Chapter Text
1: Waking Dreams
Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream? - Edgar Alan Poe
Six months had passed since the - almost - end of the world. Six months since they killed a God, since Rook had found herself stuck in the fade for what she feared would be forever. Six months since her companions pulled her out. Six months since Lace Harding had died.
Returning to life in the Watch had not been easy. It would have been difficult for anyone, she thought, but even more so when you left in disgrace and were welcomed back as a hero. Those very qualities that had got her put on a “voluntary leave of absence” were the things that had made her able to save the veil. It was a sort of poetic justice, she mused. A Watcher, sworn to protect that line between living and dead, spirit and mortal.
“It would not have suited anyone less qualified than we.” She recalled Myrna saying of the whole ordeal.
She tried her best to reintegrate herself into the rhythm of the Necropolis, but found it difficult at times. While she had been away, Rook had longed for home. She recalled bitterly the yearning she felt when speaking of Nevarra with Emmrich, the elation at being amongst the crypts again. If only she had known it would be like this… So much expectation, so much pressure, so much muchness. Everything had changed.
It had started almost immediately upon her successful return. Rook had taken up residence in a workshop, which she had set up in one of the less-populated tombs. It was her intention to stay there for the foreseeable; near to the Charnel Pyramids.
Few would deign to disturb her in this accursed place.
Truthfully, she wanted a new challenge. Something to keep her busy. She felt that unpicking the curse laid across this particular area of the Necropolis was worth dedicating her time to. On occasion, Emmrich or Myrna would come to visit. Sometimes with Vorgoth or Manfred, others without.
Her office, as she affectionately called it, was relatively simple in its design. An empty tomb made up her home, the green veilfire casting an eerie glow across the greying stones. She had brought her own candles and lanterns for extra light, the orange mixing with the emerald in a soothing pattern. It would have been a pain, she thought, to bring bookshelves down here. So her small library was instead arranged in stacks, with one tome on top of the other. These piles of books had become the main feature of the northwest corner of the room.
A desk sat to the right of the doorway upon entry, host to multiple unfinished cups of tea.
As there had already been an old plinth in the middle of the room, it was here that she conducted her research. At present, the cadaver of a middle-aged human male took up that space. She never kept them longer than necessary, it was important for any vessel that was exhumed to be returned to the grave quickly if it was not going to be possessed by a wisp - lest it invite something more sinister inside. There was a single mirror atop a small wash basin in the northeast corner.
She tried not to look at herself often these days. The woman in the mirror felt like a stranger to her. She had the same long, inky black hair, the same teal-green eyes, the same slightly tanned skin - even the same beauty mark on her jaw - but something about her seemed wrong. Where Rook used to take pride in her appearance her life was now taken over by her work. The hair she used to let loose, now, always found its place in a messy bun atop her head. Those eyes were ringed by darkness, and her pallor was much more sallow than it ever had been before. She was thinner, too, she noticed. Her bed was a simple fold-out, currently littered with books and stained with ink from a discarded quill. There was a reason for this, however.
Ever since returning from the fade something had changed about her. She never discussed it with anyone, save for one very special friend. That was only because said friend had been one of the few to witness it firsthand.
Four months earlier
“It’s so good to see you, Rook.” Neve smiled as she spoke, her dark hair shining in the candlelight. “Even if your home is dark and gloomy all the time.”
“Hey, it’s always dark but it’s never gloomy!” She protested with a pout.
They had been talking for hours, catching each other up on what had happened in the weeks since the eclipse. Neve had been true to her word in trying to rebuild Dock Town. Minrathous had suffered so much destruction at the hands of the dragon attack. Rook remembered thinking that if that had been the regret that Solas’ prison had tried to use against her, maybe she would have been trapped forever.
Rook enjoyed the company, and was happy to have some excitement in her life. Truthfully, her role in the Mourn Watch had returned to a relative normal. The occasional haunting here, the shuffling of the chambers there. It felt small, predictable. She knew that the rest of the Veilguard left her to it because they thought she needed some rest, but these days she wasn’t sleeping.
