hades/persephone dream thread - duplicity

[unabatedly]

from here

Ereuvir:
It becomes very clear, though perhaps only slowly, that he is driving her deliberately closer and closer to the brink. He's taking his time with it, no hurry, though he will go easily and smoothly wherever she sees fit to move him. When she isn't, though, when she's holding back or trying to hold herself still, he's relentless about his own pleasure in this, which seems to be to taste as much as possible of her. He clearly prefers his tongue over his teeth, the better to savor the textures of her, but wherever it seems to drive her the most crazy, he'll easily nibble just a little bit, graze his teeth maybe a little less gently, soothe that space with his tongue a moment later.

Still, he's definitely ramping up the intensity, not so much trying to get her to come as trying to get her to chase for it, push him to the right places. Each time she does, she discovers he is unsurprisingly relentless, until there's really nothing to do but surrender to the inevitable.


Neria:
She isn't certain what to make of it all, the way he practically traps her in her own pleasure. Guiding him will get her what she wishes but drawn out, savored; letting him do what he wants nets her the most pleasure, though not always precisely at the focal points. He's goading her sweetly and taking what he wants, and Neria does her best to stave herself off only because she wants to feel what he wants, wants to lose herself in the sensation of denial, but even that is a game she doesn't want to waste too much time on.

No, eventually, she's meeting him halfway, going after her own pleasure once she can't stand it any longer, when her breaths are coming quickly, hitched in her chest. Her fingers, once content to drag through long tresses of his hair and to cradle and caress the back of his head, do more to coax him to the places where she knows she'll come undone. She feels the coil of pleasure rise up through her legs, leave her quivering. Practically bowing over him, she comes with a quiet cry that is for his ears alone, swallowed up in the utter silence of the wood around them...save for the faint rasp of her own breath.

She doesn't buckle, surprisingly, but her grip is tight on his shoulders to keep her balance while she rides out her orgasm, keeping him there for just a few moments longer before she loosens her hold.


Ereuvir:
He returns each quiet noise with one of his own, encouraging moans and soft sounds, like he's coaxing her to it rather than the relentless force he's actually displaying, once she meets him there. It turns to a purring, pleased noise as she shakes through her orgasm above and around him and he keeps teasing at her through it, until she's shuddering a bit with it afterwards.

He tips her over a moment later, the fall controlled though it may not seem to be. She lands in his cloak, not in the snow, and while there's no residual body warmth to soak up, she'll find it's plenty thick enough to keep her from the cold, that it warms to her own heat and touch. She's not liable to spend too much time considering it, though, because Ereuvir follows her, leaves her bereft only in that he takes a moment to look down at her, expression still hungry. He licks his lips, not quite showy but a lot more like an animal, deliberate, and then he grips her dress at the tear he'd already made and rips the entire thing open, almost casually. They are gods. It can be mended.

It's more important for him to get his mouth on the rest of her, a heated trail up that starts where he was previously and trails up over her belly, teeth scraping more frequently now as he works up her body.

"You're warm," is what it sounds like against her skin, a better compliment than one to her beauty. They are gods. They are all beautiful.


Neria:
She half tips over and half falls right into the open arms of his cloak, which cradles her as Ereuvir climbs up and tears the rest of her dress open. There's a momentary shift, not a flinch but something else that's caught like surprise, and then he comes down to her, starts to roam over the rest of her body. Neria tries to hold still, really she does, but the scrape of his teeth over exposed flesh draws up goosebumps, makes her shiver with anticipation and desire and excitement. With something that could be taken for a laugh, her fingers weave into his hair, over the back of his neck, and any piece of clothing he's still wearing that she can reach, she's trying to nudge it off or open so she can at least touch more of him now.

"You say that like you've never touched anything warm in all your days," she murmurs, giving him a long look from beneath her lashes. Her fingers find the little catches of muscle over his shoulders, his back, and it's here that the warmth feels like it spreads outwards. Surely that can't be right - she's a goddess of spring, not of warmth - but it feels like sunlight over his skin as he drags his mouth further, further up.

When at last he's close enough, Neria is reaching to draw him down so she can kiss him, to drag her teeth over his lips and nip at them. Her hands go exploring again, down his sides, his ribs, like she's trying to map out a world just by touch alone. He is cool to the touch but never cold and she presses to him like she might look for shade on a hot summer day. Her mouth falls to his jaw, sampling there with a smile.

