VII.

"The dreamer awakens."

Stiff and impossibly sore, she had watched quietly as the grey tendrils of early pre-dawn had wound thier way lazily through the dark leather tethers that had bound the front most aperture of the tent; the shadows of nearby brush shifting in the breeze to distort the pale sculpted planes of Solas' familiar face. From his posturing, and his practiced bend of knee, he had appeared to have been kneeling beside her in meditation for quite some time.

"Once again, I owe you my gratitude," she had said, finally. "This marks the second time that you have successfully stolen me back from the fade."

"Then, perhaps you do still have a need for a wandering hedge mage apostate. Your consummate warriors continue to sleep soundly, nearby."

Though his voice had been light and good-natured, she had averted her gaze in acknowledgement of her sins; silently cursing the slow heat that had crept along the nape of her neck to more proudly reside at the very tip of her ears.

"You are ashamed. Please, do not be. Any choice that you were given was merely an illusion. You did not summon her, she was sent to collect a blood debt. An encounter such as that would have ended a lesser woman." "

"A woman? It was but a short time ago that you called me a child."

"Ah. My words offended you. I did not intend for them to. We are all children beyond the veil, Lavallen. The realm of dreams and spirits is vast and forever changing. Their kind often refer to all those that dwell on the physical plane as leanaí."

"Leanaí?"

"Yes. It means, 'the young ones.' In ancient Tevinter, it was believed that spirits could not retain their native tongue after death. Those who live in the mists have created a language of their own that they have cultivated for thousands of years. Early occultists referred to it as, 'Spiorad.' According to the priests dedicated to their study, spirits often see the leanai as being in constant need of their help and their guidance. They feel it is their responsibility to aid them as they believe themselves to be the higher beings. My intention was not to lessen who you are, Aneira, but to remind her of who she was. "

Prior to that moment, she had never thought Solas had known her by anything other than her clan name. For someone outside of the Dalish to speak it- it had quickened her blood. Only those trusted by the keeper, and welcomed into the inner-circle, were ever given access to the clan's individual names. She had known that it would have seemed illogical and superstitious to most, but as all mage's were already acutely aware, all names held power. And for most of the elvhen, their names were all that they had had left of their once proud and dwindling ancestry. They saw it as something worthy of protection. Surrounded by shemlen and flat-ears, she had, as well. But, to hear those syllables fall so casually and warm from his lips, and so unexpectedly? She had always wanted for him to know it. She had been trying to find a way to give it to him that would signify the importance of it. But, how had he already come by it? That element of surprise had forced her to temporarily forget her previous feelings of being slighted.

"You... know my name."

"Yes." The half smile that he had given her had been kind and somehow somber. "Do you often choose to forget your dreams?"

It had been common knowledge to most that in sleep mages often chose to roam the fade. There they were free to create temporary manifestations of their ambitions, or to perhaps divulge well kept personal secrets to figments-the embodiments and personifications of their intended. You were to never make a true demand of the fade, lest a daemon try to grant it, but if you played well within the rules you were still safe to indulge in the spectacle of the dream. You were still safe enough to wander through ancient elvhen ruins. Perhaps even safe enough to tell one particular reoccurring incarnation of Solas that his presence within Haven had been the only thing that had kept a scared and fledgling hedge mage grounded and sane amongst the man-made structures always far too removed from the rivers and the dirt.

In one such encounter, she had even gone so far as to confess to him that the memory of his magic curling against her skin had been enough to make her dive her fingers deep in-between her legs as she had arched her back against the gnarled bark of an ancient lake tree, far from the prying ears and eyes of the forward camp. As he had listened, she had described to him in detail how she had cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples until she had come hard against her hand, only realizing after she had slid bare into the grass that she had been performing for a large gray wolf only several yards away. He had suggested that it had been attracted to her scent, and she had teased about rubbing it's fur against her skin...

On the dreamscape, Solas had always seemed attentive and at ease, always within reach but never touching; a true and proper illusion. That had made it easier for her to turn experiences into words. That had made it easier for her to...

As the full spectrum of that new realization had materialized, she had finally understood why his finding her chained beneath a larger more sinister shade of himself had not garnered more of a response. She had not simply been conjuring a specter in which to share her inner most monologues. Through use of their symbiotic magics, and the anchor, there had been a permanent thread that had connected them through the fade. It had allowed for him to find her while facing Capernica, and it had allowed for her to call to him when passing through the veil. He had known her name because she had told him. He had been coming to her each time she had unkowingly beckoned to him.

As she had fumbled through a maze of her own racing thoughts, he had stared at her intently, his eyes narrowing slightly as he had searched her face.

"It just didn't seem possible," she had said, pushing herself to her knees as though that one action alone could have freed her from any and every implication. "The things that I must have said to you."

"You were a mystery. You still are. But, you've changed...everything."

There had been something in his voice. Something in the way that he had looked upon her.

Floundering for words, and quickly lost in the minutiae, she had raised up upon both knees and kissed him; brushing her lips against his as she had awaited for his inevitable hesitation and restraint. But, whatever form of displeasure she had expected, none was ever forthcoming; his mouth spreading against hers with a ferocity that had forced her to cling to him.

Lifting her against him, he had raised a hand to the back of her neck, his hand working into a fistful of her hair as she had raked nails through the loose fabric of his tunic. As he had grazed teeth against the curve of her jawbone, she had reveled in the natural scent of him, the combination a heady mixture of grass and parchment oils.

"We shouldn't. Not even here." His words had been a whisper of regret against the hollow of her throat, the words taking time to form a clear and coherent meaning.

"Here?"

"Yes. Where is it that you thought we were?"

As he had spoken, she had realized that the dim gray light from outside the tent had never once shifted with the rise of the sun. Nor had the others ever risen from their tents to stoke the fires for the brewing of coffee and porridge.

"We are still in the fade. How had I not known?"

"You were weak. You needed time to gather your strength before attempting to bridge the void."

"Solas..."

"There will be time to speak on this more in the future. But for now, it is time for you to...wake up."

Alone in her tent in the Hinterlands she had done just that, and the sudden silence, marked even further by his abrupt absence, had been truly excruciating.

A/N: I clearly took a few liberties, here. Leanaí and Spiorad are actually Gaelic. I haven't found any indicator that the Dalish have any problem with being on a first name basis with anyone, but since no one ever calls her by hers I figured this would give an interesting reason for it. I also decided this worked better for me than her and Solas wandering around Haven while in the fade at a later date. As a mage, I couldn't understand how she didn't realize where they were. Haven had already clearly been destroyed. I wanted the Inquisitor to be a little more on top of things.