Elgara vallas, da'len
Melava somniar
Mala taren aravas
Ara ma'desen melar.

Sun sets, little one
Time to dream.
Your mind journeys,
But I will hold you here.

Dalish Lullaby, Verse 1.

Dorian watched her for a few silent moments, and Vel, who normally heard him approaching from three rooms away, did not even shift; it was, perhaps, because it was not her this time.

Dorian could tell.

It was not as obvious as it had been the previous days, for her eyes were not flaming red. Still, there was a distinct glow to them, a deep crimson circle surrounding her golden pupils; she was kneeling in front of her mirror, at the centre of a diagram the likes of which Dorian had never seen before, and her lips were soundlessly moving to a language he was assured neither of them knew how to speak. Blue, dull light radiated from the mirror itself, making her still bruised features look gruesome.

Veldrin had always been pale, he thought, but now she looked cadaveric, and for the first time since it had all began, Dorian felt frightened. For her. For himself. For…

All the others were sleeping uneasily some fifty feet away, in one of the open corridors. After the activation of the artefacts, the aura of Zazikel's altar had grown to the underground, its flavour sickly, but bearable even without the assistance of magic. Nonetheless, none of the elves had wanted to rest under the domed, cracked ceiling, yet, while the distance seemed to make at least Sera, Skin and Dalish sleep easily, not the same could be said of Maevaris and Krem, or Dorian himself: the elves felt sickly beneath the place where the dragons had once reigned; the humans felt sickly away from it, as if some sort of thin, invisible barrier had insidiously risen to separate the worlds of the two races.

They had all, nonetheless taken turns in watching Veldrin sleep – she'd slept for almost three days, though he was unsure that sleep might have been the correct word for it. She'd remained motionless, like a rag doll for the entire duration; she hadn't turned in her sleep, she had not even half woken to drink, she hadn't soiled herself. But for the fact that her breath had remained even and deep, she might have appeared dead.

The other worrisome thing was one that should have brought him joy, for, in her motionless sleep, Veldrin was visibly healing. Her broken nose straightened, her cheekbones rose in place, her split lips pulled themselves together, in a slow, but undeniable shifting of flesh and bone under the skin that was equally fascinating and dreadful to watch.

'Is this uthenara?' he'd dared ask of Dalish, on the afternoon of the second day; the blonde elf had looked at him and helplessly shrugged.

'No one has seen uthenara since before the fall of Arlathan, Dorian,' Dalish had softly made response. 'If it is, I would not know how to recognise it.'

'But from all we know, from your legends, from…Your people could be in this state for hundreds of years,' the human had said. 'And what is happening here…' He'd glanced upon his wife's features, and shaken his head. 'Human somniari,' he'd distantly said, 'influence the fade around themselves; your somniari did far more than that – they somehow used fade energies to maintain their bodies fed and clean.'

'That was in the absence of the veil, Dorian,' the woman responded, shaking her head. 'This is not uthenara; it cannot be uthenara.'

'She's healing herself while asleep, Dalish. I would call that weaving of Fade energies into physical shape. Wouldn't you? Hundreds, if not thousands of years,' he'd repeated, not fearing his raised voice would wake Veldrin up, but actively hoping it might have.

Vel had not budged; her breath had not even hitched.

'Vel's not alone in that form,' the elf had answered. 'It might not even be her doing this. Or,' she'd added, with a shrug and a smile that was meant to be light-heartening, 'the veil is gone and we haven't noticed.'

'Both such cheerful prospects,' Dorian had muttered, rolling his eyes.

'She'll wake up,' Dalish had said, brushing her hand over his shoulder. 'Just tell her - ma garas mir renan,' she'd whispered to Veldrin and Dorian alike. 'Ara ma'athlan vhenas.'

'I never…' the human had whispered.

'Learnt Elvhen?' Dalish had bitterly returned. 'Don't worry, Shem, it's not a curse. It simply tells her to follow your voice, and you will guide her home.'

If only I knew where her home is, Dorian had thought, but not voiced; he'd not spoken the other phrase either, but he'd thought it, over and over. It was the closest he'd ever come to praying, and, in great irony, the words, or whatever else, had worked their magic just as the human had truly lost hope, and fallen to sleep himself.

