Chapter Seventeen: A Dream Within a Dream

Dorian's foot faltered, missed the step, and nearly pitched the rest of him face-first into the stairs. He let out a small cry, his hands grasping for the railing, which creaked threateningly beneath his sudden weight.

"Careful," Bull's voice called down to him, "My hands are full right now. If you fall, I won't be able to catch you."

Dorian leaned his backside against the outside wall, deeming it stronger and sturdier than the wooden railing. He braced his hands on his knees while he struggled to catch his breath. "Ah, but you'd… like that, wouldn't you? Any excuse… to lay your hands on me."

Bull stopped and turned, Peredura still in his arms, and stared at Dorian. "Really? You're standing there, nearly out of breath, and rather than saving your strength, you flirt with me? I'm flattered." His wide lips pulled up into a warm smile.

The mage made a noise of disgust. "I meant… killing Vints… I'm a Vint… you'd like to… oh, never mind!" He didn't know why he had said what he said, habit perhaps, or boredom. Climbing the seemingly endless flights of stairs in Peredura's tower was mind numbing. Especially after their race through the forest at night to reach Skyhold, Bull egging him on, goading him to keep pace. Speaking of which…

"Come on, Vint, we're nearly there. Just a couple more flights." He glanced up, "In fact, I can see the door to her chambers. Two, no, three more landings, and you can sit down on a warm comfy couch with big fluffy pillows and take a nice little nap."

Dorian looked at him with daggers in his eyes. "Festis bei… umo… canavarum!"

Bull laughed at his panting curse. "You know I speak Tevene, right? And I won't be the death of you, not unless you've done something recently I don't know about, like burned down an orphanage, or ravished a sanctuary full of virgins, something like that."

"Not today, I'm afraid," he pushed himself off the wall and started climbing the eternal staircase. "All I've been doing is chasing your ass all over the place. No!" he commanded, holding up a hand when Bull looked at him again, "Don't say it!"

Wisely the qunari chose not to continue teasing him.

Dorian heard Bull above him, his heavy steps on every stair, shuffling around the corners at every landing, the creak of hinges as he opened Peredura's door. He couldn't make himself care, however, or even lift his face to look, every ounce of his energy focused on keeping his feet moving, upwards and forwards, turning left whenever he bumped into a wall, so he could continue his slow progress up the next section of stairs.

Maker, how he wished this day would end.

Then strong hands were there, one taking his wrist and draping his arm across broad shoulders, the other so secure at his side he was nearly swept off his feet. "No," he protested, his head swimming, "You should be… carrying… Peredura…"

"She's safe and sound on her bed," Bull answered, his voice soft. "And you're exhausted. I came back to help you."

"Why?"

Bull took a moment to think of a reason that Dorian would accept, before he could answer. "Because the Boss cares about you. And she'll never forgive me, if I let you fall down all these stairs and break your neck. Now, shut up. Save your strength. She's gonna need you, to help her get over the opeigh."

"That won't be much of a fuss," he protested. "It's dangerous in people who've developed a taste for it. But she was never addicted, so it should be a simple matter of waiting for the drug to wear off."

Bull didn't answer, but Dorian was beginning to hear his silence.

They reached the top, and Dorian let out a long and contented sigh. Peredura's bedchamber was spacious, appointed in rich fabrics and varnished woods. The fire had been lit earlier and stoked into blazing warmth, something Dorian deeply appreciated, being used to warmer climates. "Ah, this is more like it. All nice and warm and cozy. And tastefully done. A fellow could appreciate a woman with such elegant style."

Bull smiled, relieved to have a topic he could talk about. "As I understand it, Josephine made most of the purchases, but I'm sure she'd be flattered by your approval." He set Dorian down on the promised couch and tried to lift his feet up.

"No time for that," Dorian waved him off. "The spell is dissipating. I'll need to cast another…"

"No, you won't. She's safe and sound in her own room. All she needs now is a healing potion."

The two men suddenly exchanged a look.

"Did you, er, think to bring any with you, before we started climbing all those stairs?"

"No," Bull admitted, slightly sheepishly. "Um, you?"

Dorian shook his head.

Bull's shoulders finally sagged with fatigue. "Ah, crap," he sighed, looking over his shoulder at the head of the stairs. He was not looking forward to trekking all the way down to the base of the tower, and all the way back up again. But there was no help for it, Dorian certainly was in no shape to make the trip, and he didn't trust that someone else would think to grab a couple of bottles before coming up after them.

"Maybe she has one or two here, in her chamber?"

Bull nodded, brightening a little with the hope. "Hey, yeah, she could. It's worth a look, at least, before I have to go all the way back downstairs. I'll check over by her desk."

