A/N: This is a scene from a larger project I'm working on (and hope to get back to soon!), but I think it works well as a stand-alone one-off that Dorian fans might enjoy. Takes place before Inquisition when Dorian is still in good standing in Tevinter. This is me dipping my toes back into fanfic, with the aim to make a full plunge back into it in the next month or so.

Dorian drummed his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music. Thank the Maker for the music. Without the lively arrangement being played by the chamber orchestra, Dorian was quite sure he would have nodded off several times during his companion's long story concerning just how she had come to find the perfect shoes to go with her custom-made gown. Dorian enjoyed a good shoe as much as the next man, but the agonizing details of how she had come by said shoe were enough to put a cordwainer to sleep.

Her face lit up as she reached what must surely have been the climax of her story. "There, on the central pedestal, was the most darling pair I've ever seen!" she said, clapping her hands for emphasis. "Charming buttons like little candies. Delicious! Floral brocade in teal and cream with delicate little stitching in silver. Clearly the work of Orlesian elves with their little nimble fingers. Oh, and it fit like an absolute dream, Dorian! I fell in love on the spot! So, you can imagine my soul-crushing disappointment when the purveyor told me that he had sold another pair just like it to none other than Alecto Sparti just two days before! It took all of my resolve to maintain composure."

Dorian rubbed his upper lip to conceal a yawn that could be stifled no longer. "How awful," he drawled with as much energy as he could muster, blinking to keep the blood flowing to his faltering eyelids. It wasn't his companion's fault. Conversation after conversation was dull as a lamppost because anything of substance could run the risk of making the young men and women gathered lose sight of the purpose of these events: finding an advantageous match. These tiring affairs were always a performance of class, taste, and ideal femininity, interspersed with the name-dropping of important family connections. The young lady currently chatting with Dorian may well have been as bored with the topic of shoe shopping as he was, but she kept it up because this was simply what one does at a courtier's ball.

"Having absolutely no luck finding a suitable pair in Minratous," Dorian's companion continued, "I sent a letter to my dear aunt Eleni Ponsia in Qarinis." And there was the name dropping. "She has spectacular taste, and I had the utmost faith that she would find me something stunning."

Dorian's eyes began to wander against his will. Most of the couples spread around the room were making a good show of their interest in their companions. Laughter tittered here and there, animated expressions, even the occasional chaste touch of a shoulder or brush of fingertips. Dorian could barely manage a thin smile after two hours of moving from girl to girl every time the bell chimed, only to be treated to the same empty conversations and affectations with a new partner. He scanned the room, considering whose banality he would deign to suffer through next.

As his gaze traveled sleepily from person to person, another pair of eyes—and rather a nice pair at that—met his in the course of their own travels. Rilienus, with skin like fine whiskey and cheekbones that could cut glass, gave him a knowing smirk, sending Dorian's pulse racing. The smooth curve of Rilienus' full ochre lips was the stuff of sonnets. And Dorian had attempted to compose more than a couple, the results of which remained hidden under the floorboards of Dorian's bedroom closet along with an assortment of other sentimental mementoes—a wine cork, a note passed furtively in a handshake, a rose petal—stowed away from prying eyes and the waggling tongues of the Circle's staff. Dorian wished he could fold that smile up and slip that under the floorboards to take out and enjoy in private moments. Ah, but Rilienus' face would suffer for the loss, so poems would have to suffice.

"Dorian?" his companion giggled, waving her delicate gloved hand in front of his eyes. "Poor dear, you look positively absent with that dreamy grin. Too much shoe talk driven you batty?"

Dorian refocused on her and laughed in earnest. "Ah, it seems so. I don't know what's the matter with me tonight? I can usually handle at least four, five hours of shoes and corsets before my expression begins to glaze."

"Must be the wine then," she said with a sweet smile that forgave his rudeness. "I could do with a nap myself. But it's your turn to talk now, and I'm positively dying to hear everything you know about mustache wax," she said with enthusiasm that Dorian could not gauge the sincerity of.

A loud high bell rang through the hall, and Dorian's companion pouted her disappointment. "Alas, my dear lady," Dorian said with warm levity, "The thrills of mustache grooming will have to wait for another day. This round is up."

"Ah well, another time then, Master Pavus," she said, giving him her hand, which Dorian dutifully kissed. "It has been a pleasure. Do look for me during the dancing; I have a feeling you know your way around a ballroom floor."

"Of course, Lady… uh…" Dorian's mind drew a blank. He could not for the life of him remember the young woman's name, so he just smiled and gave a quick bow. "It would be my pleasure."

The young woman's smile tightened, losing the warmth she had graced him with a moment before, and Dorian was sure she would later be calling him all manner of unflattering names to her friends to punish him for forgetting her name. She gave him an icy curtsey and walked away, stunning shoes clicking purposefully against the polished floor as she went. How very disappointed in him she was.

After two more rounds of numbing conversation with eligible young noble women and another hour of dancing –during which the offended young woman pointedly avoided him—the chorus of bells at last chimed to indicate the end of the evening. Thank the Maker. Most of the attendants began milling about socially, searching for that one special someone who had sparked their interest. Dorian, on the other hand, made a beeline for the door, hoping to make it out of the hall before any young woman cornered him and began edging for an invitation to dinner. Thankfully, by stealth or lack of interest on the part of the ladies, Dorian made it quickly out the back entrance and into the cool, refreshing night air. He took a deep relaxing breath and released it in a contented sigh.

"A sigh like that, someone might think you just escaped from the gallows, Dorian," said Rilienus' melodious tenor from behind him, sending a pleasant shiver across Dorian's skin. Rilienus walked to Dorian's side, and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

Dorian massaged his own neck, rolling his head. "Tell me honestly: Do the noose marks show?"

