Solas has long since got used to being surrounded by nightmares.

In the olden days, so long ago even though they still sometimes seem like just yesterday, it was a rare night when he would enter the Fade and not have to witness the nightmares of his followers, all of whom had a tale of some atrocity done to them that haunted them at every step. He had helped them untangle their nightmares if they required it, but still they returned, night after night, hounding them and driving them away from the Fade that should have been like a second home to them. It had given Solas, as if he had needed it, still more reason to bring down the Evanuris: that none of the people might ever experience such nightmares because of their actions again.

In the end, he had awoken to a nightmare of his own design, one that seems never-ending in his lowest moments. But if he'd done anything else or nothing at all, it would have been far worse, no question. No question, but every time he keeps telling himself that, the question of whether it truly would have been is never far behind. It's not one he can answer, and it disquiets him, so, like a coward, he runs away from it. Whether or not it would have been worse is irrelevant in the face of what is, what he has done.

And what he has done is irrelevant in the face of his present circumstances, surrounded by almost-Tranquil who dream fitfully and are haunted by the explosion at the Conclave and their own personal traumas in the same way that his followers were haunted by the Evanuris. Walking amongst them, watching for spirits he can converse with who haven't gone mad, Solas observes the fleeting images of their nightmares, and his heart stirs and clenches in his chest. He tries to ignore it, to numb himself to it—he must feel nothing for these people if he is to carry out his task—but he cannot. As ruinous as his actions may have been for the elves—the Dalish are not entirely wrong on that front—he is still not the unfeeling monster they make him out to be. He cares, even for these people, and at this moment, he can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse.

With a shake of his head, he alters his course and speeds his steps, heading towards the boundary of this part of the Fade, with the vague goal in mind that perhaps he will find some spirits in the raw Fade instead. As he nears the border, however, Solas stops outside the door to Leas' little cabin, and though he knows he likely shouldn't, he can't help but peer in this direction.

Needless to say, the things he sees are visible enough to Solas even as he stands outside the cabin. Spotting them, seeing Leas in the grip of a nightmare, he's not surprised; that seems to have been the case almost every single night he's watched the man's dreams over the past few months. It is understandable, Leas being a dreamer and all, and it would not even be depressing were it not for the deranged series of images brought on by something far more profound than the mere influence of demons.

Previously, it was darkspawn and slavers, and werewolves and a bald Keeper driven mad by vengeance, and ghastly images of the darkspawn horde and the cages in the Denerim alienage and other such charming things that Solas has taken care not to look at for too long out of respect for Leas' privacy. They came in any combination the mind could think of, some more nonsensical than others, but all equally disturbing, and they tormented Leas as a matter of course, but Leas said nothing about them and never seem bothered about them while awake, and so Solas did not intervene. Now, however, he sees other things: piles of red lyrium, the Grand Enchanter turning into red lyrium, the Iron Bull and Sera infected with it themselves, a ghoul with a cut throat in Tevinter robes, a magister driven mad by grief, skeletons nailed to walls and scattered over the ground, bloodstains of suspect origin, darkspawn infected with red lyrium (admittedly more than a little disturbing), and far more besides, all merging and swirling around him to form one of the most deranged and clearest nightmares Solas has ever seen. At the centre of it all, Leas whimpers and buries his face in his hands, either unwilling or unable to free himself, and that sight is sufficient for him to decide that enough is enough. If the man cannot untangle his nightmares, he must show him how to do so.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Solas lets his mind go blank and steps through the door of the cabin. He can see Leas prone on the bed in the real world, shifting and stirring and whimpering in his sleep; in the Fade, however, the man stands upright, and he does not appear to notice Solas' presence though he is so close at hand. In his vulnerable state, so caught up in his nightmare as he is, the barriers that normally would have protected him from intrusion are almost down, and Solas has no trouble pressing through and entering his mind. (Just as well, then: what if a demon had found him in this state?)