"I'll check in this closet, here," Dorian grunted as he reached his feet. He waved Bull off before he could touch him this time, sending him on his way as he shuffled over to the closet.

"You know," Bull started, opening and closing drawers, automatically taking inventory of what he found, even as he searched for any potions, "You're fairly exhausted, after tonight's little adventure. I thought you were in better shape than that."

"I am, thank you for noticing," Dorian quipped, "But beyond running through half a forest and climbing this infernal tower, I've also had to cast several spells. It took intense concentration to keep my staff continually glowing. And every so often, I had to recast the barrier spell that protected our dear Inquisitor. Not to mention the fireworks display; that took a lot of willpower, all at once. So, yes, I am quite knackered."

"So, you're saying you wouldn't mind a little lyrium to recharge your magical reserves?"

Dorian didn't want to turn around, figuring he was being teased again, but he heard the distinctive tinkle of a bottle being tapped by a fingernail. He leaned back from the closet, it had been a fairly fruitless search anyway, and slowly turned to look at Bull.

He could feel his mouth water, seeing the little blue vial in Bull's thick gray fingers. Blue, the beautiful color of lyrium. He sighed deeply. "Oh, how I love you."

"Dorian!" Bull chuckled, "I knew it!"

"I… er… I was speaking to the bottle of lyrium, you degenerate! Here. Stop teasing and bring it to me," he commanded, holding his fingers out and snapping impatiently. He hoped the haughty air might cover his slip. Vishante kaffas, had he just said what he thought he said? To an ox-man? He must be exhausted out of his mind.

Bull allowed the cover-up, for now, at least. It was something he might have to look into later, of course. But tonight wasn't the time and Peredura's bedchamber definitely wasn't the place. He walked over to Dorian, the vial held lightly in his fingertips, and allowed the mage to take it from his hand.

Dorian didn't speak, not even to thank Bull, unstoppering the vial and bringing it eagerly to his lips. He anticipated the taste of the lyrium, the feel of it flowing down his throat, the well of magic inside him refilling…

He stopped, the edge of the bottle pressed against his lips. Not a drop had touched his tongue, because he sensed something was wrong.

Bull was looking at him closely, tilting his head. "You… waiting for a toast?"

Dorian blinked at him. "What? No. It's just…" he pulled the vial back, looking at it closely. "It's not…" he sniffed suspiciously at the contents. "Oh! This is not lyrium." He held the small blue vial out at arm's length.

"If it's not lyrium," Bull started, leaning forwards to sniff at the bottle himself, "Then what is it?"

"I believe," he dabbed a little on his finger, and touched it lightly to his tongue, "It's a, ah, sleeping… sleeping draught…" His words were swallowed by a yawn. "Excuse me."

Bull raised his one good eyebrow. "Really."

"Oh, the yawn was my own. Yes, this is definitely a sleeping draught. A powerful one. I could smell the embrium as soon as I unstoppered the vial. And crystal grace comes through fairly strong in the taste, as well as a hint—just a hint—of some sort of lotus, undoubtedly used more for its soporific qualities than as an hallucinogen." He held the vial out again, raising his own eyebrow, "Care to test my theory?"

"No, thanks, I'm the one that's gotta run back downstairs for some healing potions, remember?" Bull stepped back a pace, hands behind his back, before he tried to turn the tables, "Unless you want to do the running…"

He scoffed, "Far be it from me to interfere with your exercise routine. Besides, I, um, have to cast that barrier spell on Peredura, again, to keep her safe until your return."

Bull shot him a shit-eating grin, then winked. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Try not to fall asleep while I'm gone."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He watched Bull leave, listened to the door close at the base of the stairs, and sat down tiredly on the side of the bed. "Well, my dear, it's just you and me now, isn't it?"

Peredura didn't answer.

Dorian looked closer at her, and found her eyes were open slightly, though continuing to stare at nothing. Not knowing how large of a dose she had been given, he wasn't sure when the opeigh would start wearing off, but he hoped it would be soon. "Ah, you dear, sweet child. You finally get your Commander all to yourself, and this happens. Life certainly hasn't been very fair to you, as of late."

He brushed a loose strand of hair off of her face, revealing the scarred cheek. Again he had that tickle of memory, that nagging suspicion that they had met before, that he should know her face, that somewhere, at some time in the past, their paths had crossed…

"Oh, it doesn't matter, I suppose," he sighed, not realizing he was talking out loud. "Here, you look a bit uncomfortable. Let's do something about that, shall we?"

