At her observation, Atticus' eyebrows lift as though in some mild confusion, before he looks down to examine his attire. His sleeping mind seems to have chosen his clothes for him; hardly ostentatious, but the cut and fit and quality of the black and burgundy fabrics speak of wealth and privilege.

"Yes," he agrees, "though not something I am permitted in Skyhold. It is," a pause, considering, "remote." That is an understatement.

He turns his attention to her dream and takes a few steps towards one of the courtyard walls. "Is this place of your world?" he asks.