Comments

[notcharming]

The look he's giving her as she approaches is causing concern in a few of the mages, the leader specifically, but might also be giving Neria some kind of pause as well. The possessiveness is clear, like it's only his iron control over himself preventing him from crossing the distance to her and sweeping her up, but he's also smirking slightly, not in arrogance but genuine pleasure, as though Neria is in on a joke only the two of them know.

"My name is Ereuvir Valbanise. I am the Lord of Hell," he says it so calmly, not with grandiose embellishment, but just a fact of the world. He isn't entirely sure what those words mean here, if anything, but he also doesn't care. "I have come here for what's mine."

He takes a step towards Neria, then another, almost as though daring her to attack him but, once he's in range all he does instead is drop to one knee in front of her, bowing his head until his hair slides over his shoulders, obscuring the look he raises up to her, sly and sensual. He's fairly sure she doesn't remember.

He's fairly sure right now, he doesn't care. Surely she won't begrudge him a little bit of a game, here, before they can properly talk about this.

[unabatedly]

The name is finally what jostles something out of her, the fogginess of a memory wiped away. She remembers what he'd worn before in a cold wasteland, how easily he'd brushed aside her sword and embraced her. Lord of Hell only solidifies it, something she remembers saying. It doesn't answer any of her questions besides confirming her gut instinct that she knows him, even if she can't properly understand the shape of that. The rake of his gaze, the possessiveness, is surprising and not at all; she still hasn't decided if he is a demon in nature and hasn't seen him in the shifting dreamscape of the Fade, waiting for an opportunity.

Now, after all, would be a very good opportunity for him to try to take control of her. So when he steps towards her, her fingers tighten over the hilt of her sword but little else, held there even as he takes a knee and gives her an expression that truly tips her world on its axis.

This... This is familiar. But why?

The other mages in attendance are more than baffled, their leader spinning on her furiously. "What is this? What kind of game are you playing? What have you done?"

Her gaze remains on Ereuvir's, assessing. Her free hand twitches, like she might reach out. But then, without turning her head, she addresses the magister outright: "I didn't do anything." Whatever he is, whatever this is, she's going to trust it. He wants her alive and she doesn't think he'll do anything to jeopardize tha, for now. She turns her head. "In fact, you did all the work for me." She almost manages a smile. "I suppose it didn't occur to you that you might've summoned something that wasn't meant for you." She's playing things a little too fast and loose to her liking, making assumptions only based on what Ereuvir has said, but she thinks she understands.

[notcharming]

Perhaps there is some part of her that remembers that he adores following her lead in these games, filling in behind her until they've deceived everyone else together. She can see it shine in his eyes for a moment, where only she can see him beneath his hair, pride and delight shining in them. He loves her, loves this, and he's just the right amount and kind of asshole to not care if she sees that in his expression, without understanding why.

There's probably some desire there, too, as she takes the reins of the story, equally odd to see on such a creature in this situation, without knowing why. It is all there and gone in a moment, shuttered at least partially away while he plays his part in all of this, let out now only when it serves his purpose. Their purpose.

"I doubt someone who thought to bind me against my will would understand," he's speaking to Neria, but he's well aware all the mages who tried to do so can hear him, "Some creatures can only be bound if they're willing. And if they want what's offered in exchange. I told you once my word was binding. It is true even if you do not remember it. And I came." He grins, slow, a cat in the cream,

"You always hated the thought of my servitude, but perhaps you might give me leave to follow your orders for a time, all the same? I do not understand the nuances of this situation and I would not resolve it in a way that... displeases you."

He wouldn't kill every last person here if she would be unhappy with the massacre, he means.

[unabatedly]

It feels very much like walking out over ice and hoping the next step won't send her under. Ereuvir seems to take it all in stride, seems even pleased by what she says, looks at her with an adoration that she can't even begin to understand. Maybe she isn't meant to. Trust is all she has to go on while she clings fast to memories that are barely tangible.

He isn't her enemy and he currently isn't harming innocents. She'll start there. The water is murky but it isn't the first time she's cast out and hoped for the best.