The moment that he pushes through into Leas' dream and finds himself within it, however, Solas reels back with a startled cry and a shout of, "Fenedhis!", and the shock is almost enough to propel him out into the Fade again. Everything around him is so… real. Blood and smoke on the wind assault his nose, run up his nostrils and almost choke him; the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth as well and seems to go down his throat, making him retch. Coming from somewhere he can't quite reach is a strange song—the song of red lyrium?—and the want of it, the desire to find it and listen to it and have it fill him from his toes to his crown, is maddening. Just beneath that, the sounds of screaming and crying—villagers, he thinks, innocents—and the growls of darkspawn. The location is a castle, a torture chamber littered with bloodstains and skeletons at tables and red lyrium in the walls, growing out like the worst of fungus. It's all real, or so it seems—he can even feel it beneath his toes—and now he sees why Leas is having so much trouble.

Leas looks up at him, but half a moment he does not look like Leas at all, but a boy in ragged clothes, covered in dirt and blood, with twigs in his hair and hollow cheeks and deep shadows under his haunted eyes. "Solas?" he gasps, and he sounds like a boy. Maybe fourteen or fifteen? It matters not. "Where'd you come from—this is a dream, isn't it? It's not real?"

Solas swallows thickly and fights to remain calm, harder than he would like to admit. This should not be possible. "Yes, it's a dream, I promise," he says, and he tries to ignore the minute tremble in his voice. It will do Leas no good if he realises that Solas himself is disturbed. Even in the days of Arlathan, he never saw nightmares as vivid as this, at least none that he can recall.

The mark, he realises. We established before that it gives him clearer dreams. It logically follows that it must also give him clearer nightmares, and at the thought of this, his gut clenches with guilt. As if the man wasn't suffering enough already…

"I thought so," Leas says, hugging himself tightly and looking away. "You came out of nowhere, and—and I'm always alone in my nightmares…"

"Why is that?" They should not be talking so much, he knows—he should act—but he needs to get a grip, to come to terms with the sheer intensity and reality of his surroundings. Once he has calmed himself and adjusted, then he might show Leas how to conquer the dream.

Leas shrugs. "Holdover from the Blight. I was alone for so long… eight weeks at the start, then a fortnight getting from Clan Vaharis to Denerim. Oh, I stayed in villages and chantries too… but never for long… Mostly I was on my own, surviving, running away, trying to…" His breath catches, and he stops, obviously distressed, and around them, the landscape shifts, responding to his thoughts. Now it is no longer a castle, but an open field with the might of the darkspawn horde coming over the horizon, the ground rotting beneath their feet, and somewhere not far off there is a burning village with corpses littering the ground. The stench is so strong that it makes Solas retch again.

"And of course, my abilities don't help," Leas says guiltily, holding his head in his hands. He speaks haltingly. "They make it so much harder… Do you know, this was when they first woke up? I was running from darkspawn, trying to stay alive… I was only fourteen… in a foreign land, away from my clan for the first time, trying to avoid darkspawn and templars and hostile humans… and then I went to sleep one night, and there were more demons than I'd ever seen… night after night after night… threatening me, trying to claim me… and so many darkspawn…" The first tears slip from his eyes while Solas stares at him, attempting to wrap his mind around what he's just heard, totally unable to.

The Blight. Leas' memories of the Blight. He was alone, in a foreign land, surrounded by hostiles on all sides, a solitary Dalish mage—easy prey for anyone—and his powers were awakening… and he was only fourteen.

"Ir abelas," Solas breathes. "I cannot begin to imagine…"

Leas lets out a strangled sob as the screams and growls reach their ears again, louder and crueller and more penetrating than ever. "Mythal'enaste, it's like I'm right back there again," he whispers. "Ten years back… I've tried to leave it behind me, but it's… even Iselen doesn't know the full story. Can't understand what it was like… those first eight weeks… The nightmares have always been clear, and I've got used to that… But it's never been so vivid as this!" His voice abruptly goes up an octave, and for want of anything else to do, Solas reaches out and puts a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"It's the mark," he says. "It's making your dreams worse."