Whenever her head hit the pillow, nothing good came of it. Sometimes she dreamed of a prison with no way out, others she watched her friend die over and over again while Taash screamed. Then sometimes… sometimes something new happened. It felt like a dream but somehow different. Initially she had thought she was just lucid, but she grew to realise that she wasn’t dreaming of the fade - she was in it. It wasn’t unusual for a mage to be able to pass through the veil in their dreams. What was unusual was her ability to enter the dreams of others. To shape them, to change them to her desires. Sometimes, she would have visions of the future or learn about the fate of the person she was dreaming with. Sometimes, she couldn’t wake up.
So far this had only happened when certain conditions were met. But this night was different.
Neve was settled onto an identical cot bed, on the opposite side of the room. There was scarcely more than six feet of space between them, with Rook’s bed near her desk and Neve’s near the far wall. The sounds of the detective’s relaxed breathing floated across the room. It would be fine, thought Rook, to sleep here for a little while. She was safe in the company of her friend.
No sooner had she fallen asleep, had she found herself wandering the fade. This was not her usual late-night excursion. This felt different.
She walked a winding cobbled street, flanked by warehouses on either side. The streets twisted and changed as she moved further in, until they eventually gave way to a harbor. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, as she realised that she was looking at Dock Town. This was Neve’s dream.
A lone cargo ship sat atop the inky water, under a facsimile of the Tevinter night sky - and something pulled her towards it. Once she reached the jetty, she approached the vessel and hopped on board, the old wood creaking under her footsteps. Immediately her senses were overwhelmed with the scent of blood, her head throbbed and she strained to listen for any sounds she might hear; but it was silent. Stumbling over to the cabin door, she tore it open - the sight inside was of a man standing over the mutilated corpse of her friend. The blood she smelled had been Neve’s blood.
The man rounded on her, his eyes wild. This spirit was an approximation of someone she knew in the waking world. He was a Shadow Dragon.
Was this a warning? A vision? She didn’t know, but she needed to wake up. She needed to wake up now and tell Neve what she had seen. Except when she tried to leave she found the door to the cabin had disappeared. A chill ran down her spine as the traitor acknowledged her presence.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Mortalitasi.”
In the waking world, Neve was staring at her friend in disbelief and panic. She had been startled awake by the sound of some undead creature shambling around in the distance, and was certain it would have woken Rook too. It was her intention to scold her friend for improperly placed wards, but instead she found that the other woman was thrashing around in her sleep, sweat running down her brow.
Frantically, she sprang out of bed and rushed over, trying to shake Rook awake with all her might. When that didn’t work, the detective ran to the door of the crypt and called down the corridor. She knew that Rook didn’t keep any kind of undead companion like some of the other Watchers, but she hoped at least one of the corpses would know what to do.
“Please! My friend needs help! Can any of you send for someone?” she called, desperately. “Someone we can trust!”
Something shuffled closer in the shadows, it revealed itself to be a lesser dead in the light of the candle that Neve clutched in her hand. She resisted the urge to grimace at the sight of the skeleton, its hollowed-out skull filled with that glowing veilfire, and eyes hollow.
It looked at her expectantly, or she assumed it did, and glanced past her into the room. She thought it seemed… concerned.
“Yes, please, Rook is not well.” she elaborated, thinking on what to do next or how specifically she could even instruct the creature. “Do you know Professor Volkarin?”
It looked at her blankly. Its unmoving features gave nothing away.
“Emmrich Volkarin? Vol-kar-in? Can you bring him here, urgently?”
It said nothing, and made no acknowledgement of her instructions. Neve grew increasingly frustrated, and just as she was about to shout a familiar voice floated toward her from the corridor.
“I wondered what had agitated the dead.” the low, steady tone called from the dark. “But I see it is you, Neve Gallus.”
She lifted her candle to illuminate the corridor, revealing the form of Vorgoth in the darkness.
“Vorgoth!” she exclaimed with some relief. “Please, can you help us? There is something wrong with Rook and I’ve never seen anything like it. Is Myrna with you?”