Neria holds fast to the words he tells her, little scraps to keep and use in the moment. Briefly, she looks to him and even offers a partial-shrug of her shoulders, like they're sharing some indolent quip back and forth. "It's a shame, then, that they didn't offer something better." The magister balks at her, starts to argue, but the rest of what Ereuvir says sinks in.

She turns back to the mages at hand. The magister pulls a knife, not meant for her but for his own arm. The prospect of using Ereuvir at all, demon or lord or something else entirely, twists her stomach. To ask him to kill them would be the same as making a pact with Pride, wouldn't it? But as the blade twists in the man's hand, when she knows she'll be outmaneuvered without an ally, she realizes it doesn't matter. She'll give her soul up if that's what it takes.

If what he says is any indication, maybe she already has.

"It wouldn't displease me," she says, just as he brandishes the blade. "They've done enough. I want them dead." With one hand, she pulls her sword up. With the other, she offers to help Ereuvir to his feet.

[notcharming]

He takes her hand, allows her to pull him to his feet, but even as chaos erupts around them at her words, he draws her hand up in a way that seems to take eons, like he's slowed time itself down around them, until he can press a warm kiss on the inside of her wrist, warm and intimate. He knows he's toying with her a bit, but he's just so delighted to see her again, that he can keep his hands off her at all is impressive enough. He gives her another intimate sort of look, before his lips curve into a grin,

"As you wish. It is hardly going to be a hardship, to be allowed to fight at your side again," he knows what he's saying there, phrasing chosen utterly deliberately, And then he turns and draws his sword.

It's notable, perhaps, that he waits for the blows to come, the battle to be joined, before he lashes out. If people are caught in the crossfire of battles already started, he doesn't particularly care, but unless Neria directly orders him to chase down someone fleeing, he only engages those who engage either him or her.

The outcome of each, however, is the same.

[unabatedly]

The very audacity of it distracts her momentarily from the realization that the scene around them seems stalled, all save for the two of them. Her gaze falls to his mouth, lifts to his eyes, and she forces herself not to ask the myriad of questions she wants to. Her eyes betray that want, though, that undeniable need to know and to understand.

It'll just have to wait.

Luckily - or not? - nearly all of the mages (and their freshly undead soldiers) engage them, not so frightened to challenge a supposed demon and his partner. Neria's capabilities on the battlefield have noticeably been refined, more powerful than she was even a few years prior. Even so, she seems more focused on controlling the field, keeping her eyes everywhere to watch his back, even if he doesn't need her to.

Two of the mages manage to run, in the end, and she doesn't give chase. Doesn't ask him to, either. When all is said and done and the necromancers have fallen, she finally allows herself to take stock of the scene, the bodies, the blood on the snow. Him. Her breath comes steady, cloudy in the air, as her gaze falls on him again without the weight of other pressing matters on her mind. And now, having seen him fight.

She does know him. She has to concede to that now.

[notcharming]

If she is watching his back, he too is watching hers. He fights the same as she would remember if she remembered, all a strange mix of grace and brutality. There's nothing flashy about his fighting, it is simple and brutal and effective, the shortest path between life and death. He stops when she does, sheathing his sword and turning to regard her.

"I did not think to find you quite so easily, Neria. Or in such a manner as this," he can't help the grin, "I can't help but think it auspicious to both find you so quickly and join you so swiftly in combat." The words are perhaps a bit formal, considering the looks he's been giving her, but he's patient. There is no reason to hide his feelings, but there is no need to act on them yet, either. She likely has many questions, but he only has one.

"Is there anything that you remember?"

[unabatedly]

"Auspicious is a word for it. If you are who I believe you to be--" No, that'll be settled when she asks her questions. For now, she shakes her head, pulling a cloth from her belt to wipe down the blood from her blade so she can slide it into its scabbard. "What do you mean by so quickly? How..."

She really hasn't lost her insistence on questions. Reining them in is something she's gotten better at and she tries, really she does, especially when he asks if she remembers. It encourages her into silence as she wracks her thoughts, trying to piece together what she can.

"...I know your face. We've met before. I remember your clothes in a place not unlike this one, on the ice." When they'd walked together. There's an ache in her chest she can't explain away. "I know your name but not where I've known you. It... It wasn't Thedas." And that doesn't make any sense. Was it the Fade, then, and he really is a demon? That doesn't feel right either. "I don't understand. I know something's changed, something's wrong with me. I've been trying to find out for years."

