Chapter 1: Eight of Swords

Dorian had been taught from a young age that he was better than everyone else. Now, he wasn't sure if, like so many others in the Altus echelon, he believed it in full, or if he'd been lied to for as long as he could remember. And now he stood outside the doors of the Vyrantium Circle, the youngest mage to be admitted as a full member in living memory.

Not even his father could boast that. At least he would be able to boast about his son. Yet again.

"You. Bring the trunks," Halward Pavus clucked to the retinue of slaves that were to accompany Dorian, his only child, during his stay in Vyrantium. How long it would be, there was little saying, and it made Dorian slightly nervous. He had a reputation to maintain, and the cost for failure was unpleasant. Halward turned to his son. Dorian was as tall as him now, lithe and graceful as a feline. He hadn't so much been born, as crafted: the perfect distillation of the most attractive and most powerful mages since the age of the Sominari. And here he stood, fifteen and a full member of the Circle of Vyrantium. "You bring great honor upon our house," he said.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at the great, dark doors. Magic thrummed from them, from the whole building, woven into every crevice of every stone, magic as old as the Imperium. Which, for all intents and purposes, meant magic as old as time itself. And he was part of it, as much as it was part of him. "I know. You've told me once every mile from Qarinus to Vyrantium," Dorian said without glancing over at his father.

The great doors opened on silent hinges and Dorian and his father stepped into the torch lit hallway. Slaves emerged from the shadows and wordlessly began assisting the Pavus slaves with Dorian's belongings. Dorian's heart beat faster, but he kept his expression neutral. Yes, this was real. Yes, he could do this. He'd been made to do this.

"Lord Halward. Young Master Dorian." The First Enchanter approached, a severe man with sharp features and piercing blue eyes. "We welcome you to Vyrantium and trust your time here will be productive and beneficial to the Imperium."

Dorian met the man's eyes, but only for a moment. "Thank you, First Enchanter," he said, as his mother had made him practice. It seemed so silly, rehearsing four words over and over again, when he could command spirits of the Fade and conjure firestorms as if they were parlor tricks. But again, as the only child and heir of House Pavus, there were obligations, so he'd rolled his eyes and practiced saying the phrase until his mother was as close to happy as she was bound to get.

The First Enchanter led the way down the hall, and as they walked, Dorian a few steps behind the Enchanter and his father, other mages began to show themselves. He recognized some from the Altus class to which his family belonged; he'd seen quite a few of them at various soirees and balls his family had brought him to. He rarely interacted with them though; he was little more than a trophy, polished and preened and shown off. He seemed to scream, "Look at the scion of House Pavus! Behold the glory of years of careful breeding!"

There were Laetans as well, watching him pass with envy clearly emblazoned on their faces. They'd been lucky enough to be born with magic, but not as lucky as Dorian.

He relished the attention, certainly. One did not come from a bloodline like this, or possess talent like his, and not feel pride, or feel deserving of the attention. But he also wanted the presentations and niceties to be over with. He wanted them to stop staring like a bunch of gauche southerners.

They entered the main hall, set as if for a grand celebration. All the warmth Dorian had felt from the attention and admiration drained from him as his father turned to look at him. "We spared no expense," he said, face beaming. He placed both hands on Dorian's shoulders and tried to meet his son's eye, but Dorian was busy looking around and trying to keep his panic at bay. "This is a momentous occasion. The youngest full member of Vyrantium. My son." His smile threatened to break his face; tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes.

A passing slave offered Dorian wine and he took a glass, a deep, bloody Tevinter red. He downed it more quickly than he ever would have at a soiree and took another as quickly as he could; he ignored his father's disapproving glance. Fasta vass; if he was old enough to become a full Circle member, he was old enough to drink himself away from all this embarrassment.