The figure remained unmoving, until he responded:
“I will fetch Professor Volkarin. He is knowledgeable on the affliction that has overtaken Miss Ingellvar. I would advise you to sleep once again. This may provide a way out.”
With that he was gone. Sleep? At a time like this? What did he mean it would make a way out? Needless to say, there was little chance of Neve sleeping now. She returned to the room, Rook was no longer thrashing violently but she was still sleeping fitfully as she lay in a puddle of her own sweat. Her expression was pained and she ground her teeth hard enough that Neve could hear it.
Using the washcloth and the bowl, Neve conjured some ice, melting it enough to make a bowl of cold water. She began using this to dab down her friend’s head and chest where she was burning up. Terror ate away at her insides - what manor of ailment was this? It didn’t seem physical, but she was not a doctor and had no way of knowing.
The sound of shuffling footsteps behind her broke her from her concentration. The lesser dead she had spoken to in the doorway was standing in the frame once again.
“You again?” she asked, exasperated. “If you aren’t going to make yourself useful then you should-”
She was cut short by the sound of frantic footsteps and a familiar voice approaching the room.
“Really, I will need to have a conversation with her about setting her wards properly - you should not have been able to get this close!” it chastised the creature as its owner rounded the corner into the room. It was Emmrich Volkarin, who appeared as harried as Neve had ever seen him. He shouldered his way past the skeleton and it seemed to stare at him.
“I apologise, you did very well as a guide.” he conceded, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement. The skeleton seemed appeased by this, casting one more lingering look at Rook. “We will look after her now.”
It shambled out of the room to stand watch outside of the doorway.
Emmrich was as tall as Neve remembered him being, and as slim as ever, but some things were different about him. His salt-and-pepper hair was usually swept back carefully into its slick style, but several strands had fallen out of place in his rush. He sported slightly more stubble than usual, and he had forgone his waistcoat and many of his accouterments - in order to arrive here quickly, she assumed.
“Neve!” he called with a commanding purpose, striding across the room to where she was stood next to her friend. “When did this start?”
He took a knee next to the cot Rook slept on, worry furrowing his brow.
“Nice to see you again, too, professor.” she chided, raising an eyebrow.
“We can discuss formalities later, but right now time is of the essence.” he responded, offering only a small glance in her direction as he placed the back of his hand against Rook’s forehead, then against the skin of her upper chest.
“I’m not sure, we went to sleep and something shuffling around out there woke me up. She was already like this, but worse.” Neve explained, crossing her arms over her chest. In the low-light, her skin appeared as warm cocoa. A stark contrast to the almost iridescent whiteness of Emmrich who appeared not to have seen the sun in some time. It made her uneasy for both of her necromancer friends’ long-term health.
“Worse?” He asked, frowning more deeply than before.
“She was thrashing around more, I tried waking her but it didn’t work.”
Emmrich stood, resting a fist against his mouth in thought.
“Be extremely grateful that you failed.” He sighed, running his hands over his face.
Neve had never seen him like this, he was always composed. A man of poise and a certain kind of unshakeable elegance that she admired. Whatever was happening to Rook it scared him.
And he was scared. He would never admit it, but seeing his colleague like this terrified him. There was not much knowledge available on exactly what was happening to her, and he felt underprepared to assist.
“Has she said anything?” He asked eventually.
“No not-”
Neve’s reply was cut off as Rook’s eyes shot open, casting bright white light across the walls around her. Her voice boomed from her throat but seemed to come from somewhere beyond. The muscles in her entire body stiffened and contracted, making her arch her back off of the bed in an unnatural way.
“Neve Gallus.”
Emmrich’s hands dropped to his sides, his suspicions confirmed in this very moment.
“Maker, I have never seen this in person.” He choked out, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
“Why did she say my name?” Asked Neve, looking for clarification. Emmrich shushed her, which she made a point to remember later.
His gaze never left their afflicted companion.