Or perhaps, Dorian had thought, with a chill, Veldrin had woken up precisely when all others were too exhausted to watch her, and he was fascinated and frightened…and, for the first time, angry.

He'd made no effort to approach her silently, but she was so absorbed by her spell, and the hypnotising blue light radiating from the previously dead mirror that she only looked up once he stepped into her circle.

'I want to talk to Veldrin,' Dorian said, dryly.

'She's busy,' Imshael replied, in an equally dry tone. 'If you interrupt us now, you will be wasting time I assure you, you do not have…'

'I do not care,' the Magister said.

'Eh,' Imshael chuckled, 'if you knew what is happening to the world above and around this charming rock that your ancestors built, you'd not be saying that. So be a good little boy, and let us finish what we're doing – I'll let you have her after. Well, have her,' the demon shrugged. 'A way of saying.'

With that, he moved Veldrin's now fully crimson glance back to the mirror, and managed to keep still under Dorian's stare for the better part of five very silent minutes, before yielding in great annoyance.

'Who is not being practical now?' Imshael asked, in Veldrin's voice. 'Your essence transfer diagrams are set, you have re-scripted the blood ritual – the eluvian is the final part of the trap. This spell is of the Elvhen, and you are a Shem standing in her circle; we cannot work this in your presence, unless you wish to give us your life. Veldrin chooses not to take it. Step away. Please, Amatus,' it said, and this time it was Veldrin. 'Just a foot back.'

He clenched his jaws, and stepped out of the circle; Vel's golden eyes, with no red crown about the pupils turned to him, and she tried to smile.

'Something is terribly wrong,' he tiredly whispered. 'This…thing…Why did you not tell me?'

'Because you would have looked at me as you are looking at me now,' Vel softly said.

'Oh, Maker, Veldrin,' he sighed, leaning against the smooth wall, and letting himself slip to sit on the floor. 'And you thought me – us – finding out like this was a much better idea?'

The woman lowered her glance. 'The plan was that you wouldn't find out, until the very end…And then, it would not have mattered any longer. I'm…'

'You're sorry, I know. You've done nothing but be sorry since we arrived here,' Dorian angrily replied. 'Look, Vel,' he followed, trying to keep his temper in check, 'you are, arguably, the best mage I have ever encountered…'

'Other than yourself, of course,' Veldrin tried to jest.

'Eh, a week ago, I might have said that,' he muttered, 'but you've gone to a whole new level now – controlled possession? You know that cannot be, Vel – sooner or later, even with a normal outsider…What next, Amata, a friendly demon army? A competently managed Blight?'

'You know all too well…' she pleadingly began.

'Yes,' he exploded, 'from Dalish! Because you…'

'There was no other way that I could have made the eluvian,' Veldrin snapped, finally meeting his glance. 'Do you think that if this knowledge had been lying about in a library somewhere, your people or mine might not have run across it, by now? Or do you assume Solas so foolish as to step through the eluvian we have in Minrathous?'

The man lifted both palms and shook his head in utter denial. 'Why wouldn't he, Vel? The man turns hundreds into stone with a blink…'

'Which brings us to a very good sequitur, Amatus,' the elf smirked. 'Do you think that you or I could face him alone?'

'We had Morrigan,' Dorian stubbornly answered, 'and I would give ten of her and twenty of her son…'

'Don't say that,' Veldrin whispered. 'You are too good for this.'

'No, Veldrin, I actually am not.' He stingingly replied. 'I am not the man you think I am, Veldrin – in the end of all things, I am a selfish and spoiled Tevinter prince, and you are the person I care for most in this world, Lexi aside; you may be selfless, Amata, but I am not, and now I find that I've lost you for Morrigan's sake.'

'You haven't lost me,' she softly said; she sounded as if she did not believe herself, and Dorian breathed out in exhaustion.

'Not yet,' he sighed. 'But this can only end in one way, Vel, and we both know it. Do you imagine he will just…leave? Of his own accord?'

'We have a deal,' Veldrin said, dryly; the man threw his arms up in despair.

'And he'll honour it, because demons – excuse me, choice spirits! - are notoriously trustworthy!' he exclaimed.