Rilienus laughed. "Only to me, I think." They walked side by side into the backstreets the alley fed into. "So, any promising prospects tonight? Any of them capture your eye or your heart? Did you, by chance, meet the future Lady Pavus?" Rilienus teased.

"Heh, hardly by chance! My mother informed me that if I did not leave this party with at least three names of prospective brides, she would drag me back to Qarinus by my earlobe and take care of the matter herself."

"And who are the three names?" Rilienas asked thrusting his hands into his pockets as he kicked a loose bit of gravel down the walkway.

"Are you joking? Of the dozen ladies I chatted with this evening, I'm lucky if I can even remember a single name. They all sort of blur together in a smudge of buttons and lace. And they're no more enthralled with me, I can tell you."

Rilienus gaped. "Now you're the one who's joking! Dorian, half the girls there tonight came specifically to meet you."

Dorian laughed incredulously. "And why would they want to do that? I drink too much, I spend my nights off and about doing Maker-knows-what, and I'm perfectly rude! No one in their right mind should want to marry me!"

Rilienus rolled his eyes. "You're the son of a well-regarded—and obscenely wealthy—Magister and the Archon's own niece, the prized student of Magister Alexius, and now a newly minted enchanter of the Minrathous Circle. With a pedigree like that, you're virtually guaranteed a seat in the Magisterium. You could even become Archon."

"You sound like my mother," Dorian groaned.

"You also have a splendid bum and positively irresistible bedroom eyes."

"Well, that sounded considerably less like my mother," Dorian said, a tingle of electric heat tickling through him at the realization that Rilienus liked his bum and eyes. "She tends to focus on the regal arch of my nose and the clever angle of my jaw."

Rilienus poked Dorian in the ribs, laughing. "Yes, all of that too. You're a catch, Dorian. Any one of those girls would marry you in an instant."

Dorian grimace. "Pity, then, that I hated none of them well enough to be so cruel."

Rilienus rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I do understand; I feel ill every time I think of getting married. But you can't stay a bachelor forever, D."

Dorian snorted. "Actually, I can. My very favorite Tevinter law makes it quite clear that no citizen can be compelled to wed or bed against their will."

"True. The law also says that a bachelor cannot inherit."

Dorian shrugged. "They can't all be winners."

Rilienus grabbed Dorian's shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. "Are you being serious? Are you actually planning to refuse to marry? Do you have any idea what that could cost you?"

Dorian smiled wryly. "I have an idea, yes. Down to the exact coin amount, in fact."

"People will start to suspect. If anyone found out… you could lose your position at the Circle, never mind completely ruining your chance at a seat in the Magisterium!"

Dorian shook him off. "My but you're dramatic tonight. Nobody jumps to such conclusions. Everyone simply supposes that I'm especially discerning, as a man of my 'pedigree' should be."

"For now!" Rilienus said, a little louder than Dorian preferred. "But how long will that hold up? A choosey bachelor of thirty years is nothing to crow about. But a choosey bachelor of forty years? Fifty? And when your parents die and you can't access your inheritance? Who is going to believe that you're just a man of discerning taste then?"

"Do keep your voice down!" Dorian hissed. "I am aware that questions will be raised eventually. However, I should have my seat on the Magisterium before then. Then I won't need my father's blighted money any longer. And no one would accuse a Magister of being a sodomist without some rather compelling proof."

"Which your political adversaries will undoubtedly find! You're discrete, Dorian, but you're far from chaste. The right bribe here, a disgruntled servant there. You'll be found out if you give them enough reason to look."

Dorian sighed. He recognized the truth in what Rilienus said. It kept him awake, filled him with dread every time he snuck out of his Circle apartment in the dead of night, following the back alleys to the secret meeting places where men such as him stole moments of honest feeling and passion in the midst of lives that forced them to lie with every stifled breath.

"Just find a wife, D. Someone who will benefit from the status your alliance gives her. If any questions come up, she'll vouch for you to protect her own position, and you can carry on as you please. No one will ever be the wiser."

A deep swell of revulsion rose in the pit of Dorian's stomach. "Is that what you plan to do? Lead a double life, pretending that you're just what everyone wants you to be, while all the while you're screaming on the inside?"

Rilienus scowled. "How is that any different from what we're doing now? How is agreeing to marry some beautiful Altus any more of a lie than telling your parents that you just haven't found the 'right girl' yet? The only difference between us, Dorian, is that you'll eventually be found out, and I won't."

Dorian shook his head, exhausted with even thinking about continuing to hide, all the possible ways he could be 'found out,' and the consequences that would follow. He'd been worrying over it all for nearly half his life now, and it was starting to feel like too much. "Men like us… we can't live in the shadows forever," he said heavily.

Rilienus frowned, his eyes glinting copper pools in the moonlight. "It's the only place there is for us, D. Better to live in the shadows than to be destitute, or worse."

Dorian wasn't so sure any more. "Perhaps," he said softly. "But ultimately I'd prefer a spot in the sun with everyone else. Maker knows there's room enough."

Rilienus nodded. "You'll get no argument from me. But it's not going to change. Best we just accept the way things are."

Dorian flared his nostrils. "You're really going to do it then? Play the dutiful citizen, marry, reproduce, spend your entire life pretending?"

Rilienus shrugged. "It's livable. Hoping for more than that is kidding yourself."

Dorian had no illusion he and Rilienus could live happily ever after—he was a dalliance, nothing more—but thinking of the beautiful man marrying and settling into a farce of domestic bliss made Dorian feel the sudden and irresistible need for a drink. Or Several.