"Abominations, what a quaint notion," Dhaonag muttered after she finished laughing. "We are not mere demons, wearing the flesh of mortals. We are something else entirely."
"You're possessing mages," Amell hissed, clutching her staff.
"No," Dhaonag shook her head solemnly. "We do not consume the souls of the mages. We intertwine ourselves with it. From what were once two lives emerges one gestalt being, more powerful than either of them."
"Then you... and all the other fae... you're all two people at once?" Amell asked, skeptically.
"No, I am one person, that I know," Dhaonag insisted. "I remember two lives. One in the Fade and one in this realm. But they are sides of the same coin now and neither life is less mine than the other. And both those lives chose to unite in order to produce me. Is that not how love manifests?" she asked liltingly.
"Ah, so I should think of you as married to yourself, then?" Amell frowned, still unconvinced.
"If that would help," Dhaonag shrugged. "We do not force this choice on anyone. We simply explain what it entails. But we have never been refused until now."
"That may have more to do with the fact that the ones you try to persuade are children," Amell pointed out. "I suppose it at least makes your job quite easy."
"Of course. Children lack the cynicism of adults," Dhaonag replied chidingly.
Under the circumstances, Amell was not about to feel guilty for her cynicism.
Dhaonag looked over her shoulder, her head twisting just a hair more than humanly possible.
"Ah, Dyson has arrived," the fae remarked. "Our conversation might have to be postponed."
Amell gestured for Sten to approach, just as Dyson was walked over to them, flanked by Dhaonag's two lackeys. The boy looked uninjured, but sullen and withdrawn.
"Dyson," Amell reached towards him, tilting his chin up to get a better look at his face.
"What?" Dyson asked peevishly, pulling away from her.
"Your sister's worried sick," Amell scolded. "You just took off without saying anything."
"M'sorry," the boy shrugged, looking down and scuffing at the floor with the tip of his shoe.
"It's fine. I'll just take you back and--"
"Actually," he interrupted, looking up at Amell earnestly, "Umm... Actually, these people are nice."
"I'm sure they are," Amell said carefully.
"Umm... I think... I think I'd like to... stay?" he continued hesitantly, sneaking a glance at Dhaonag.
To her credit, the fae did not look smug.
Amell sighed.
"Dyson," she started, placing her hands on his shoulders and commanding his attention. "Sorrel has been crying constantly since you've left."
"R-really?" he asked meekly.
"Really," Amell nodded. "I understand that you are old enough to make your own decisions--"
He nodded gravely, and Amell knew she found her opening.
"--but, you see, that means you have certain responsibilities. Towards your family."
"...Oh." He did not seem convinced yet, but his brow furrowed in thought.
"Towards Sorrel. She doesn't know what to do without you. You can't just leave her alone, you understand?"
"She's big. She can take care of herself," Dyson argued.
"Well, yes. But have you ever been completely alone in your life?"
"...No," Dyson replied.
Amell paused slightly and recalled her first days at Ostagar, wandering the camp alone and purposeless, uncertain and scared to the core. She recalled her thoughts in those times, how she would have preferred to face even the rest of her life at Aeonar, if it were in Jowan's company; how she would have traded all the freedom in the world for a friend. All to avoid that dreadful, oppressive loneliness.
"Then trust me, leaving your sister like that, all alone... it's cruel. You're not a cruel person, are you?"
"No," Dyson looked down dejectedly.
"Then we should hurry back."
Dyson nodded without looking at Amell.
"That's not possible, I'm afraid," Dhaonag spoke sadly.
"Yes it is. We're leaving," Amell said sternly, grabbing Dyson's hand and putting herself between the boy and the fae.
"No," Dhaonag said simply.
"No?" Amell repeated. "You're going to stop us, then?"
"You would do the same, I'm sure," Dhaonag murmured, sadly. "We cannot let you go and tell others of us. Such things always end badly."
"And you're going to stop us, I gather?" Amell hissed, her fingers twitching in anticipation.
A shower of multicolored light descended from the ceiling, frothing on the floor and coalescing into a crowd of figures. Soon enough, the room was filled with countless other fae, all silent and watching expectantly. They were all just as strangely constructed as Dhaonag, their bodies a showcase of everything the animal kingdom had to offer.
"Yes," Dhaonag sighed. "I am afraid so."
Amell dry-swallowed. Sten had unsheathed Asala and Dyson must have had at least some grasp of magic, but this was a hopeless battle.
She had a moment of regret, that she had all but led Sten and Dyson to their deaths. Desperation gnawed at her, panic stabbed at her heart, but this all passed and she once again knew what she had to do.
"Well, then," she said and grinned, relaxing visibly.
Dhaonag was taken aback by this reaction. She was rendered completely shocked by what happened next, however.
In one swift motion, Amell sprang past the fae and lunged towards the pool of lyrium.
The room was plunged in harsh medleys of sound and light, bypassing the senses and lancing through the minds of the fae.
And for Amell, time stopped.
* * *
Lyrium is not liquid magic. It has no inherent magical abilities on its own. Only when used by a mage does it facilitate a closer resonance with the Fade, thus, in a way, refueling his or her magical energies.
In certain quantities, lyrium can be fatal to any mage, especially if the magical energy it creates is not expended immediately. But there is a short interval of time during which the lyrium can be simultaneously processed in a mage's body and funneled into a spell. It was what allowed the Tevinter magisters to perform feats well outside the reach of any other mages in their time.
However, where the magisters of the Imperium used their lyrium with careful planning and to great purposes, Amell had simply jumped into a pool of the stuff with only a half-cocked idea and a complete disregard for her own safety.
* * *
Amell could not have described what was happening to her. If mages had a deep connection to the basic forces of the universe, then she was just witnessing that connection unfurl, widen and explode. The Fade and the material world doubled in her perception and became juxtaposed.
She felt a great wave of fire come upon her and with a mere gesture, she unleashed unholy destruction upon her surroundings.
She saw strange beings around her, bastard hybrids who created ugly knots in the fabric of the Veil, snagging the Fade and snarling it, and she reached out to undo them. She ripped apart the two realms, separating them and extinguishing the creatures in the process. She did this gleefully, desperately, as pain throbbed through her body (or her soul?...), as it built up, more and more. The Veil, no longer tortured by their unnatural existence, smoothed itself out somewhat, approaching semi-normality.
Yet the power, the awful, beautiful, painful, irresistible power kept building, pouring through her from one side of the Veil to another. She could no sooner hold it back than she could stop a river from flowing using her hands.
But among the chaos, she remembered two small pinpricks in her perception, two lives that did not disturb the Veil. She remembered-- or perhaps only did it on instinct-- that she had to protect them.
She tugged the Veil (like a goddess; truly it was no wonder that mages once thought they should walk in the city of gods) and she twirled it around them, elegantly, simply. It was ridiculously easy and required no effort, but the pain, the horrible, unceasing pain grew worse.
The dreadful buildup came to its climax, finally. Her tenuous control was gone. The Veil rippled and reasserted itself between her and the Fade.
Time began moving again.