And drink he did. He barely remembered the feast when it took two slaves to help him to bed that night, only after he'd vomited several times, and luckily nowhere near where his father would hear or see. When asked by anyone he'd said simply he was overwhelmed by the great honor accorded to him, and he would prove worthy of it. And then he feigned exhaustion from all the excitement and was escorted to his rooms. After a stop off at the privy, of course. If he wasn't such a talented mage, he'd make an excellent actor. Even the Maker himself would have to admit that Orlesian theatre was lacking.

Dorian woke late the next morning feeling disoriented. He was still fully clothed, though somehow he'd managed to kick his shoes off. He had slept on top of the silk sheets and fine woven blankets, but here in the north there was rarely need for them. His eyes felt like he'd been through a sandstorm, and his mouth tasted… well, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it tasted like.

He tried sitting up, but the room was still spinning. A slave had thoughtfully left a bucket on the bedside table, and Dorian availed himself of it. A pitcher of water had been left as well, and he wondered if the slaves of the Circle were accustomed to drunken mages on a regular basis.

After some water and a wash, he felt a bit better, and the room had even stopped spinning. As much. He looked around his room, a bit smaller than his suite at home, but that was to be expected. As a Circle member he was here for study, in the service of the Imperium. His contributions were more valued than his comfort. Still, it was better than those bloody cells southerners shoved their mages into.

There was a knock on the door, and Dorian tried to smooth out his clothes and run a comb through his hair and look at least a bit presentable on his first morning here.

He needn't have bothered; it was just another slave. A young man, maybe a little older than he was; human, though possibly half elven. The sun shone on his glossy chestnut colored hair, and he had the biggest eyes Dorian had ever seen. They were dark and almost sorrowful in his thin face. Dorian suddenly felt a bit shy and wished he'd taken just a bit more time to put himself together. And then he blushed because his tutors had warned him against this very thing. At home, they could cover it up with bribes and transfers, and yes, even killing if necessary, until Dorian "got it out of his system". But here, in Vyrantium, he would have to be more careful.

He cleared his throat. The man's looks were nothing to him, and Dorian had no reason to be ashamed. If anything the slave should be grateful that Dorian had spared more than a moment to appreciate him. "Yes?"

The slave looked at the floor. "My Lord Dorian. I am Lepidus. I've been sent to see to your needs. You missed the morning meal, so one shall be sent to you. I am to inform you of your daily schedule."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Schedule?"

Lepidus dared a glance up at his new young master. "Yes, my lord. New members to the Circle of Vyrantium undergo an orientation process."

Dorian's first instinct was to order Lepidus out; that's what his father usually did when a slave displeased him, or brought unpleasant information. But he paused and took a deep breath. Lepidus had been assigned to him by the First Enchanter. And while Dorian was a magical prodigy, he was new to Vyrantium, and it would not do House Pavus credit to get off to a bad start. He pasted a smile on. "Thank you, Lepidus. I shall need to know where I am expected and when, and how I shall present myself." He fell easily into the routine he'd had at home; Lepidus was a Circle slave, but he was still a slave in Tevinter, and their jobs did not vary much.

Lepidus droned on about tests for specializations, meetings and committees, potential apprenticeships; all while he moved effortlessly about Dorian's quarters as if he'd served Dorian for years rather than minutes. He laid out a set of tailored robes, the robes of a full mage of the Vyrantium Circle, then respectfully turned aside to allow Dorian to dress.

Dorian still struggled with his rumpled clothing, trying to undo his many buckles and buttons, nervously aware of Lepidus standing with his back to him. "Do you require my assistance, my lord?" the slave asked. "I've been trained in matters of the chambers."

This should have made things better, but Dorian felt even more anxious. "No, I can take care of this," he said. He finally got just enough undone to be able to yank his clothing off in a messy heap and then shrug into his Vyrantium robes. The black silk was soft against his skin, and the deep charcoal brocade of the overcoat made him look much older than fifteen. A few gold threads woven into the brocade caught the late morning sun.

"Allow me, my lord." Lepidus approached, all business, and began adjusting the belts and buckles of Dorian's new uniform. As with everything in Tevinter, the fabric itself seemed to have magic woven into it. But rather than feel powerful, Dorian suddenly felt overwhelmed, and maybe even trapped.