“On the eve when Solis begins, at the hour of midnight. You will be betrayed in a manner most violent. Heed this warning and prepare. A snake in the dark, a shadow on the water. It has been seen.”
Rook’s eyes fluttered shut once more, and her rigid body settled back down onto the cot bed. She continued to sleep fitfully.
Silence reigned between them, only the sound of their harried breath to punctuate it. The creaking bones of the lesser dead, as it waited outside the room, seemed to break Emmrich out of his reverie. He moved quickly, rummaging through the drawers of the desk until he found what he was looking for. When he came back over to them, he was holding a piece of perfectly white chalk in his hand.
“I am terribly sorry to rifle through your belongings…” he murmured to Rook with softness. “But I am sure you will forgive me.”
Neve felt as though she were witnessing something she was not supposed to. It was no secret, within the team, that Emmrich held a torch for the younger Watcher. They all knew it, they all respected his right to keep it to himself, they all wished he wouldn’t. She moved over to stand in front of the desk so that she could get a closer view.
“Tell me what to do.” She said, leaning back leaning back against the wood of the desk.
“You must go back to sleep, Neve. Now.” He instructed, as he began drawing a circle on the floor in the space between Rook’s cot and her pull-out.
“What? Wait, why did she use the Tevinter word instead of calling it Solace?”
“Gabrielle is experiencing oneiromancy without knowing how to control it. She was locked in your dream space when you awoke. Her spirit is in a real location in the fade, witness to a prophecy. If we don’t open the space back up by putting you to sleep - she may be trapped forever.”
Neve’s blood ran cold. Rook was trapped in the fade, again.
“Hold on - how do we know I’ll go back to the same dream? Or even dream at all?” She asked, trying to quell the panic in her voice. She was not someone who was easily rattled, but had found herself more concerned about her friends since the end of their adventure than she would like to admit.
Emmrich finished his drawing, and Neve could have sworn she saw his hands shaking.
“I will be your conduit. I will guide your mind to the correct location, all you have to do is let me in.” He explained, gesturing to the intricate symbols he had drawn on the floor. It was unfortunately familiar to Neve, but she asked her question anyway.
“I thought altering the mind required blood magic.”
Emmrich paused, and the two simply stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. He said nothing, but instead began removing some of his jewellery. The smattering of scars underneath asked more questions than they answered.
“Emmrich, I’m not sure about this.” Said Neve, eventually. “I thought this was something even necromancers stayed away from.”
She saw him make a pained expression at that, though what the exact cause was she couldn’t determine. It was quiet for a moment, Rook breathing heavily in her slumber.
Emmrich spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t look at her, instead focusing his gaze on their sleeping friend.
“It is the only way, Neve, she has been trapped before. We can’t leave her in there again.”
Just like that, she was convinced. Emmrich was right, they couldn’t leave Rook to her fate, they couldn’t just assume that Neve would connect with her again. They had to do this.
She said nothing, but laid down wordlessly on her own cot - rolling up the sleeve of her shirt so that Emmrich would have access if he needed it. He nodded his silent appreciation.
Turning his attention to the task at hand, Emmrich was grateful that she hadn’t asked more questions about the scars on his arms. Truth be told, although he had rare occasion to call on the emergency use of blood magic, that was not the origin of most of his injuries. That was not a conversation he was prepared to have. Better for her to think him someone who dabbled in the forbidden than to have needed to bare his soul to her.
The only one in this room who knew anything about it was Rook, and she needed his help. Taking a clean scalpel from Rook’s disinfected instrument box, he sat himself back down in the circle he had made and pressed it to his skin. This was not, technically, a requirement for blood magic. One could perform any spell they needed by using the blood of those they wished to control, but it would use their life force in the process. This way, the only person whose energy might be consumed was his own.
Taking great care to ensure each wound was created in the most sterile manner possible, he created a similar mark on Neve’s arm - the circle crackling into life and casting a pinkish hue across the room. She did not even flinch.