'Well, Dorian, it's hardly as if we had a choice,' she said. 'Did not notice that we were getting nowhere with the casting circles and the artefacts before…'

'And did you perhaps not notice what happened after?' he shot, in irritation. 'The fucking air around you is different, Veldrin – you've acquired this energy-sapping glow, in fact, this entire bloody room looks and feels …'

'Ha!' she exclaimed; there was a minute jolt of her body this time though, as if for a moment, she'd tried to fight the demon's return. To no avail – the glance she turned on him was fully red, and he unwillingly pressed his back into the wall. 'Is that what you think happened here, handsome?'

Dorian gritted his teeth. 'Leave,' he hissed.

'Mhmmm, no. Doesn't work that way,' Imshael beamed. 'No matter how much you don't want me here, she does, because, well, while I would like to take full credit for what is happening, I'm afraid it is almost all on you, Sparkler. Magister Alexius would be so proud…'

'Don't you dare mention his name,' Dorian angrily breathed. 'Alexius was a good man, who did terrible things out of grief…'

'Or maybe he did them because some spoiled, selfish Tevinter prince could not swallow his pride for long enough to stick around to help him bear that loss and grief – he loved you like a son, you know, you were the mage that Felix could never be…' the demon amicably said, when Dorian's face drained of all colour. 'You remember him, right? Felix, the pitiful Soporati you loved enough not to fuck?'

Dorian cursed under his breath and sprung to his feet, spinning on himself as fast as his trembling knees allowed – there were tears stinging in his eyes, and he would be damned if he would give the monster the satisfaction he craved.

The demon giggled pleasantly. 'I see - now you want to leave…just when I found a little wound to tease there, huh? Suit yourself; it's all for the best anyway. You may think me untrustworthy, and that pains me to no end, let me tell you, but, hand on delightful Veldrin's heart, trust me when I say you truly lack the luxury of time. Given what you've done…'

'Go to hell,' Dorian said, though gritted teeth.

There was a terrifying chocking sound, and he spun on himself once more, only to find Veldrin clutching tightly at her own throat with both hands; her eyes were golden, but welling with tears too, so, pride and anger forgotten, Dorian hastily kneeled by her side, covering her hands in his and trying to pry them off. Imshael may have been gone from her mind, but her body was still possessed of his strength, so his efforts were to no avail.

'Let her go,' he pleaded, noting that Vel's grip on herself simply strengthened the more his efforts increased. 'Please,' he whispered, 'let her go…'

The grip loosened so abruptly that Dorian painfully jerked his wife's arms to the side – the relief was short lived, though, for when he once more met her stare, it had returned to glowing crimson, and the demon was smiling, though tears were still freely streaming down Veldrin's cheeks.

'See?' Imshael said. 'It's so much better when you are polite to me…'

'I thought you could not harm her if she didn't choose it,' the man said.

'I didn't,' Imshael seductively purred, 'but she cannot make choices I do not approve of, either…there are things that your broken paragon of goodness here doesn't want me to tell you, and other things that I don't want her to tell you…Like for instance, what you have done. Not yet, I hate to spoil a good surprise; so all of your rudeness now accomplished no more than forcing Veldrin into making another little…trade. With me,' it cruelly grinned. 'The more you fight me, the worse you'll make it, but I don't mind. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if I can get you to the point where you will offer a trade of your own... You understand now, yes? All of your choices are an amusement to me, and can only lead to one place: the place where I get what I want.'

'What do you want?' the Magister spat.

'To see you dance,' Imshael amusedly answered. 'To see you all dance. And,' he added, with a bored sigh, 'I want to finish Veldrin's mirror – it is truly a pity that here, she wants exactly what I want. No opportunity for trade…'

'What did we do?' Dorian asked, in true dread. 'Did we start a fucking Blight? What…'

The expression on Veldrin's face made his heart skip a beat, for she smiled, and playfully pressed a finger to the tip of her nose.

'Warm,' the demon said. 'Very warm, but…not quite. Though I do get the distinct impression that you, in particular, are soon going to wish you had.'

A bit of a sad one, this, but, yeah, meant to carry you through the most depressing week of the year. By depressing you more.

But, love and understanding will play each other out, and I (Abstract) love Dorian a lot. IvI says he could do something about the hair, but that he wants the moustache.

He is sooo not getting a moustache.

Thanks you for reading and commenting,

Cheers, Abstract.