He swallowed and feared he'd be sick again, all over his splendid new robes. He tried to remind himself this was what he was meant for, but he was also only fifteen and in over his head…

"Your father Lord Halward left this for you and wished you to have it." Lepidus held out a small box to Dorian. It must have been on the desk or vanity and Dorian overlooked it. He opened it up and pulled out a long golden chain with a pendant dangling from it: two golden snakes intertwined, and set with aquamarines, yellow topazes, and one large diamond at the place where they joined.

Dorian stared at it, blinking, then wordlessly handed it to Lepidus, who fastened the chain about Dorian's neck. "What is it?" the slave asked, then stepped back and hung his head. "If I may be so bold to ask. I apologize for my boldness, my lord."

Dorian felt a slight pang. Wherever Lepidus had come from, or whoever his last master here had been, they had evidently been unkind to him. The Pavus household kept slaves; what noble house in Tevinter didn't? But he'd been taught to be decent to them. He'd even accompanied his father to court to see an exceptional slave or two become Liberati.

"Be at ease, Lepidus," Dorian told the young man. Ye old gods, those eyes were something else. "This is the Pavus family amulet. My birthright," he said. No pressure, he thought. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then turned and pasted on a smile. "Now. Take me to my first appointment."

The first day was a list of rules; meetings to go to; committees to join; appointments to keep. It was a whirlwind of sitting around listening to old men drone about the glory of the Imperium, and Dorian wasn't sure if he was tired from the newness of it all, just how boring they all sounded. Lunch was thin slices of cured meat, flatbread, olives, hard cheeses, and oil served with a chilled, watered down wine, and eaten in the middle of meetings. By the time dinner arrived Dorian was reeling from all the information.

It wasn't just the magic. That he could do. It was easy for him, as natural as breathing. It was the politicking and posturing that this position meant. That was all new.

But the day was not yet done; there was still the formal dinner to get through, which was essentially yet another meeting, only held during a meal. The temptation to drink his way through it was strong, but Dorian knew he would have to face these things sooner rather than later. It was not a comforting thought.

The mages all wore their Circle robes to dinner, so Dorian had no reason to head back to his quarters. He was about to enter what he was certain was a vipers' pit, young and alone. Last night at least his father had been here; tonight, all he had was the Pavus amulet to speak for him.

"Good evening. You're Dorian, aren't you?"

He turned to the woman who'd materialized next to him. He bowed and flashed a smile as he'd learned to do. "I am. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady…"

"Cymbeline. Would you be so kind as to escort me to dinner?"

Etiquette demanded that Dorian offer Cymbeline his arm and walk her toward the dining room. She was quite lovely, with black hair that she wore braided and pinned in a crown about her head, and lyrium-blue eyes framed by long lashes. But she just. Kept. Talking. "And my family holds seats within the Magisterium. I'm certain Lord Halward is acquainted with them…"

He was fairly certain he would have a marriage proposal by the end of the night.

Most young men in his position would welcome it. Dorian had never heard of a marriage in Tevinter that happened for love. Marrying for love was a silly southern custom, where they had little regard for purity of bloodline and strength of magic and power. Marriage was cutthroat, and as much about politics as bloodlines. The opportunity to pass on one's name, blood, and aptitude for magic was exciting.

And Dorian just wasn't interested. He was just fifteen, and didn't even know what he wanted to specialize in yet!

As it happened, meetings with advisors for specializations came in the next few days, along with the interests of other women who, while still young, were all older than Dorian by a good five or six years. It was exhausting having to smile all the time, when he just wanted to curl up in bed with a good tome on magic theory, a cup of herbal tea, and Lepidus rubbing his shoulders.

But after a few days the First Enchanter took on Dorian's specialty training as a personal project, when the other Enchanters were left at a loss. "You've shown great aptitude in the primal arts," the First Enchanter said. "You do well with electricity."