So is he the answer or just another piece of what she's been trying to unravel all this time?

[notcharming]

"No, it wasn't in Thedas," he confirms. "We met in a different place altogether, one that you don't remember and that is also the reason you don't remember. Finding your world has taken time, finding the way to it still more, but your world resists entry. I had to wait for someone to invite me in some fashion. But I wasn't entirely sure where you were on it. I had thought I might have long search ahead of me, but it seems the Fates are with one or both of us," he can't help but smile every so slightly, wry, "Or the Fates of your world recognize what I am and are against you, I suppose." He shakes his head,

"I don't doubt little of that probably makes any kind of sense. I shouldn't joke," he processes what she's said, about what's wrong with her and makes a leap of logic that may or may not be the right one, "In this other place, you found a cure, Neria. And you also found me. We were parted without much in the way of ceremony or warning and I have been looking for you ever since."

There is so much he isn't saying. He will eventually name what it is that they were to one another. But this is, in it's own way, one of his games as much as anything is, though it's not something he's playing for amusement. He doesn't know what she will believe, how much he can speak without her shunning him.

[unabatedly]

He's right about that; what he's telling her is so far outside the realm of possibility that she can fathom that she's trying to make full sense around it for herself. She just grasps onto the idea of other worlds when he continues, and that's when whatever thread of logic she'd been following completely falls apart. The one confirmation she needed is right here: he knows that she doesn't have the Taint any longer.

She supposes any demon might know that on first glance if they know who she is. But it lines up too neatly just as surely as it jostles other memories loose. Restless nights and terrible nightmares, long hours over books and needles and testing and...others. "There were others." And there was him, telling her he would rather that she fight than let go. "That place was...different. I don't have a clear picture of it, like I've been dreaming."

Lifting a hand, she scrubs at her forehead. "But you remember everything? How?" she asks, and leaves the uncertainty and skepticism behind. What she might've considered to be an elaborate ruse is almost too seamless to be one.

[notcharming]

"There were others," he confirms, and adds another slice of the picture, parceling things out to not be overwhelming, to lead her to her memories rather than try to force them, "The rules of the place pressed some people into the service of others, with neither side having much choice in the matter. There was a choice of who to serve or who to accept service from, but no choice in which side of the equation you fell on." He allows himself another, softer smile,

"I chose you. And then you chose me in return." He lets her just sit with that a moment, because he knows how it's going to interact with the answer to the rest of her questions and he wants to answer her but also wants to give each revelation space,

"I remember because I am used to the idea of moving between realities, of overlapping truths and of time not always flowing like a waterfall or a river. I am a god. I was bound by the place we were in, somehow, but I am not bound by mortal rules or limitations."

[unabatedly]

The process is slow but in her gaze are the slow turning of cogs as she tries to remember and keeps tumbling head-first into little pieces that provide some context to everything, guided by the cues he leaves her. I chose you. And then you chose me in return. There's a weight on her chest from that alone that feels almost suffocating, some kind of echoed grief she's wrestled with for years. Something important was missing, so many memories she can barely even touch in this moment. The truth is that someone important was missing.

Slowly, she exhales a faint cloud of white, threading what she can. "But you were bound by their rules and it never made sense." Piece by piece, recounting it. "Because you're a god and I... Why would you ever choose me beyond getting you out of the situation you were in?" She's only ever been mortal. But... A city. She remembers that now. A city with class division and she remembers feeling offended for him even if he didn't seem to mind it.

"I think..." She doesn't know what to think. The pieces she begins to remember feel so far removed from what she's experienced these past several years and her entire life before she met him. She shakes her head and allows a faint smile, incredulous, to ease onto her expression. "And you came all this way just to find me again?"

[notcharming]

"Originally, yes," he nods, saw no point in denying it then and sees no point in it now, "I needed someone. I am a god of Justice, Judgement, eternal punishment. You called to me," he is leading her more gently, can offer that, but he is the stark moment of truth when all falsehoods fall away. He will not pretend not to know her. "Desired me," the words sit, layered in meaning. "It was an arrangement you were far more discomforted with than I, to serve you. You were interesting, a strange and delicate puzzle." He finally reaches out runs his fingers lightly against her cheek, closes the distance between them in at least one way,

"And then, I discovered you were beautiful," the look on his face is impossibly tender, but then, he has never tried to hide from her, never had a problem letting her see him vulnerable, why start now? "I am a god and I have seen thousands of beautiful souls, ones wracked by wonder, despair, love, hope, pain. Every one is unique, but to find one beautiful is not rare for me. To be known and still thought beautiful in return... well..." his lips curve, "That's worth crossing worlds for."

