Dorian's breath quickened when he heard footsteps descending into the cellar where he found himself chained. He'd lost track of how long he'd been kept there in the dark, with only a slave coming to him once each day to give him some water and clean his naked form.
This time the footsteps were different, heavier, pull of purpose. As soon as the first torch was lit he squinted, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright light.
Once his eyes adjusted to the light he looked up to see his father, dressed in his ritual robes, holding a dagger carved with intricate runes. His heart began to beat frantically in his chest as he tried to speak. "No…father…don't!" came out as a harsh whisper from his parched throat.
"You have given me no other choice, Dorian," Halward said, sternly. "I am truly sorry, my son, but the House of Pavus cannot end with you and I can no longer condone you whoring around with other men like a bitch in heat, trying to spite me."
Several more footsteps were heard, as several other Magisters made their way into the cellar where Dorian was chained, his arms spread wide between two pillars, his toes barely scraping the floor. A magic suppression collar was around Dorian's throat, preventing his escape.
Without another word, they began the ritual, one Magister holding out a golden chalice to collect Halward's blood as he sliced open his palm with the ritual blade. Each Magister in turn followed suit until the chalice was filled with their blood. They then began painting runes on the floor beneath Dorian with the collected blood, chanting in ancient Tevene.
Dorian kept begging, pleading with his father to stop, trying to struggle against his chains violently, spilling his own blood from where the manacles dug into his wrists in the process. Halward smiled at that, Dorian realizing that he had just helped the ritual along, so his Father may not have to cut and bleed him as his wrists slowly dripped blood on the floor below, within the circle of the runes.
Dorian was openly sobbing now, terrified of what was to come, not wanting to lose the part of himself that his father loathed so vehemently. Finally, the Magisters rose, the runes were complete. All there was left to do was chant the final spell and it would be done. The Magisters all lined up behind Halward as he stepped up to the edge of the runes and raised his hands. As Halward opened his mouth to speak the words Dorian screamed "NOOOOOOOO!"
Halward gave an exasperated sigh and threw a silencing spell upon Dorian so that all he could do was silently scream and nothing more. Dorian's eyes were wide with abject terror as he once again began struggling against the chains, digging the manacles into his wrists even further, spilling more blood from his wrists.
Once again Halward raised his arms and began speaking the words of the spell, which hinted its purpose, to change one's nature. As the spell began the runes on the floor began to glow and pulse faintly. Dorian felt…something in him begin to change. The spell infiltrated to his very bones, sending spikes of pain through him. He could feel it working within him, changing him in inexplicable ways, and yet…it didn't feel like it was working the way Dorian had assumed it would. As the spell continued, the pain increased until he was once again silently screaming, the silencing spell keeping him from giving voice to the pain ripping through him.
Tears streamed down as his face was twisted in agony. The spell seemed to take forever to complete and Dorian could do nothing but let it take him, change him, make him into the perfect son his father had always wanted. Through the pain, he began to think about the impending wedding they would arrange with Livia, and the prospect of being a father within the next year. The House of Pavus would continue, just as his father wanted.
Once the ritual was complete, Dorian just hung there, seemingly lifeless, having mercifully passed out. Halward called for the slaves to take him down. He healed his son's bloodied wrists and instructed the slaves to take Dorian to his rooms, bathe him and put him to bed. There would be no reason for confinement any longer.
...
The next day Dorian awoke in his bed, covered with silk sheets. At first his body protested as he slowly tried to rise and then with a start his memories of the previous day returned. His father…his own father…had resorted to blood magic. Apparently his father was a weak-minded fool, just like all the rest of them. It surprised him that he still felt anger towards his father. He thought that would have been wiped away by the ritual. That he'd be some obedient lap dog with no will of his own.
Dorian realized he should be grateful he hadn't been turned into a complete gibbering vegetable. He slowly rose and went to examine his naked form in the mirror. He seemed none the worse for wear, just a bit thinner for having been deprived of food for so long, his hair longer and disheveled, a beard forming on his thinner countenance. He needed a shave. He immediately went to his shaving kit and began preparing, and soon the offending facial hair had been removed, save for his mustache that required a bit of attention. He also took to fixing his hair, cutting and shaving parts until he was once in his preferred cut. He could style his hair and mustache later, after a proper bath.
Next he walked over towards the large table in his room where slaves had set out a meal for him, and he hungrily consumed it. Afterwards he rang for his attendants, male slaves he kept to help him bathe. Each one was a beautiful specimen of male elf, and he enjoyed having them bathe him. He never dared trying to bed any of them in the past and he assumed now that the ritual was complete, he would no longer want to.
Yet when they appeared, dressed in just their loincloths and little else, Dorian's breath was taken away by the almost instant reaction in his groin at seeing them again. Oh, he was most certainly still interested in these very male elves.
"Varith," Dorian addressed the tallest of the elves. "Would you do me a favor and round up two or three of our prettiest female slaves please?"
"At once, Master," Varith nodded and ran off.
"The rest of you, please attend me in the bath," Dorian said nonchalantly.
Dorian made his way into his private bathing chamber and the slaves set to work filling the large in-ground tub, adding Dorian's favorite herbs and oils to the water. Once the bath was prepared, Dorian slid himself into the hot water, allowing the heat to seep into his bones.
Soon Varith returned with several female slaves, who Dorian instructed to disrobe. As they did so, Dorian regarded their feminine curves, the roundness of their hips, and the fullness of their breasts. He didn't feel a single twitch of desire. Interesting. He needed to test this further.
"I would like one female slave and one male slave to assist with my bathing," Dorian instructed. One of each joined Dorian in the bath and began washing him with soft cloths and fragrant soaps. When Dorian looked at the male elf, watching his strong, masculine hands sliding the cloth over his arm, he very clearly felt arousal. When he looked at the female, her small, delicate hands doing the same to his other arm, Dorian still felt nothing.