Neve had never been on the working end of Emmrich’s magic before. She expected it to feel cold, like something dead and decaying. Instead, she found it was warm and comforting - like a loved one’s embrace. There was no attempt to fight it, as she simply allowed it to snake its way into her mind and guide her into sleep. Every instinct in her body told her to push him out, railing against the unnatural feeling of tendrils at the edges of her consciousness, but she maintained control. She would not wake, Emmrich assured her, until Rook was free.
That was not much of a comfort.
When it came to marking Rook in the same way he felt a pang of guilt. The bare skin of her arm was clammy to the touch, but soft and supple underneath his fingers. She liked to remind him often that she was not as young as he made her out to be, but the skin here still bore no signs of the ravages of time. It felt a crime, to mark such a perfect canvas with a needless scar. The irony of what he would do to himself at her age was not lost on him.
Still, he made the cut and settled himself into the circle between them.
No sooner had the connection been made, did Rook’s breathing slow. It was a pleasant sensation, the power he cycled between the three of them. Three mages, all with their own magic, all with their own distinct feeling. There was his own magic, familiar and unassuming to him as it found its way into the bodies of the other two. Neve’s ice magic was crisp and sharp, but made little attempt to keep him out. It seemed that her self-awareness was strong, the mark of a mage who is in tune with the flow of the fade and how it moves through them. Rook’s magic was no stranger to him at this stage, their work in the Watch demanded it. It was, as always, mild and bittersweet - like the ache of unrequited love. She also did not keep him out, he wondered whether this was due to familiarity or whether she did not technically occupy her own mind at this stage. Something to debate over tea another day.
Eyes fluttering shut, he focused on his breathing, it was time to shape the fade around them. This was something he knew well. While he may not have possessed the ability to directly enter dreams as Rook did, he was able to determine - based on the fluctuations in the fade around them - whether they were dreaming in the same location. All that he needed to do was guide Rook’s magic towards what it was naturally inclined to do, dreamwalking, and make sure that Neve’s dream was receptive to her changes.
He prayed to whatever Maker might exist that no-one decided to walk in on them now. It would not look good, with him sat between two bleeding women, the sanguine liquid arcing across the room and dancing in the fadelight.
After several minutes Rook returned to a normal state of dreaming. He sought out the fade for signs of her dreamwalking continuing. Finding none, he allowed Neve to wake once more.
Emmrich severed the connection between them, feeling the icy tendrils of her magic pull out of his veins.
The detective snapped awake in an instant, holding her head in her hands.
“Vehendis! My head!” She groaned, rubbing her temples.
Emmrich passed her a cloth and motioned for her to press it to the wound on her arm. She took it with begrudging gratitude and applied pressure, hissing against the sensation.
“Is she still trapped?” She asked, looking over at Rook.
“No, she is with herself again.” Came the reply, as Emmrich was applying similar pressure to the wound on their friend’s arm.
“Good, please never do that again. It felt like you were touching my actual brain.”
He had an odd expression on his face, which Neve attributed to guilt. This was not entirely wrong, but the origins were different than she would have expected. Neve thought that he felt bad for having to use blood magic on her, for cutting her arm. What he - in fact - felt guilty for, was a sudden intrusive desire to lick the crimson liquid off of Rook’s forearm where it pooled.
“How long will it take her to wake up?” Asked Neve, breaking him out of his self-inflicted horror.
“That is an excellent question. I am afraid we must simply wait.” He mused, happy that the bleeding had now been staunched.
Allowing himself to slide down to sit on the floor he took the same rag and applied it to his own wound. This did not go unnoticed by Neve, who raised both of her eyebrows in surprise.
“If you are tired, you may sleep of your own accord, but I would ask that you do it elsewhere in case she makes another crossing. I will stay awake with her here.” He instructed.
“There’s no way I’d be able to sleep now anyway.” she grumbled, sitting on the edge of her cot so that she could face him. He sat on the floor with his back to Rook, leaning against the edge of the fold-out frame. It was quite the sight, without all of his accessories and his collar askew. His legs stretched out in front of him, long and lanky.
“Should you be using the same cloth twice?” She asked. “I thought you were quite particular about this kind of thing.”