He leaned over and tugged very gently on her boots, sliding them carefully from her feet. Next he removed the rest of her ruined coat, deciding the room was warm enough she didn't need the extra clothing. And it was torn, irreparably damaged, not to mention filthy, soaked through with snow and caked in mud. He tossed it off to the side to land in some corner where he was sure some servant would eventually find it and remove it.

"Better? No, you still look a bit awkward. How about a pillow or two? Something to cushion your head. Here, let me lift you up and…"

One of Dorian's hands slipped along the side of her head while the other brought in a pillow. He didn't set her back down right away, however, feeling something rather strange beneath his sensitive digits. It was on the side of her head, near her ear, another scar possibly, long and curved and…

He slipped his other hand against her other ear, and felt the same sort of scarring.

"I… I've never noticed these scars before…"

Peredura remained passive beneath his touch, eyes blank, no sign that she had heard him or could answer him. He lifted the hair back just far enough to confirm both her ears had been cut…

He pulled his hands away quickly as if he had been burned. With wide eyes he looked once more at the collar of her tunic, where it had been ripped, showing a bit of skin from beneath. Fingers shaking, he moved the edges of the rip a little, revealing a bit more of her scars. Long, curved, precise scars, not at all like the scars on her cheek. The scars on her body were deliberate, carved into her flesh with purpose, and all too familiar.

"Vishante kaffas."

He needed air. He needed cold, piercing air, stabbing at his lungs, stinging his eyes, clearing his head. He staggered to his feet, not wanting to look at her, not wanting to see…

But he could see. In his mind's eye, he could see her, the tips of elven ears pointing out of her long brown hair, her posture submissive as she followed behind her master…

He hadn't seen her for more than a moment or two, his eyes more focused on his father and the blood mage he had invited into their home. But he had looked at her to find she had been looking at him, and their eyes had met…

"Vishante kaffas!"

He reeled away from the bed and somehow managed to find the balcony doors. He yanked one open, thrusting his head and chest out into the cold night breeze, gulping down the air as a fish would gulp down water.

He knew her. And he could not help but wonder, did she know him? If so, had she told the others? Had she told her advisors about him, his past, his father, his… passions?

"Hey, Dorian. Look who I found on the stairs, coming up to check on the Boss. And," Bull's voice rolled through the room like thunder, causing Dorian to turn around to stare dumbly at him, "He brought a bag full of medicinal supplies. Including healing potions." Bull slapped the shoulder of Stitches, who staggered slightly under the blow.

"What?" Dorian blinked at him.

Stitches answered. "I wasn't much use to the Commander out there, searching the river, so he sent me back here to see what I could do for the Inquisitor."

"I came as well," Cassandra added, bringing up the rear of the little group. "She will need someone here, when she awakens, someone she trusts, someone she knows."

"Yes," Dorian swallowed, "Yes, that sounds… reasonable." He stared at Cassandra, but if she knew anything person about him, she showed no sign.

"Damn, Dorian, you're looking pale beneath that tan of yours. Maybe you should come with me, get some rest."

He swung his head around to see Bull standing at his side, about to take his elbow and lead him away. "What? No, I need…" he looked back at Peredura, but she continued to simply lie there, her secrets locked behind the malaise of opeigh. "I need a drink."

Bull gave a laugh. "Fine. Drinks first, then it's off to bed. Come on. The Boss will be fine, now. Stitches and Cassandra will take good care of her."

He didn't answer, but he did allow Bull to pull him towards the stairs.

"One moment, Dorian," Cassandra's voice stopped them short, preventing his escape. Feeling like he was facing the hangman's noose, he lifted his eyes up to her. "About the opeigh. Is there anything we should do to make this easier for her?"

He licked his lips. He knew Vicici's reputation, had heard stories about his power—about his favorite slave and how he controlled her. "She's going to have a rough time of it," he changed his earlier position, now knowing that she had been drugged for years by her master. "It might be better, more merciful, if she slept through the worst of it. I believe there's a sleeping potion there, beside the bed, that should do the trick."

"Thank you," Cassandra nodded. She watched Dorian leave with Bull before she reached for the potion. "I think Dorian's exhausted himself, using so much magic, but Bull will see to it he gets his rest. This is strange."

"What's strange?" Stitches asked. He had been pushing the sleeves up Peredura's arms to get a good look a the bruised and swollen flesh. He glanced up now and saw Cassandra holding the small blue vial.

"I thought this sort of bottle is only used for lyrium."

"Ah, I remember this," Stitches took it from her fingers. "The Inquisitor came to me, a few weeks ago, and asked if I could make a sleeping draught, the most powerful one possible. That was a little odd, of course, but then she asked if I could put it in a lyrium bottle. At the time I had no idea why she wanted such a thing, but who am I to question the Inquisitor?" He handed the vial back.

