "Indeed. Skyhold, it is."

Somewhere, far away, a wolf howled.

Cole stared at her from under the brim of his hat.

"Inquisitor, it's time to return to Skyhold." His voice was different. His voice was not his voice. "You must...Wake. Up."

Veda woke with a soft gasp, her head jolting up from the pillow. The sun shone in through the gaps in her bed curtains. What time was it? It couldn't still be morning.

Her fingers found her amulet, the smooth piece of halla antler lying at the hollow of her throat. Solas had come to her nightmare, just as he'd visited her dreams.

Had the amulet compelled him to be there? Did he have no choice but to watch? Veda doubted that was the case. She couldn't picture him making the mistake of binding himself so closely to the token that he'd be unable to resist its draw.

More likely, it had acted as an invitation, one Solas chose to accept. But if he'd wanted to see her, why hadn't he shown himself? He'd kept hidden the most of the time, letting her dream spin its own shape, interceding only when she'd needed it, when it'd become clear she was going to drown.

"Where are you?" she whispered. "What are you planning?"

The empty room offered no answers.