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Chapter Inspiration: Counting Paths (Matthew and the Atlas)

I crossed a clearing yesterday
Somewhere that I recognized
Counted all the paths along the way

Further than I'd been before
Touched your hand but nothing more
No one's ever looked at me that way

Shadows of Haven

After some discussion and her express permission, Inara allowed Feynriel to step into her Dreams. She only had to wait a few moments in the grey, shapeless expanse before he emerged from the nothingness. The mage cocked his head at her left hand, which she was anxiously opening and closing into a tight fist. It was one of the things she truly liked about these Dreams – the ability to feel whole again.

"I admit," the somniari noted lightly, "I pictured your dreams to be more…well, more."

Inara rolled her eyes.

"This is how many of my dreams begin. That quickly changes, however, whether by my own will or not."

The rogue nodded off into the distance, where a pair of eyes appeared briefly in the mist. And another pair. And another. Eventually, a pack of seven grey wolves with glowing red eyes solidified and began circling the Dreamers. As the dogs snarled and drooled, the duo remained calm – Inara out of familiarity and Feynriel out of experience.

"Follow me," the woman commanded. With a steadying breath, she led her companion forward through the living blockade, which allowed them reluctantly. As they continued walking, two other wolves ran past, one white and one the color of coal. "Only parts of the dream," she sighed.

Feynriel continued to watch the pack when it began dispersing, slowly leaving them to the mist again.

"Haven't you wondered why you can walk in the Fade so easily? You don't need the Mark. The magic is part of you. Can you not feel it?"

The elf sadly raised her left arm to study it, noting the occasional flicker of green emanating from her palm.

"That's what scares me."

"How so? Think of the possibilities, of your potential."

"The Mark was inevitably going to kill me. If it is permanent, even now…"

She closed her shaking fist at the thought. She didn't fear death; she feared not knowing.

"You are a non-mage and a mortal reaching into a realm not meant for you."

"But if the Veil falls…"

Inara grimaced guiltily at her own thoughts. She was dedicated to the cause of stopping Solas, stopping the Veil from falling, and preserving their current world as much as possible. Yet, she found herself increasingly intrigued by the what-ifs of the Veil's failure. And then there was the matter of her own personal stake in this mess. She rarely voiced the selfish desires of her heart, but their strength continued to grow.

"There is no way to truly know until it happens, Inquisitor. If it does, however, everything that was reserved for the Fade – spirits, magic, a warped sense of time – all of it could come crashing through. As we are beginning to understand, the elves lost their immortality and humans became dominant over the land only after the forming of the Veil. What will become of those not of Elvhen descent?" The topic weighed on them for a moment before Feynriel backed away, gesturing to the mist around them. "As much as I'm enjoying the scenery, are we not here to learn of Dreaming?"

She reluctantly smirked.

"And did you have anything in particular in mind, teacher?"

"Think of a time when you were most content," he directed without pause.

Easy enough.

The grey swirled and took shape, giving way to a small village. The snow-covered mountains rose up in the distance, while the Chantry overlooked the settlement at their backs. Inara peeked into the closest cabin, noting the healer inside as he grumbled about not having enough Elfroot in stock. She sniffed a laugh, remembering simpler times of trudging through the snow to collect the plenteous herbs just so the poor man could have some peace of mind.

Down the hill, Sera could be seen leaning inside the doorway of the tavern, chuckling as a drunken Varric stumbled out of the building. Outside the gates, she could hear the tinkling of swordplay from the training troops. Cassandra and Cullen would be there.

"Imagine if spirits entered freely," the echoes of a past conversation with Solas came closer, "if the Fade was not a place one went but a state of nature like the wind."

Breathing in the crisp air, Inara continued to circle in place, noting Dorian sitting outside his own cabin, polishing his staff.

"Am I riding in on a shining steed?"

"I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they're extinct."

And there he was. Even if it was just a memory being reflected in the Fade, the sight brought a grin to her face. The Inquisitor's younger mirror image stood opposite a less world-worn Solas with a twinkle of mischief.

"So you're suggesting I'm graceful?"

"No, I am declaring it."

Much simpler, much more content. Feynriel, however, had a different opinion as he stepped next to her.

"Well," the somniari tsked, "this isn't too much better than that fog! Is this truly how you see the world? And yourself?"

"How do you mean?"

He waved his arms in a grand motion, and Inara frowned. In pure relief at the people and the memories, she had failed to see the bigger picture. The clouds hung over Haven in an angry pool of black, leaving only the scraping hints of sunlight and the overwhelming emerald rift that was far too close for comfort. The village carried a seeping sense of deprivation, and even Dorian's tanned complexion looked a bit too ashen. The snow in the mountains appeared caught in a perpetually circulating avalanche that never quite reached the ground below. Her own youthful copy looked anxious and naïve under the mischief; Solas seemed only capable of insincere smirks at the female's curiosity for his journeys through the Fade.