"When was this," Cassandra pressed, suspicion creeping into her mind and wanting confirmation, "Exactly."

"Ah, let's see," Stitches sighed, scratching at his close-cropped scalp, "The Inquisitor had just gotten back from searching the ruins at Haven. That very day, in fact. I remember, because she brought back a couple of crates of lyrium they'd found. That's how she got that vial, after one of the templars had finished with it."

"I thought the Chargers had gone with her to search Haven."

"Most of them, sure, but not me. I was still helping the other surgeon with all the wounded. The bones in her arm aren't badly broken, not like her leg the last time. Let me check for anything else, then we'll feed her a healing potion."

Cassandra held the bottle, her thoughts plodding methodically, as Stitches finished his examination. He was careful, circumspect, not removing any clothing, and pushing out of the way only what he had to. Another thought occurred to her, and this time she shared it. "You know about her scars, don't you."

"What scars?"

Cassandra wasn't fooled. "You've never spoken about them? To anyone?"

Stitches shrugged. "Why would I? She's the Inquisitor, the one who pays us, the one we work for." He looked up and held Cassandra's gaze steadily. "Look, the Chief likes her. I've never seen him so loyal with an employer before. So, yeah, sure, I'll keep her secrets. Wouldn't want to piss off Iron Bull, anyway. Hand me a green bottle from my bag, will you?"

"There's nothing else broken?" she passed him the desired bottle.

"Nothing, and the arms weren't that bad, just that both were broken. Oh, there's some bruising along her side, probably from the fall down the hill, but nothing serious. We get this potion down her, and she'll be healed by tomorrow—er, this evening," he amended, seeing as the sky was beginning to lighten with the dawn.

Cassandra nodded, watching him carefully pour the liquid into her mouth. Peredura, awake yet unaware, swallowed obediently. "What do you think about Dorian's advice? About having her sleep through the drug wearing off?"

Stitches scratched at his scalp again, setting the empty bottle aside. "Don't know, really. I haven't had much experience with that sort of thing. I'd guess his advice is as good as any. You gonna use that?" he pointed at the little blue vial.

"Might as well," she picked it up again.

"Don't give her too much," Stitches suggested, picking up his bag. "It is fairly powerful. That whole vial there, small as it is, could keep a girl her size asleep for two, maybe three days. Excuse me, Seeker, I'm gonna go check on her hound. I don't know if that other surgeon's had much experience with animals, but I have a bit. And I know she's gonna want her dog with her, when she's over this."

"Thank you, Stitches, for… everything." Cassandra put extra emphasis on the last word, leaving no doubt what she meant.

He smiled. "Ah, don't mention it. I've kind of grown fond of her, too. Good night, er, morning, whatever."

Cassandra inclined her head and waited until he had left.

She looked back at Peredura, lying calm and passive, completely at the mercy of others. "This is not fair," Cassandra whispered. "I… am out of my depth here. I have no experience with these matters, no idea what you are going through, what you will be going through. I do not know if it would be better to let you sleep, or allow you face it."

She looked down at the vial in her hand. "I do not want this responsibility; I do not want to make this decision for you. But," she looked back up, a determined set to her jaw, "There is no one else here to make this decision, so I must. And I will. I do not know if you can hear me, Peredura, or if you can comprehend what I'm saying, or even if you will remember this later. But please understand, I made this decision based only on what I know. If it was the wrong decision," she unstoppered the vial, "If I chose poorly," she lifted Peredura's head, "Please forgive me."

She poured the whole potion into Peredura's mouth.

There was no sound, yet she knew she was screaming.

She had to be screaming herself hoarse by now, yet she couldn't wake up. That she was dreaming she was certain, the lighting was too dark, the images blurred when more than a few feet away. And there was no pain, no physical, tangible pain, only the impression that she should feel pain because he was holding her wrists.

Pulling her hair.

Shoving his legs between hers.

She screamed, long and hard, trying to make her body outside the nightmare move, trying to wake herself up. All to no avail.

The dream changed. She found herself in an alcove, Vicici having left her alone to heal, watching the long cuts close themselves, feeling the stupor of opeigh take hold of her. Then he entered, his sweaty hands pawing at her, his face filling her vision, his weight crushing her. She waited for the opeigh to take hold, to block out what was happening, again, before she remembered that this wasn't real, it was a dream, she needed to wake up!

NOOOOOOOOOOOO…

…help me…

Solas had come to Skyhold back with Cassandra. While she had made the long climb up the tower to Peredura's chambers, he had headed straight for his bed, intending to get as much sleep as possible before relieving Cassandra later that morning. They had agreed the two of them would sit with her, watch her, help her through this in whatever way possible, even if it was only to be there for her, to let her know she was not alone.