"Neria." Her name is a whole sentence and contains everything. "I would 'come all this way' a thousand times over, across a thousand lifetimes to find you."

[unabatedly]

Ereuvir knows her, knows her down to her core, knows the shape of who she is and what she's longed for. He gives life to a long-harbored secret she has shared with no one in her memory, even if he doesn't outright say it. She called to him, desired him, chose him. He might not be the death she has longed for but he is something so much more pointed than that, and hearing it from him allows so much more to fall into place: their first meeting, what he'd told her, when he'd told her that she wouldn't have found her way to him if they'd shared realms.

His touch is cool to the touch but no colder than the stinging air around them. It's comforting somehow and she...she remembers that touch and the smile and the way he says her name.

And the way he somehow manages to say things without a hint of remorse for how the truth might settle, with the subtlety of a stone thrown through a window sometimes.

Her breath comes shaky because she feels the way her eyes are stinging with unshed tears. It's not enough, she doesn't remember enough, but her heart knows even what her mind doesn't. No one else has seen her the way he has, for better or worse. No one else has known her like this.

"I looked for you," she says quietly, just barely above the wind. "I didn't know I was looking for you...but I did. I wanted to know." She takes a step forward, closer to him now, never one for shying away in the first place. "I wish I'd found you sooner," she settles on, barely managing not to say I'm sorry I've forgotten. It wasn't her choice.

Her gloves is pulled off so she, in turn, can reach up and bridge the gap to touch his cheek in turn.

[notcharming]

"It's alright, Neria," because she always blames herself, and he doesn't resist the desire, this time, to wrap his arms around her, pull her close. He keeps the embrace perhaps a bit less sensual than he might have, were she to have remembered everything all at once, but it's still warm, intimate, both something he desires and something he offers to her, to set down that burden.

"You weren't expected to find me, to cross worlds. I did not expect you to remember everything, nor really to remember anything at all. You have done precisely what I wished for you to, which is to still be here when I got here. Everything else can be sorted now. There is time. There is no need to look anymore." She can at the very least hear the grin in his voice,

"Perhaps I flatter myself, but I am not even wholly worried if your memories never fully return. New ones can be made. I don't think you're going anywhere and I know I am not."

[unabatedly]

When he pulls her in, she goes willingly, and wraps her arms around him when given the opportunity to, holding him close and pressing her face briefly into his shoulder. Small glimmers emerge from that alone, all of them set aside just for the physicality of this moment. Everything else can wait. This - he - is more important.

Neria lets the embrace linger for several seconds, slowly extricating herself just far enough to look up at him but not far enough to let go just yet. "If I'd have known how, I would have tried." If they'd met in another world, surely she would have eventually have found something to lead herself to him. (Eventually, after several other poor choices. She can concede to that much.)

"No, I'm not going anywhere," she tells him. Can't, wouldn't. Not when he's right here with her and not when she has so much to regain. He might not mind it but she certainly does. All of that time potentially lost... But they have time now, as he said, and new memories to make. Starting now. "...Well, actually, the only place I am going is out of this wretched cold." She sighs, loosening her hold, one hand still lingering on his back as if she's afraid he might vanish if she looks away. "We should find somewhere to lodge for a time, away from this place." The rest she can figure out as she goes.

[notcharming]

"Cold is not something I am much protection against, no," he says and perhaps she will remember well enough to see it as an expression of his somewhat odd humor. Still, despite the "joke", he nods at her assertion that she would like to get out of the cold and where she would like to do that.

"I shall follow you wherever you lead," it's both the truth and also a bit smirking, wry, acknowledgement both of the deeper implications of all of the things he has already said and also that he has no idea where he's headed, here, "Hm, although, if we are going to a town..." His brow furrows and he does move ever so slightly away from her, but it's just to look over at one of the warriors she had fought, puzzling over him for a moment for reasons unknown before his own garb shifts into something to match.