"My dear," Dorian addressed the female slave. "I need to perform a short experiment. May I…fondle…your breasts?"
"Yes, Master," the slave nodded, eyes averted.
"I don't normally do this, so thank you for indulging me," Dorian said quietly. He reached out and gently caressed the slave's breasts, caressing them, making the nipples harden under his gentle touch. There was still no sign of arousal within him. "Thank you my dear."
Dorian then looked to the male slave. "May I similarly fondle your balls?"
"Yes, Master," the slave nodded, turning himself so that Dorian could more easily reach. Dorian's hand remained just as gentle as with the female slave, caressing and stroking, delighted to see the slave's penis slowly harden at the touch. Dorian allowed himself to grasp the penis and stroke it to full hardness. Dorian's cock quickly responded in kind, causing Dorian to moan quietly.
"Alright, that'll do," Dorian said. "I can finish bathing on my own, thank you. Oh and you have my permission to peak if you so desire," Dorian told the elves he'd been touching.
"Thank you, Master," they both said unanimously as they left the bath.
With that the slaves left him alone in the bathing chamber and Dorian couldn't help grin wickedly. He failed. My father's ritual failed. I haven't been changed after all. I'm still me!
To celebrate, Dorian grabbed a bottle of oil and stroked himself to completion, thinking of that glorious cock he'd just been stroking.
After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Dorian felt a sense of dread overtake him. Oh no.
Even if the ritual hadn't worked…he would still be expected to marry Livia and produce an heir. That had been the point of that entire exercise. If he didn't, his father would try again, Dorian was sure of it. Oh, that wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all.
Dorian left his bath in a hurry then, quickly drying himself. He began to pace. He'd tried every delaying tactic to avoid the wedding to Livia already. Now, he could see only three options before him.
First, pretend the ritual had worked, marry Livia like a dutiful son and produce the heir his father so desperately wanted, while Dorian spent the rest of his life screaming on the inside. No, that wouldn't do.
Second, tell his father that the ritual had failed and that there was nothing more to be done. That would only lead him to be bound in chains in the cellars again. He doubted his father would all of a sudden become reasonable. No, that wouldn't do either.
Finally, his other option was to just run away. Quite literally run away from his home and family, and quite possibly from Tevinter entirely. That would be the only way to keep Halward from finding him and dragging him back home in chains. Again.
His mind made up, Dorian ran towards his closet to dress. He chose his favorite set of travel leathers, boots, a change of two robes and a cloak. He dressed quickly and then grabbed a satchel and packed all his essentials, including his mustache grooming kit and a hand mirror. He may be going on the run, but he didn't have to look unkempt doing it. The last thing Dorian reached for was his favorite staff, strapping it to his back.
The slaves had not yet returned to check on him and once Dorian was completely packed. He ran towards his bedroom window. There was a trellis with ivy just below it and it was how he had snuck out of the estate on many occasions in the past. Soon he was clambering down the trellis and running through the gardens towards the back gate of the estate.
Where to go now? His first thought was to head towards the Alexius estate, but he knew that would be the first place his father would look. He also didn't want to involve his former mentor and friend in his troubles. There was enough animosity between the houses of Pavus and Alexius already without Dorian adding to it.
It was broad daylight so Dorian kept to the shadows as much as he could, until he got into a more crowded part of the city, where he disappeared into the crowds. While in the crowded marketplace, he purchased a map of Thedas, figuring he would need it if he were to flee Tevinter.
Dorian then made his way to an inn at the edge of town, thinking to get a room for the night while he made his plans. He had taken enough coin with him to last for a month or so if he was conservative. Before he reached the Inn, he made sure to hide his birthright and remove all his jewelry. He didn't want people knowing he was an Altus. His travel leathers were slightly worn, his hair and mustache yet ungroomed, and he hoped he could pass for Soporati.
As he entered the Inn, no one seemed to pay him any mind and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief. He ordered dinner, a thick meat and potato stew, and a room for the night. As he sat at the bar eating his meal and drinking a glass of the swill they called wine, he listened to the conversations around him, trying to see if anyone mentioned a run-away Altus.
The conversations seemed mostly centered around some cult group calling themselves the Venatori, but Dorian didn't listen to that too closely. He had no use for cults. Once he completed his dinner and had heard no mention of his escape, he made his way to his room, locking it tightly for the night.
Once in the room he began to pace again, trying to decide where to go. South was really the only option, but where? Orlais? The Free Marches? Nevarra? He wasn't quite sure where he wanted to end up, but he knew he had to head South, and that he had to avoid the Imperial Highway. He pulled out the map he had acquired in the market earlier and began to survey his options.
He decided to head first to Vyrantium in Southern Tevinter and from there he'd make his way farther South. With that decided he had nothing else better to do, so he went to bed early. Early for him anyway. Getting an early start on the morrow would most likely be the best course of action, regardless.
...
The next morning saw Dorian getting up with the sun, dressing and grooming himself quickly. He made his way through the quiet inn, stopping in the pub only long enough to procure some bread, dried meat and a flagon of wine for the road. He slipped as quietly as he could through the streets heading South out of town.
After managing to make his way out of town, he turned back and looked at the city he'd just left, realizing he may never come back, and never see Gereon or Felix again. He was walking away from everything and everyone he knew, all for the bid to be able to remain himself, to not have to compromise who he was. What he was. He grew wistful for a moment, a knot of emotion rising in his chest. He quickly tamped the feeling down, realizing he couldn't go back. What his father had attempted to do to him was unforgivable.
Dorian turned and began making his way South, not turning around again as the place of his birth receded behind him with every step.
