Solas can sense the Veil weakening.

Of course, it is already weak in this area, thanks to the Breach. But some of his creation yet remains, keeping Haven from being swarmed by the spirits, and as much as Solas detests what the Veil has done to the elves, he supposes they should all be grateful for its presence at the moment. He is far from the village now, walking along the river to clear his head, so if there is another rift, there would be time to deal with any demons before the people of Haven would be any the wiser. With a quiet sigh, he readjusts his grip on his staff and proceeds to the source of the growing rupture, just past some trees.

Once he emerges from the trees, Solas scans the area, and there he sees what is causing the problem. He frowns.

"Leas?" he says.

The young man turns to look at him and smiles. "An'eth'ara, Solas," he says cheerfully. He lowers his hand and the green sparks flying out of it immediately disappear, as does the feeling of a coming tear in the Veil.

"Lath'in'iseth," Solas says, approaching him. "But what are you doing? I could sense the Veil weakening from several yards off."

Leas' face pinches with guilt, and his cheeks flush with what Solas presumes is mild embarrassment. "Ah. Ir abelas. I did not mean to worry you. I was just experimenting with this." He holds up his marked hand, and Solas' brow bounces. He steps closer until he is just about at Leas' side.

"Indeed?" he prompts.

"Indeed," Leas says. "This has settled down since we stopped the Breach from growing. It doesn't hurt, and it's stable. That's good. But it interests me. I want to know where it came from—and what else it can do."

Solas glances at him. "Beyond closing rifts—and, judging from what you were doing, opening them?"

"Yes."

"Was that wise? What if you had opened a rift and demons had poured out? They could have overwhelmed you."

Leas nods, acknowledging the words. "Not my most sensible decision, I admit," he says. "I just wanted to see if I could do it. Something tells me this mark can do much more than just interact with rifts, and I wanted to see what else was there. Not only that, but to see how my own talents interact with it. I suspect that combined, they could be potent."

"You've mentioned your talents before," Solas says, ignoring the spike of mingled dread and excitement in his gut and the fact that he should not be encouraging this. If the man is a dreamer, should he not leave him untrained and unprepared? It'll make what he has to do that much easier. And yet… "I assume you mean your ability to sense demons."

"Yes, and others that I haven't developed yet," Leas says. He rests a hand on his hip and leans into it. "You've heard of dreamers, haven't you, Solas? What the Tevinters call somniari?"

Well, there it is. He's finally named it. Every instinct of his tells Solas that he should back off, and yet when he finally hears the word, something that is definitely excitement blooms within him. It's been so long since he's met another dreamer, so long since he could commiserate with anyone about his experiences in the Fade, and it will be a very long time before he has to carry out his plans, and it is comforting to learn that there is one person in the world who is not so Tranquil. What's the harm in sharing in this right now, then? "I have, yes. As a matter of fact, I am one. Are you saying…?"

Abruptly, a broad grin forms on and spreads across Leas' face, and a sparkle comes into his eyes. "Truly?" he breathes. "You're a dreamer? Creators, I can't believe my luck—I never thought I'd meet another—I am one as well, Solas! I am a dreamer!"

There, confirmation, straight from the horse's mouth. Solas feels warmth spreading through his veins, but he can't decide if it's the warmth of excitement, of joy at meeting a fellow, or the sickly warmth of dread. A dreamer, a bigger threat to his plans than he had expected, a dreamer he has just anchored the Fade to—he must get that mark off—but a dreamer, so like him, perhaps even a friend, not so Tranquil as all the rest. And the talent is… "That is remarkable," Solas says, smiling. "I had thought the talent had gone extinct in this Age. But you say you are one?"

Leas nods vigorously. "The only dreamer among the Dalish, or so my Keeper says. I can't say I can do much with it. But the number of demons that have tried to possess me over the years and the clarity of my dreams seem proof enough to me."

Solas inclines his head. "Yes, dreamers are magnets for demons, and our dreams are very clear. Can you yet shape the Fade? Walk in it?"

This time, Leas shakes his head, and he sucks his lip with what appears to be mild disappointment. "Sadly, no," he says. "I've never had the opportunity to learn, and my clan didn't have the resources to teach me, and I don't want to overextend myself and attract more demons than I can handle. I know how to survive the demons, and I can Fade-walk to some extent, but that's really about it."