"Everything here reeks of survival," Feynriel elaborated. "The beauty is gone. It's no wonder you cannot find real peace in your dreams." He paused. "Do any of your visions not involve your life as the Inquisitor? Isn't there more to your existence?"

What were you like? Before the Mark.

"Not often," she begrudgingly conceded, again staring at her glowing hand.

"Your first time in the Fade, what happened?"

Inara studied him in confusion for a moment. Didn't everyone know this story by now?

"After the explosion at the Conclave? When I was with the Divine, being chased by spiders? 'Tis a memory I'd rather not consider, to be perfectly honest."

"My apologies. I meant after that, when Solas took you in your Dreams."

The clouds overhead began to part, brightening the pallid world even as the student shook her head.

"It is not something I wish to share."

"I can only help if you let me," the lad insisted gently. "There is a reason I ask this of you. Control over your Dreams does not come without a cost."

The elf chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously, watching their current scene continue to brighten even as she fought her anxiety at showing Feynriel one of her most treasured moments. The colors were slowly becoming crisper with each passing second. Until she took a relieved gulp of the now sweet wintery air, she hadn't realized how stifling the atmosphere had been.

"Very well. I would, however, request that you keep any…untoward comments to yourself."

At her silent command, the air shifted around them and she could hear Solas' voice ring out:

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you."

Inara was temporarily blinded by the piercing vividness of the memory. Compared to their previous haunt, the colors and sharpness of every sight and sound made the real Haven seem but a shadow. Even calling the memory 'magical' or 'sparkling' wouldn't have done it justice. The woman's breath hitched at the sight herself and Solas in their shared Dream; they both looked…beautiful. She couldn't take her gaze away from the Great Rebel and his enchanting words. His voice alone could have held her captive for hours, his tones like rich poetry even when discussing the most mundane of topics:

"And right then, I felt the whole world change."

"Felt the whole world change?" the younger Inara repeated teasingly.

A hint of a blush grew on the ancient one's cheeks.

"A figure of speech."

"I'm aware of the metaphor. I'm more interested in 'felt'."

The Inquisitor of the past stepped coyly closer to the man.

"You change…everything."

"Sweet talker."

Inara deliberately kept her focus locked on the scene before them, ignoring Feynriel's presence and allowing the longing ache in her gut to linger. After a moment of uncertainty, her shade grabbed the Dread Wolf and kissed him before backing away to avoid risk of overstepping her boundaries.

The Dreaming elf, however, finally turned her back on the couple with a trembling breath when the emboldened memory of Solas pulled his lover into his embrace.

The woman traced her own lips, staring at nothing while contemplating that kiss – the warmth, the confidence, the unbridled passion that Solas found so difficult to share in the physical world. She had felt so utterly and completely safe with him, and now… Where was he?

"Your affection for Solas is clear, Suledin." Her companion joined her, courteously not elaborating on what he had just seen. "Even in just how you remember your surroundings in this moment, your loyalty is palpable. I find the need to apologize again; there is more to your Dreams than being the Inquisitor."

"Feynriel? I know you said there are things you cannot tell me. But can you say why the elves are disappearing? How have the Solasans remained so well hidden?"

Feynriel hummed in thought, accepting her forced change of topic.

"I'm afraid there is only so much I can share; however, what can be discussed may be better served with some strong coffee. I thank you for sharing that memory with me, and I hope you can better control the vividness of your Dreams in the future – you felt the differences between the two Havens. Now, it is time to wake up. Future training need not require me to visit you physically. With your permission, I can find my own way to your Dreams."

Inara glanced to the side to find the half-elf gone. The two shades had also disappeared, their purpose served, but the clarity of this Haven remained. After briefly savoring the moment, however, Lavellan cocked her head at the sight of a wolf the color of coal standing near the village's gate. It observed her for some time, unmoving, and the woman found herself transfixed by its dark crimson eyes.

Abruptly, the animal departed through the gate and disappeared. She watched for a while longer, nonetheless. The wolves of her Dreams no longer frightened the Inquisitor, but this particular creature seemed to beckon to her.

"Time to wake up, Suledin," she whispered to herself reluctantly, taking one more look at the breathtaking Fade and finding that she did not want to leave.

Soon your touch will disappear
It's something that I recognize
Something that I should have come to fear

Trace the lines upon your face
They tell a tale you can't erase
No one's ever looked at you that way

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