He smirked slightly, just a twitch at the edge of his lips.
“The more time one spends in my company, Neve, the more obvious you will find my hypocrisy.”
She laughed at this, shaking her head in disbelief.
“So as long as everyone else is safe, who cares what happens to Emmrich Volkarin?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He chuckled. “Though I highly doubt that Miss Ingellvar is carrying anything I should be concerned about.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while until Emmrich had decided he spent enough time recovering the energy expenditure from their private ritual. He threw the cloth into a little basket next to Rook’s plinth-turned-dissection table. The familiarity of it had Neve’s mind ticking.
“Do you visit her often?” She queried, eyes shining mischievously.
“Relatively. We are colleagues.” Replied Emmrich, beginning the task of sliding his various golden bangles back onto his slim wrists.
“Mhm. How often do her other colleagues visit her?” Neve pushed, leaning back on her hands and crossing one leg over the other. She levelled him with an amused expression.
“We have recently been assigned to many of the same duties.” He sounded mildly irritated by the line of questioning, shooting her a serious look.
“Do those duties often take place in here?”
It was an innocent question, but Emmrich understood what she was getting at.
“We like to discuss the finer points of anatomy in peace.” He gestured towards the slab, and the bloodstains that had soaked into the stone.
Neve smirked, he made this almost too easy.
“The finer points of whose anatomy, exactly?”
Emmrich’s face coloured immediately, and he span on his heel to face her. Despite his embarrassment, he looked genuinely cross.
“I am sure you are not insinuating anything untoward!”
“Come on Emmrich, it was just a joke.” Neve laughed slightly, holding her hands up in a gesture of peace.
“A joke that may have consequences for Miss Ingellvar, if you are not careful about who hears it.” He chastised, casting a glance towards the sleeping woman.
”It’s only the two - three of us - in here.” Neve reminded him.
“The walls have ears in the necropolis.” He said with finality, making a pointed look at the door where he knew the skeletal figure still waited.
As several hours passed, Neve began to feel as if she was intruding on something intimate. Emmrich had pulled up a stool and sat next to Rook’s cot bed. He held one of her hands tightly in his own and whispered to her every now and again. The clinking of his jewellery was the only other sound in the room. Neve wondered if it had some kind of cultural significance. Rook didn’t wear nearly as many baubles, though she was partial to a number of interesting rings of late.
After listening to a number of these one-sided conversations, Neve was convinced that there was something between the two of them. Good, it would be nice to be able to go back to the others with positive news for once.
“When you wake, we should visit the memorial garden and ring the bell.” Emmrich was murmuring to Rook, his voice low and friendly. “Manfred has been asking after you, and how you are getting on with the lesser dead. He will be so excited to hear how much they have grown to like you. Sleep as long as you need, I will be here when you are ready.”
Neve cleared her throat, and he jumped a little in his seat. It was like he had forgotten she was there.
“I’m glad you were finally able to tell her.” She said, with a small smile.
Emmrich, however, looked genuinely confused.
“What?” He asked.
“Rook?” Neve began incredulously. “How you feel about her.”
“I’ve told her no such thing! There’s nothing to - what are you -” he replied, stumbling over his words. “What I meant to say is, what feelings exactly are you referring to?”
Neve rolled her eyes in exasperation, leaning forward in her seated position with her hands either side of her against her bed frame.
“You’ve been pining after her since you met!”
There was that flustered expression again, the same as earlier. He was surprisingly quick to embarrassment when it was about Rook.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He dismissed her offhand, his mouth formed a hard line.
“It’s obvious to a dead man,” she replied, looking at the open doorway in recognition of the beings who roamed the corridors. “No pun intended.”
“This topic is not up for discussion.” Emmrich said, with finality.
They stared each other down, but Neve could sense that she wouldn’t get anything else out of him right now.
“Fine, let’s talk about something else.” She conceded, leaning back again. The cot bed creaked with the movement.
“Thank you.”