When he woke a few hours later, he was not rested. His sleep had been filled with dreams, not the pleasant walks through the Fade he often took, but a strange and dark pulling, like someone calling to him, drawing him into a nightmare. He woke with a splitting headache and a grouchy temper to match.

Mostly because he knew he'd have to drink some of that abominable tea.

As he steeped the noxious brew, his thoughts wandered over the past several days. It was apparent to him—hindsight being so damnably clear—that the supposed yeti Leliana's scouts reported had been, in fact, this mage in hiding, watching Skyhold, waiting for his opportunity to abduct Peredura.

Solas should have realized it sooner, when Fear and Krem had been unable to find the beast. There was no mistaking the musky scent of a yeti, so a mabari should have had no trouble tracking it. Yet Fear had never once caught wind of it. Therefore, the yeti was no yeti.

He took a sip from his cup, made a face, and took another.

It was bitter, both the tea and his failure. He had grown lax in his protection of Peredura, and had nearly allowed Corypheus to get his hands on her. He resolved to do better in the future. Though it was still a mystery to him how Peredura had survived attaining the mark, the girl had shown a surprising ability to persevere. Perhaps, somehow, she would find a way to survive what was coming.

For her sake, he would allow himself to hope so, even while he feared he knew how it would end—how it must end.

The cup at long last finished, he set it aside and pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the main hall, snatching a roll from a platter as he passed Varric's table—the dwarf had remained with Cullen and the searchers last night—and headed for Peredura's tower.

The climb was long, but he found it rather invigorating after his tea. He reached the top and knocked on the door before heading inside, giving Cassandra notice of his arrival. "Good morning, Seeker," he softly chirped, his steps light as he came up on the other side of Peredura's bed. "How is she doing?"

"Good morning, Solas," she acknowledge, "Peredura's sleeping. I do not think she will have as much trouble as we feared."

"Good, good," he sat down on the bed beside the sleeping Inquisitor. Tenderly he touched her cheek, feeling her breath brush the skin on the back of his hand, needing to confirm for himself that she was alive and on the road to recovery. "Her arms are healing?"

"They should be as good as new by this evening, according to Stitches."

"Yes, I was going to ask about that…"

"He knows of her scars," she answered before he could voice his concerns, "But he will not speak of it. He fears Bull's wrath, should he say anything against 'the Boss'."

Solas chuckled, "I imagine Bull would be upset, and vindictive, if one of his men betrayed Peredura. Our resident qunari is quite fond of her."

"We all are."

He nodded, patting Peredura's shoulder before he withdrew his hand, "Yes, we are. So," he leaned back to look at Cassandra, "Peredura hasn't shown any signs of withdrawal yet?"

"None. And I doubt she will. I took steps last night, on the advice of others, to give her a sleeping potion. She should remain asleep for the duration of her withdrawal, Maker willing." Cassandra stood and stretched her back, feeling the bones pop and the muscles ache. "Speaking of sleep…"

"Yes, of course, go have some sleep yourself. I shall sit with Peredura for the rest of the day."

"Thank you, Solas," Cassandra inclined her head. "Will you require anything while I'm gone? Should I have the servants bring up some food for you later? A book to read? Anything?"

"No, Seeker, thank you, but I will be all right until your return. Go and get some rest."

"Very well," she started for the stairs. Truthfully she was relieved that Solas didn't want anything. Though of course she would have had the servants bring him whatever he desired, she really only wanted to get to her bed and sleep. She hoped she could, that her conscious would be clear enough to allow her rest, her decision to give the sleeping potion continuing to weigh heavily on her heart. At least Solas seemed to agree with what she had done; that should help quell any anxieties.

Swarthy skin, dark, like the clothing he wore.

Long face, angular, harsh lines, cheeks covered with pockmarks.

Cruel lips, laughing at her one moment, whispering endearments the next.

Ice-blue eyes, dead, cold, like the hands that touched her, held her fast, pinched and pulled.

There was no pain, but she was being sadistically hurt.

There was no movement, but she was desperately fighting.

There was no sound, but she was endlessly screaming.

Help me… please… someone… make it stop…

Solas didn't like it.

Perhaps it was the guilt he felt, over misnaming the yeti, allowing the mage to remain undetected. Perhaps it was the thought of all she had gone through, the abduction, the opeigh, falling down a ravine. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he had sat there, in Peredura's chambers, for hours with nothing to do but watch her sleep.

Something was troubling him, however. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something important that he had missed. So much was riding on her shoulders, so much more than rifts and demons and the Inquisition and even Corypheus. He didn't want to fail her again.

