With his books and other personal possessions confiscated, and no visitors save for the jailers who bring him his rations and scant water for bathing, Atticus has little other than sleep to keep him occupied. He tries not to do it overmuch, lest he be unable to drift off deeply at night, and thoroughly immerse himself in the living memory of the Fade as it has been shaped by this place. Even torture and trauma and bloodshed and grief can, in its specificity, craft a vision of the world that is fundamentally unique due to both place and time.
Atticus doesn't have to sleep to do this--but it looks much less strange when he does so. He may be able to enter the Fade at will, but he hasn't yet mastered the ability to retain awareness of both his physical and incorporeal selves at once.
So he waits until nightfall, when the guards have stopped heckling him and the moon is high, and his mind is exhausted from performing complex alchemical equations and remembering verbatim old school texts from his youth. That is when he lets himself sleep, and in his sleep, reaches out towards the minds of others within Kirkwall as they dream. His touch upon those minds is feather soft, just enough to give him a glimpse into their dreams, but not enough to draw their attention. Not yet, anyway.
mr sandman send me any dream but that one oh god
Imprisonment is tedious.
With his books and other personal possessions confiscated, and no visitors save for the jailers who bring him his rations and scant water for bathing, Atticus has little other than sleep to keep him occupied. He tries not to do it overmuch, lest he be unable to drift off deeply at night, and thoroughly immerse himself in the living memory of the Fade as it has been shaped by this place. Even torture and trauma and bloodshed and grief can, in its specificity, craft a vision of the world that is fundamentally unique due to both place and time.
Atticus doesn't have to sleep to do this--but it looks much less strange when he does so. He may be able to enter the Fade at will, but he hasn't yet mastered the ability to retain awareness of both his physical and incorporeal selves at once.
So he waits until nightfall, when the guards have stopped heckling him and the moon is high, and his mind is exhausted from performing complex alchemical equations and remembering verbatim old school texts from his youth. That is when he lets himself sleep, and in his sleep, reaches out towards the minds of others within Kirkwall as they dream. His touch upon those minds is feather soft, just enough to give him a glimpse into their dreams, but not enough to draw their attention. Not yet, anyway.