Neve started looking around the room for something to occupy her mind while they waited for their friend to wake. It was difficult to focus on anything other than her curiosity over Emmrich’s affection towards Rook, though.
“Why do you call her Miss Ingellvar?” She asked, eventually.
“That is her name.” He replied matter-of-factly.
“It’s very formal.” She prodded, not letting him out of the question.
“I thought we had dropped this topic of conversation.” Emmrich sighed, looking at her with bemusement.
“Why don’t you want to tell her?” Neve asked, curiosity piqued. She looked at him directly, her eyes boring a hole into his skull.
Emmrich finally caved, his shoulders sagging as he let out a breath he had been holding.
“What would I say? I, a man twenty years her senior? She deserves a long life with someone better suited to her.”
Neve snorted slightly, tilting her head to one side.
“What if there is no-one better suited to her? Should she be alone forever?” She asked. “Or worse, married to someone for the sake of it?”
“This is a ridiculous line of debate, because I cannot possibly be the best match for her. You know as well as I that she will have no end of admirers and-”
Just as Neve felt they were getting somewhere, they were interrupted by the sound of Rook’s voice.
“Emmrich…? What are you doing here?” She asked, groggily. It appeared she was still half asleep.
The professor immediately dropped her hand like it was hot enough to brand him, while the younger Watcher tried to prop herself up in bed.
“Rook!” Neve exclaimed, jumping off the bed to make her way over to her friend’s side.
“Stay laid down for now, there is something we need to discuss.” Said Emmrich as he placed his hands gently on Rook’s shoulders to push her back down onto the cot.
“I’m sorry. Did it happen again…?” She asked, meekly, as though all of her energy had left her.
“What do you mean ‘again’?” asked Emmrich, as he and Neve passed a concerned look between themselves.
“It’s a long story.” Rook replied.
“We have time.” Said Neve, sternly.
The three of them relayed the events of the evening from each of their perspectives - Neve leaving out her observations about the nature of their relationship. One thing was obvious; this had been occurring for some time, and Rook had told no-one.
It was difficult to ascertain the passage of time in the necropolis, but once they had finished talking Rook had been able to sit up in bed and drink a very sugary tea prepared by Emmrich ‘for her energy’.
It became apparent that Rook had not understood that what she was experiencing was oneiromancy, and ultimately, that Neve would not be of much further help. The detective had eventually left the two Watchers alone together, saying she would look into what Rook’s dreamwalking had revealed about her fate and thanking her for the warning.
Present Day
Emmrich was initially livid that she had not shared her plight with him, but this was swiftly replaced by concern and understanding. Of course she didn’t share, she barely felt normal after her last encounter with the fade. It was possible she thought she was simply going through some kind of psychosis.
In the end he offered to tutor her, to which she declined. That had been a several months ago - and the dreams had not gotten any easier. She awoke to him on more than one occasion, the picture of concern and bags under his eyes. It had gotten so bad that he offered to stay in the crypt with her so that he could watch her at night, but she didn’t want to be a burden.
She agreed to teach one of the lesser dead to signal for help. The same one that had helped her on that night so long ago. Unfortunately, it turned out to have been necessary.
In his panic and desperation, Emmrich sent a letter to the Ingellvar family - against his better judgement.
Dear Mr and Mrs Ingellvar,
I am writing to you as a concerned colleague and friend of your ward Miss Gabrielle Ingellvar. We have not met in person, but I have attended several of your events with much gratitude.
It is, from this tenuous acquaintance and my familiarity with Miss Ingellvar that I feel qualified to ask this of you. It has become apparent that the young lady is proficient in oneiromancy, but has little knowledge of how to control it.
I have offered to mentor her in this, but I confess my resources to be few and far between. She has rejected my attempts to assist her.
If the situation continues as it is, I am afraid for her safety and would ask that you extend your generosity once more into finding her a suitable teacher that can help her to understand the gift she has been blessed with.
I await your reply with eager anticipation.
Professor Emmrich Volkarin
No later than two weeks after sending the letter, an envoy arrived seeking her out.
Then, she was gone.