"What is the matter?" he spoke suddenly into the room.

Peredura didn't react. She made no sound, gave no twitch of muscle, that would acknowledge his presence.

"You sleep like the dead," he commented out loud. The room was overly quiet in his opinion, the crackle of the fire doing little to fill the empty space around them, so he gave voice to his thoughts. "Due to the strength of the sleeping potion, no doubt. Must have been a very powerful one, if Seeker Cassandra believes you will be through your withdrawal before it wears off. So, you are asleep, in a very deep and peaceful sleep, and yet…"

He leaned in closer, staring intently at her face, willing her to open her eyes, to see him, to speak his name and assure him all was well. She didn't, her expression remaining blank, her lips remaining still, her voice remaining silent. But her eyes…

"You're not…" he loomed over her until he was inches away from her face, "You are, aren't you?" He could see her eyes, though sealed behind heavy lids, her eyes were ceaselessly moving, the cornea pushing and distorting the skin of her eyelids. "You are dreaming."

He received no response, no verbal answer, only the continual flickering of her hidden eyes.

"I hope, at least, it is a peaceful dream," he sighed and leaned back, rubbing at the ache in his neck, "One in which you are strolling through a flower-strewn meadow. Or floating on a peaceful lake. I wonder," a small, impish smile tugged at his lips, "Should I join you? Should I find you in your dream, walk with you for a time, see what secret desires live within your heart? It would give me greater understanding into exactly what type of person you are."

Solas sighed, "But then, the dreams of most mortals are brief. Undoubtedly you would be finished with this dream, before I could join you. I suppose I shall have to grant you your privacy, Peredura. Sleep well, and pleasant dreams."

He patted her arm, gently in case she was not yet fully healed, and stood up. Truthfully he was feeling tired again, possibly due to the long hours spent sitting and staring at someone else sleeping. He stifled a yawn and walked over to the balcony door, gazing outside through the panes of glass. However, the view of the setting sun, painting the snow-capped mountains in purples and pinks, could not distract him. He should feel comfort, knowing she was resting so peacefully, so deeply, without any distress from the opeigh. Instead he continued to feel disquiet.

She was so still, other than her eyes. Eyes that never ceased in their movements.

It hit him so suddenly, he let out a gasp of surprise. He spun around, half expecting her to sit up and agree with his conclusions. "Your dreams, Peredura. You've been having them all day, ever since I got here, at the very least. And not once have you stirred. Not once have you smiled in your sleep, or moaned, or tried to move. You are in too deep a sleep, are you not. Too deep to move, yet not so deep that you cannot dream dreams that never end."

"Who are you talking to?" Cassandra's voice floated up to him. She had opened the door and started up the last flight of stairs without having given him the fair warning of a knock.

"Peredura, of course."

"She is awake!" Cassandra stomped up the last few steps, nearly knocking Solas to the floor in her haste to reach Peredura's side.

"No, she remains asleep," Solas assured her, "Though I am beginning to have my doubts."

"What doubts?" she pressed. She had managed a few hours sleep, interspersed with hours of worry and stress. She had finally come to the conclusion that what was done, was done, and there was nothing more to do about it. Yet if Solas was having doubts…

"I'm…" he looked at her, saw the bags beneath her eyes, the heavy lines of worry on her features, and couldn't find it in himself to add to it. "It's probably nothing, other than I've been sitting here alone for too long."

"I know the feeling," Cassandra sighed, "But I don't know what else to do. I do not want her to wake up alone, with no one to help her should she need it. And there are so few of us who know enough about her past, that she would be comfortable having watch over her while she was incapacitated."

"Agreed. If you like, I could stay with the two of you, for a little while. Give you someone to talk with."

Cassandra waved him away, taking her former perch by Peredura's side. "I appreciate the offer, Solas, but I know you do not like conversing with me. In fact, no one likes conversing with me."

"I find that highly unlikely. Peredura, for instance, loves to talk with you. She looks to you like an older sister, and shares her secrets first with you, then with the rest of us."

Cassandra gave him a rare smile, appreciating his effort to lift her spirits, and tried to return the favor. "And she looks to you like the father she lost. It's all right, Solas, go and get something to eat. Then if you wish it, you can return, but it won't be necessary. Josephine got word that Leliana will soon be returning to Skyhold, and intends to check on Peredura herself."

"Oh?" Solas leaned against one of the bed posts, his interest fully engaged, his curiosity almost palpable. "Is there any more news? Did she say if they were successful in tracking down the mage?"