He is, perhaps, a bit finely dressed for a traveler but he suddenly looks human, at least at first glance, and properly attired in light armor appropriate to her world in deep shades of blue. He'll still turn heads, but mostly the heads of whatever young women are in the town they might find.

"I thought perhaps given what I know of your world, a mage might not be the finest of choices, given that I know nearly nothing about their inner workings."

[unabatedly]

"You know, I seem to recall that part." Really, she has been reminded of it just in holding him, that the warmth has always come from Ereuvir's expression of such and not often in the literal sense. And the way it rolls off her tongue feels...genuine in its acknowledgement, more casual than she imagined it'd be, but just as natural.

The change is interesting to watch, seems to nudge a few more small memories loose, and she gives him a slow look of appraisal. "It should be fine. Mages are... Things are complicated here right now. The less you look like a mage, the better." Which likely accounts for Neria looking more like a warrior with her sword and leathers than a magic user. "You'll fit in better than I will, likely." And that's ideal, she thinks. At least for now.

Getting back to some semblance of civilization is going to be another piece of the puzzle. "Hold on," she tells him, and goes wandering just beyond the bounds of the ritual site in search of something. She returns just a few minutes later. "Here. They had a few horses. We'll set the most of them free and take two. We'll...just need to remove any symbols related to them, so no one suspects we're trouble. We shouldn't be far from one of the towns called Sahrnia." And that will be shelter enough while she works out what to do.

[notcharming]

The horse she gives to Ereuvir is... not particularly happy about the situation, but it seems to acknowledge after a moment that it has nothing to worry about, though it remains extremely wary. It does suffer itself to be ridden, though, and it appears that, despite the way this particular horse seems to feel about him, he does know how to ride.

He's a quick study on removing insignia and helping to free the other horses, a familiarity with them that shouldn't necessarily be surprising, but somewhat is. He's a god, after all. Mostly he works in companionable silence with her, radiating a level of comfort near her that is further proof of all of the insane things he's claiming.

"I don't think you've mentioned Sahrnia before. What kind of town is it?"

He is genuinely curious, but as she launches into whatever description is coming, it's equally clear from his expression that he also just wants to listen to her voice. She hasn't missed him because she cannot, not yet, but he's missed her.

[unabatedly]

Neria moves quickly, is used to working alone and needing to get in and out of places where she isn't welcome in. The horses are unhitched, the spares set free once their belongings have been filched. She grabs what can be taken, things that look important, stuffing them in a smaller sack that can fit on the back of her own horse without much care. But Ereuvir falls into step without much in the way of encouraging or instruction, moving in tandem with her in ways that still surprise her but start to make more and more sense.

It's only when they've gotten on their horses and gotten far enough away that she can no longer see the site they've left behind that she fishes into the pouches at her belt to unfold a map. "I've never been, frankly. I try to avoid this country whenever possible and when I have to pass through, I don't come out this far." In the cold, she means. Orlais is perfectly lovely when she is far away from the main cities and in greener, warmer pastures. "But it's a mining town. Much of what's around her makes use of the quarries. I've been looking into a substance called red lyrium, which has been cropping up...everywhere it seems. It's dangerous. Those people I tracked down were Magisters, and they've been infecting people with the lyrium. Eventually, those people just become food for the substance, and they harvest what's left from the bodies.

"I thought, initially, that they were using it to fuel some kind of ritual for their master. When I heard they were hoping to summon a Forbidden One, I hurried here." She looks over at him, a small smile on her face. "My hope was to sabotage the ritual. Now I'm grateful I got here too late to do so."

[notcharming]

"Is that what I am then?" it's clear that he's teasing, his voice warm and dark, "something forbidden?" He makes the joke first, but he does listen to what she has to say, considering.

"Lyrium is a bit like... distilled, liquid magic, correct?" they have talked about it, but it's many years ago, for him, "Is red lyrium different? Other than it's manufacture, what is dangerous about it?" his lips curve just slightly, "After all, if I'm to help you put a stop to something, I'll need to know what it is we're stopping."

Look, he knows her entirely too well to think that she'll allow him to spirit her away somewhere until she's at least finished whatever she's currently out here doing.

[unabatedly]

She tips her head, gives him a long look and a smile. "Aren't you? Most mages spend their entire lives dreading the very idea of a demon managing to overcome them or to break down their defenses. Some dream of shackling one to their whims or making pacts with them for power. Then...there's me. And you, a god." Some dark humor right back at him.