"I know," Leas moans. "I know. Solas, sathan, I beg you! Stop this somehow! It's been like this since Redcliffe—they're so real, it's like I'm there all over again—I can hardly sleep—I need—"

Solas tightens his grip on him and pulls at Leas in such a way that the man is forced to look up at him. "I will help you, I promise," he says. "But first, I need you to breathe deeply and try to calm yourself as best you can. Remember: this is just a dream."

Not the most comforting words, he knows, but Leas seems to understand what he means. At once, he swallows thickly, and Solas watches as he tries to steady himself, as he takes one deep breath, then another, his eyes flickering shut while he does so. Gradually, he grows still, and his breathing evens out, and when he opens his eyes, the look in them is more focused, though there remains an inevitable trace of fear.

"Just a dream, just a dream," he murmurs, and he swallows again. "What next, Solas? Don't tell me it's a matter of intent—I've been trying to will these away for years, and it's never worked."

Solas grimaces. "It is indeed," he says. "You saw how your surroundings responded to your thoughts, how we went from being in Redcliffe Castle to being in a field. Try to empty your mind, the way you would if you were shaping the dreams of another."

Though Leas seems slightly peeved by his admission, he does as he's bid; his body goes still, and his eyes go blank, and soon he is standing rather like a statue. The effect is almost immediate. Though the deranged images do not disappear, they do go still, and the screaming stops, and the stench of blood and smoke and the Blight and red lyrium stop rushing up Solas' nostrils, and even the ground beneath his feet assumes a certain dreamlike quality where he touches it but does not feel it. This is more like what a dream should be, frozen or not, and at once, he relaxes.

"Excellent," Solas says, and Leas too seems to relax a little. "Now, the basic principle here is the same as it was for when you were shaping your boy's dreams. You can empty your mind completely—that is critical—and will the nightmare into nonexistence, or you can focus on something more pleasant and will it into being. I can help you if you need it, but it may be for the best that you attempt this yourself."

"All right," Leas says slowly. He presses his fingers to his temples and begins to focus, and at once, Solas can see images flickering in the nightmare, perhaps things more pleasant than all the rest. "You know, if it's all a matter of intent, shouldn't it be easier than it is?" he asks after a few moments.

Solas shakes his head. "The Fade is not completely malleable, even to experienced dreamers. Everything takes some willpower and intent, and the slightest distraction can disrupt your plans. In your case, it is only difficult because of your lack of experience, and even then, I'll wager the mark is making things easier."

In response, Leas only nods, and his muscles tighten, and his fingers press more firmly into his temples as he attempts to will more pleasant things into his mind. I should look away, Solas thinks, and he keeps his mind carefully blank otherwise, but he can't help but be curious, and he watches as the images flicker in and out of existence. The boy Adhlean, running with children, playing a game of tag, giggling, helping up another who had fallen into the mud: soft and sweet. His brother Iselen, loud and fierce and proud, walking with him around camp, under the light of many stars, listening to him speak of his magic though he can't truly understand it: a bittersweet memory filled with longing. His parents, firm and strong, sitting at the campfire with him and leading a song. A baby girl who the memory tells him is named Latharia, a first cousin once removed, born a month before the Conclave: new life, new hope, new joy. And more: his grandparents, the Keeper, others of his family and the clan, Elior Tabris: powerful and proud and fierce and heroic and revered, and a few friendly human hunters and templars and priestesses who Solas sees helped Leas during the Blight, and many of the Inquisition, and even—this pulls him up short—the Tevinter mage.

"Dorian?" he says before he can stop himself; the images disappear at once. "He's only a stranger."

Leas narrows his eyes at him, unsurprisingly. "Nothing's worse than being alone. He's a stranger who saved my life," he says, and Solas understands, drops the matter, and refrains from pointing out the blush staining Leas' cheeks.