Cassandra shook her head. "The mage got away cleanly. Leliana is on her way back with the evidence found at the cabin. Cullen will be returning later, after he finishes rounding up the last of the scouts."

"Well, then I won't worry about you, Seeker. It sounds as if you will soon be in good hands." He took one last look at Peredura, staring at her restless and trapped eyes. "I might come back later, though, just to say goodnight."

Cassandra nodded, "Do as you wish. I will stay with her through the night."

Solas left then and made straight for his chambers. There were other places he could have gone, nearer to hand though far less private. He felt the need, however, to be alone and comfortable, before attempting to do what he was about to do.

And it wasn't as if Peredura was going anywhere, in her dreams or out.

The darkness was suffocating. Encompassing. Moving with her as if she wasn't moving.

She found no relief when it lifted. She looked around to see she was once more in that alcove, Vicici telling her what a good girl she had been, and handing over that vial of opeigh. She couldn't stop herself, she couldn't keep her hands from unstoppering the vial, she couldn't keep herself from eagerly swallowing the syrupy liquid as if she had been dying of thirst.

Even knowing what was to come, somewhere in her mind, on some deep level, she hoped and prayed: that this time things were real and the opeigh would work and she would not know would not remember would not see him walking in…

A voice called her name. A voice so familiar, so sudden, that she opened her eyes. She was about to answer, his name was on the tip of her tongue, when she saw it was not the owner of the voice standing over her, but that mage with his dead eyes and groping hands and putrid breath.

nononononononono

Again the voice called, drawing her like a moth to the flame. She screamed, battled against the mage, but could not affect an escape.

Suddenly she rolled off the couch and landed on the floor. When she opened her eyes, the scene had changed once more. She was back in the cabin, the mage looming over her, spouting insanities from his lips. She continued to hear that one voice call her name, but with the mage weighing her down, she could only cry in frustration.

Why couldn't she wake up?

Even knowing it would do no good, that the scene would only change again, she did what she always did at this part in the dream, as if she had no control over her actions. She grabbed the knife from the mage's belt and stabbed him. As soon as he rolled off her she opened the door and ran…

…straight into Solas! He was there. Somehow. In her dream. He was there and calling to her and holding her and allowing her to cry, sobbing against his chest.

There were words exchanged, not anything she could hear, but she saw his lips move and knew what he meant to say. She also knew she was answering, somehow, conveying her thoughts without sound, describing the horrors she had been facing for an undeterminable time.

His form grew stronger and more distinct.

His hands cupped her face.

His blue eyes shone with warmth.

"Wake up."

Nothing happened. She shook her head, feeling his hands moving with her, and tried to tell him, tried to explain, how she couldn't wake up, couldn't make herself move, couldn't make herself scream, the dreams kept going on and on repeating cycling switching…

"Wake up!"he commanded, becoming even more real than before.

"I can't," she cried, clutching at him as if she was drowning and he a life raft. "I've tried so hard, for so long, but the dreams keep going on and on…"

"Peredura," he was fully formed now, and stopped her babbling with that single name. She hiccoughed into silence, but refused to let go. "Peredura, open your eyes."

"No," she moaned, "It doesn't matter. I'll just be right back there again, in that alcove, or the cabin, with him, touching me, those hands, those eyes."

"Peredura," he stroked her long brown hair, "It's over. He can't hurt you any more."

"Am I… Am I awake?" She childishly kept her face pressed against his fur trimmed vest.

He had to smile, remembering Cassandra's words, how Peredura looked to him as a father figure. In a way, she felt like a daughter to him, the daughter he would never have. She even assumed a visage more befitting to her youthful acts. "No, but you are safe from him. Who is he, by the way? Is he the mage who captured you?"

Off to the side a form shimmered, shadow taking on indistinct shape, features popping in and out of the haze randomly, never fully forming, never fully disappearing. "He… yes… please, I don't want to talk about it, not here, not now, I just want to wake up, to make it stop, but I can't, I've tried so hard for so long, but I can't make it stop…"

The shadow dissipated beneath the force of Solas' will. "I've made it stop," he assured her. "Open your eyes and take a look." When she continued to hold on tight, he questioned, "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, of course I do," she sniffed.

"Then, look."

He pulled on her shoulders, not hard enough to move her, but hard enough to encourage her on her own to let go, lean away from him, and open her eyes. Soft brown, doe-like orbs blinked once, twice, before growing wide with wonder. He watched her unblemished cheeks turn pink, her mouth drop, as she stared around them. "Where are we?"

"The more appropriate question would be, when are we. But as I cannot give an answer that would make sense to you, let's just say we are at a place of my choosing." He brushed a lock of her hair back behind one fully restored ear.