Neria's expression falters, not out of anything more than a flicker of confusion at his offer. But then, her smile returns and she shakes her head. "Dissuading you would be fruitless. The truth is that I - and others - know very little about it. Regular lyrium is an ore, found in veins far beneath the earth. Touching it in its raw imitation like that would drive a person mad. Only dwarves can properly handle it...and only with great care. This-- I don't know what this is. It's dangerous, it's corrupting."

That it can be multiplied and brought anywhere else is terrifying. "I've been trading letters back and forth with allies. Its presence thins the Veil and allows spirits and demons to easily cross through." And that gives her pause, realizing... "I know they were likely using it to help their ritual but it might've also been a conduit to allow you entry."

[notcharming]

He laughs at the first, shakes his head,

"Hearing you talk about mages who dream of shackling something to their whims and you've all but refused me even when I offered my wrists," he explains, "Not that you have ever needed either fetters or pacts to command me."

It's perhaps even more amusing, considering he hasn't so much offered his help to be turned down, so much as simply presumed he was helping her, has more told her that he has decided than allowed her to ask him. He knows how to deal with her, at least somewhat, and get what they both desire out of the equation. Sometimes, it requires simply doing something he pleases, until she tells him to stop.

"Dissuading me would be foolish," he corrects, "when I have a vested interest in helping." There are, perhaps, some darker undertones there, but he mostly just means that if she has a goal in mind, there's little reason to not accept his help, since he will attempt to give it anyway.

"Interesting, I was under the impression from how you spoke of it before that it was a liquid, or at least, something that could be consumed," he hadn't really had a specific reason to know much about it other than during the work she'd done on the cure. "Hmm... it's possible. If it's any consolation, I was only able to exploit such a weakness because I was specifically looking for it and I deal often in my own world with being summoned, so I knew what the sensation was. I doubt that there would be anything out there quite like me to break through. Though it seems like creatures from your world but not of this plane, or however you might put it, coming through is bad enough."

[unabatedly]

"Some people delight in the pursuit of power at all costs." As if he isn't fully aware of that, considering his purpose. "But my people were once slaves. They still are in Tevinter. And I know what it means to be caught in a cage, even a comfortable one. Why would I ever desire to shackle someone else?"

There's a familiar sense of finality to what he says, enough that she doesn't question it. He's right, after all. She focuses, instead, on his wonderings. "Dwarves can take the ore to make it into other solutions, like potions. So the way I've used it is exactly like that." She fishes into a pouch to produce a vial that seems to faintly glow with blue liquid, bright enough to be noticeable across their short space. She hands it over for him to examine. "If I run out of mana, I can drink that. It's addicting, though." And she doesn't want to be shackled to it the way Templars are.

"I'd be less concerned if it was only summonings we'd need to worry about. What happened back there was..." A miracle, frankly, if she'll be honest. That the ritual pulled a god that is allied with her rather than some other monstrosity. "It's rare. Demons are slipping through without needing access to mages or rituals. They simply tear through the Veil from the rifts. If the Veil is thin, less powerful demons can slip across. A rip in the fabric means anything can. It just needs a large enough space to cross over."

And if the red lyrium is something of a conduit or even if it holds enough magic to be enticing... Either way, it's a problem. "But I don't know the source of the red lyrium or how to contain it. And these bastards keep trying to distribute it and grow it wherever possible. They don't care about the consequences."

[notcharming]

He takes the vial and considers it for a long moment while she continues talking, takes that into consideration as well.

"Do you know why there is lyrium ore to begin with?" he asks, curious, as he hands her back the vial at last. "What causes it, I mean. If so, I would think you would want to start with something similar. Whether this new thing is a synthetic or a corruption, it's likely not so different from the original. Though... I can see where this sort of problem would leave precious little time for a solution that wasn't reactionary. Even in my own world, unfettered access between planes would have been undesirable, and it always seemed like your world was even moreso."

"I suppose if it's also addictive, that would take care of any caution that might otherwise be taken in the production of more, even if there's not a bigger plot here. And it seems like there is."

He's very aware that this is all information and thoughts Neria has already had, but sometimes, it takes someone else pointing them out to understand what you already understand. Or there will be more information forthcoming.