So it goes, on and on, Leas struggling to pull his memories into his dreams while Solas watches patiently, admiring his progress. Already, the man has come quite far. A few months ago, he could not Fade-walk or shape his own dreams in such a manner, but now he is trying, and he is even now building an image of the fire at his clan's camp, and it is pleasing to see, the more so after the horror that was his nightmare. He observes, and here and there he espies where Leas could improve, but he says nothing, not wishing to distract him. Piece by piece, gradually, Leas reconstructs the memory, and the bloodstains and skeletons and the Blight and the burned village and the darkspawn all vanish into a distant corner of his mind, and a forest seems to spring up around them, followed by the campfire and his clanmates at last, and all associated sounds and smells and other such sensations. At the end, he collapses to his knees and puffs in exhaustion.

Here, Solas allows himself to smile and kneel next to him. "Well done," he says, while Leas runs his hands over his face and groans. "And do not worry. It will get easier with practice."

Leas peers at him through the gaps between his fingers. "I sincerely hope so," he says, still panting, then drops his hands and looks up at the scene he has forged. "So… this is what I am capable of? It seems real, as well… I can even smell the halla shit, hah!" A wide smile breaks out over his face. "A dream from a nightmare…"

"It is only a fraction of what you will be capable of, if you keep practising," Solas says before he can stop himself, and he immediately wants to kick himself for doing so. "There is always more to discover when it comes to the Fade."

"No doubt," Leas says, with a momentary chuckle. He sits back on his knees, observes the scene for a moment, then turns to look at Solas. "For now, I suppose I would like to discover if you know of any potions or herbs that can keep me from entering it. As useful as this would be—and I thank you for it—sometimes, a man just has to sleep."

Solas nods in agreement. "I understand. And I do know of some herbs that I can gather for you, in the Hinterlands. The ancient elves used them for the same purpose, and they would keep you asleep for a night. I would advise against using them too often, but you do appear to have need of them."

"True. I don't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep," Leas says, grimacing slightly. "It would be nice not to have to worry about constant nightmares for a change… 'ma serannas, Solas. For all of it, I mean."

"Sathem lasa halani," Solas says at once. He exhales and, for a moment, bows his head. "I am sorry that you have to endure this, however."

Leas shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to the nightmares. Well, I'm not entirely used to how vivid they've become since I gained the mark, but I'm sure I'll adjust to even that in time." That is some small consolation, and Solas nods to acknowledge it. "What about you?" Leas asks. "How do you deal with your nightmares?"

It's Solas' turn to grimace, and he looks away so Leas can't see the expression that comes over his face. "In much the same way that you do, or you will," he says after some thought. "I try to break through them so I can enjoy the Fade. I've had enough practice that it's not especially challenging anymore, though I say that as someone who doesn't carry a mark like yours."

"Fair enough," Leas says, smiling. "I suppose you were hoping to enjoy the Fade tonight?"

"Yes, but I saw you were having a nightmare and decided to help. It seems I made the right choice," he says, with a small smile of his own, and Leas grins.

"You did. Thanks again," he says, and he lies back in the grass and looks up at the sky: dark, cloudless, and full of stars. "But I'll let you get back to it. I didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Next time we're in the Hinterlands, let me know where those herbs can be found, and I'll send some people out to look for them. I suspect I'm not the only one who might benefit from having them."

"Indeed," Solas says with another, grim nod as he gets to his feet. "And those numbers will continue to swell as events go on."

Leas cringes, but he also chuckles weakly. "And on that cheerful note…" he says, and he glances up at Solas. "Dar'eth shiral. See you tomorrow."

"Ethas na," Solas says with a bow of his head. "I hope you are well for the rest of the night, arani." No lie, this word, though he almost stumbles over it, though he wonders if he can truly afford to call any of these people a friend when he knows they won't survive what's to come. But Leas smiles at him, blue eyes sparkling with delight rather than fear this time, as if he shares in the feeling, and ultimately, Solas opts to quit while he's ahead.

Arani. Lethal'lin. In other time, another place… That thought, and all the regret that comes with it follow him like his shadow as he returns to the Fade and heads into the realms beyond.

Translations

"Sathan": Please.
"Sathem lasa halani": "Pleased to give assistance."
"Ethas na": "Be safe / Make yourself safe."
"Arani": "My friend."

All translations taken from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.