"This…" she made a complete circle, eyes roaming up and down as well as side-to-side, trying to take in everything at once. "Are we in the Fade?"

"In a manner of speaking," he allowed. "All dreams come from the Fade, are in the Fade, are they not? And this is my dream. So, yes, you could say we are in the Fade."

It was a forested scene, somewhere cool and green, with moonlight filtering through a canopy of trees. A pool lapped at its shore off to their side, and in the distance she could hear the call of some nocturnal bird. She turned back to look at Solas and smiled her thanks. "I'd guess that this place existed in ancient times, when the elves ruled Thedas."

"You would be correct in that assumption." He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the pond, making her sit down on the grass beside him. "I discovered it a long time ago. And since it is a place I carry with me in my memories, I can return to it in my dreams, whenever I am troubled and in need of a peaceful place to sit quietly with my thoughts."

"It is very peaceful here," she agreed, leaning over to dip her fingers into the water. "I can feel it, just like it's really here. Like when you took me to see Haven, shortly after we reached Skyhold."

"Yes," he petted her hair again.

"Your dreams always seem so much more real," she mused, wiping her fingers dry against her leggings, "Is it because you spend so much time in the Fade? You have more practice or something?"

"Something like that."

"Tell me something else," she grew serious, changing before his eyes, from Peredura the child to Peredura the Inquisitor, her features changing also. "Why couldn't I wake myself? I know I'm dreaming, and I've been trying for what seems like months to wake myself up, but I continue to…"

The shadow shimmered once more, and once more Solas banished it without a gesture.

"In the waking world, your body was given a sleeping potion. I strong one, I believe. But that is what is keeping you from waking."

"In the waking world," she repeated, considering his words carefully. "Am I safe in assuming that I—we—are back in Skyhold?"

"Yes. You are safe and sound in your own bed, even."

"My own…" her eyes widened once more. "Maker's breath!"

Solas winced over the Andrastian curse coming from her elven features.

"Tell me, please, tell me you didn't use the sleeping potion that was in my desk, the one in a little blue vial that looks like it should contain lyrium."

"I… I'm not sure," he hedged. "I wasn't the one who gave it to you, but I believe I remember seeing such a bottle, empty, lying on the table beside your bed."

She moaned, dropping her face into her hands. "I'm going to be trapped here for days!"

"What do you mean?"

"I had that potion made very specifically for, er, well, let's just say I wanted it to be very strong, so if anyone took even the smallest sip, he'd, I mean, they'd be knocked out for hours. The whole bottle would put a person to sleep for two or three days." She looked up from her hands, "Why? Why was I given a sleeping draught?"

"We didn't mean you any harm," he defended himself, deciding not to mention it was Cassandra's decision. That could wait until she was awake, if she was ever told. "You had been given opeigh, and we were worried about what that would do to you, to your body, as it began to wear off. We decided that it would be better if you slept through your withdrawal, much like you did the first time, right after the Breach."

"I remember him forcing it down my throat," Peredura closed her eyes, and the shadow flickered, somewhere out of the corner of his eyes. This time it was her will that banished it. "Solas, how long have I been trapped here? How much longer will I be forced to remain?"

"You were given the potion early this morning, before dawn. It's evening now, just after sunset."

"So I have, at the bare minimum, a day and two nights to go. One quarter of the way through. If I'm lucky and it wears off quickly." She looked back at him, and he was thankful there wasn't any blame in her features, only a mild hopefulness. "Could I… do you think it would be possible, I mean, for me to remain here? In this part of the Fade? I know it's your private sanctuary, where you come to think…"

"Peredura," he easily stopped her, "If I hadn't been willing to share this with you, I wouldn't have brought you here. Yes, my dear child, stay. Remain here, beside this pond. I must leave you, however, for a time. I should go and tell the others what has happened. Perhaps we can devise a way to wake you up early, withdrawal or no."

She looked like she wanted to beg him to stay, her features shifting back to when she was a child. Then she was the Inquisitor once more, stronger and braver and more cognizant of her obligations. "Yes, of course you have to go, you're the only one who can tell them what is going on."

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Stay strong, Peredura. I'll be back; I promise. Who knows, maybe we'll find a way to counter the effects of the potion, and the next time you see me you will be awake."

She smiled for him. She smiled until he woke himself and disappeared. Then she let the smile slide away, wrapped her arms around her, and concentrated on the pond.

A/N: for those of you who caught it, good for you!

If you didn't catch the reference, this chapter is named after a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe, who's birthday was earlier this week (January 19). As he was my 'first' (*ahem* I mean favorite author, my first favorite author) and remains a much cherished idol and source of inspiration, I thought it fitting :'D