And the elves of Arlathan were capable of so much, Solas thinks bitterly. How low the Veil has brought them, for a dreamer to be so ignorant!

A momentary pause, then Leas' eyes light up again, rather like a puppy's. "Actually, that gives me an idea, if you'd be amenable to hearing it," he says, and there's a distinct undercurrent of excitement in his words.

Solas inclines his head slowly. "What is it?"

"Well, you seem a skilled enough dreamer," Leas says. "You know a great deal about the Fade and the mark, and you use your abilities to watch spirits re-enact history. I'm not sure I can be so esoteric, sadly, but… would you please teach me, Solas? Teach me how to be a real somniari?" His eyes get wider as he says it, and he looks up at Solas, like a puppy or a child asking for a treat. The eagerness in every plane of his face reminds him of the children of Arlathan when they first began their lessons in magic, and it rends at his heart to see. For a long moment, he is silent.

He should not do this, he knows. There will come a time when he will need to leave and get his plans back on track, and when he does, he will not want this man to be strong enough to pose a genuine threat to him. But, all the same, they need him right now, and they can't afford to deny him the edge he'll need in the battles to come; Solas' plans won't matter if Leas falls before he can seal the Breach for good. And it has been so long… would a bit of companionship and fellowship, however selfish, really hurt? And if he is a dreamer, if he is not so Tranquil as all the rest… maybe this world isn't as irredeemable as Solas had believed.

Slowly, Solas nods, though half his instincts are screaming at him that this is another terrible mistake that he will regret sorely later. But as he was with the creation of the Veil and everything else, Solas is sufficiently at war with himself that he cannot truly see which is the best path. At the very least, he can be sure this will be for the best in the short term. "I would be happy to," he says, and it's not a complete lie. "It is pleasing to hear the talent has not yet been lost. If it still exists anywhere, I am glad to nurture it."

Leas' face splits into a broad grin, and he offers Solas a courtly bow. "'Ma serannas! Nuvas ema ir'enastela!" he cries exultantly, while Solas returns his beam with a small smile of his own. "I had never thought I would get such a chance!"

"Nuva lasa su ma enaste," Solas says, bowing his head slightly while wondering at the man's good manners. They would have fit in well at the court of Arlathan, though Leas' exuberance, gregariousness, and innocent heart would have kept him firmly in the outer circles—assuming he even survived the courtly intrigue. Still, he supposes that stranger things have happened.

Leas lifts out of his bow, but he still grins at Solas, eyes sparkling with delight. "Then where do we start?" he says, like an overeager student. "Oh! Can you tell me what we are called in elven? For all the little lore I have ever found about dreamers, I never did find the term…"

"The word is I've'an'virelan," Solas says. "I've'an, for the Fade; vira, to walk. I've'an'virevhen is the plural."

"I've'an'virelan," Leas repeats, an expression of thoughtfulness wiping the grin from his face. He stumbles over the word, again much like a child, and his accent is so painfully Dalish that it makes Solas cringe, but the joy in his face, in his eyes, almost assuages it. "At last, an elven word for what I am. 'Ma serannas."

"Sathem lasa halani," Solas says smoothly, with another incline of his head. "Come, walk with me. I can tell you of the ancient dreamers and what they could do, and I have some books on the subject in my quarters, if you'd like to peruse them."

Again that excited, almost wild grin, the grin of a man who takes ineffable joy in both life and every good thing that comes his way. Solas can't help but feel a pang at his naïveté. "Gladly," Leas says, and he at once falls into step at Solas' side. "There must be so much to learn, so much that I can only dream about. Pun not intended," he says, and Solas chuckles.

"Indeed. Sometimes even I am amazed," he says, and they begin to head back through the trees towards Haven. "Let's see. Most of the ancient elves were accomplished dreamers. For them, it was as easy and natural as breathing…"

Translations

"Lath'in'iseth.": "Heart warmth / Your grace warms my heart."

"Nuvas ema ir'enastela!": "May you have great blessings!"

"Nuva lasa su ma enaste.": "May it give you grace / May it grant you favour."

"Sathem lasa halani.": "Pleased to give assistance / Pleased to help."

All translations taken from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.