"Parlor tricks, First Enchanter," Dorian said, fiddling with the head of his staff.

The First Enchanter narrowed his eyes and leaned forward over his desk. He searched Dorian's face. "You mastered the primal skills early on. And primal, that's hardly worthy of your talent. But…" He paused to think. "Yes. It could work. Come with me."

Dorian followed the man to a smaller room, dark and lit only with very dim, soft globes of greenish light that made him feel he was swimming. The only pieces of furniture were soft black chaise lounges pushed against the wall. In the middle of the room was an obsidian pedestal with a bowl carved out of it, and in the bowl, glowing a gentle pulsing blue, was lyrium. Dorian glanced at the First Enchanter, curious. "We're going into the Fade," he said.

The First Enchanter nodded. "Yes. Prepare your mind. Take the lyrium when you are ready, and I will meet you there."

This was nothing new to Dorian, but he'd never done it without someone he knew and trusted nearby. He was confident in his power, but the Fade was unpredictable, unable to be mastered; those who tried ended up abominations or worse. Also, he could not always control himself there. The last thing he needed was a desire demon showing up while he was working with the First Enchanter.

But he did as he had been bidden, and then reclined on a soft chaise lounge. The green light of the room seemed to grow brighter; the walls dissolved; the floors were gone, and then he was in the Raw Fade.

It was a little like coming home: he was in the place of dreams, where unreality was real and his thoughts were solid. It was the place where he set aside the finely tailored clothes; the expensive tutors; even the prestigious bloodline and just existed.

But this time he was on an assignment, so he sat on a stone bench that just appeared and waited. Spirits floated around, which he did not mind. Dorian found their presence comforting, and they usually kept the demons at bay. One, a spirit of knowledge, gave him a passing nod, which Dorian returned. For some the spirits of the Fade were just magical entities, but Dorian knew they would be more agreeable to binding and service if first shown respect and understanding.

"The spirits pay you honor," The First Enchanter said, materializing next to him on the bench.

"It goes both ways," Dorian said, reaching out as one spirit offered a wisp of light in its wake. "I honor them, they honor me. I have a healthy respect for the fact that I am in their realm, on their terms."

The First Enchanter actually smiled. "I do not know if that's the most insightful or the most naïve thing I've ever heard," he said. He pointed. "Look over that way. Tell me what you see."

Dorian looked in the direction the man pointed. He saw the usual Fade spirits flitting about, but there were others: darker, sadder, wandering looking for purpose. "They have no reason to be here. They want a reason," he said. He looked over at the First Enchanter, who nodded. Dorian started to walk toward them, then glanced back. The First Enchanter said nothing, did nothing, leaving it entirely up to Dorian to make his choice.

He took a deep breath and headed over the rolling hills, pushing aside the mist like thick green velvet curtains. The first sad spirit that floated through him scared Dorian slightly, but he stood his ground. They were spirits like the others. He sat on the ground in the middle of them, allowing their darkness to surround him while he just watched.

"They like you." The First Enchanter stood at a distance, but his voice was as clear to Dorian as if he'd been sitting next to him. "I believe we've found your path of study. Though, we've not had a Necromancer for a few years."

A Necromancer. Dorian stood and looked behind him, where other spirits were hovering, watching him, waiting for him. And when he woke he still felt his connection to them, just on the edge of his consciousness. Perhaps Vyrantium would be quite bearable.

Author's Note: My first Inquisition story, which owes special thanks to Karebear. She has listened to me rant and hypothesize and gush and analyze Dorian to the far corners of the Fade and back, and I am so grateful for her insights and support!

I've gravitated to Dorian like a moth to flame, or a writer to bad cliches, if you ask Varric. I've researched what I could using World of Thedas, the DA Wiki, and Prima guide to make this as accurate as possible, but there are many details I've taken liberties with and filled in, trying to be as true to the source material as I can be. Each chapter title is a tarot card that either opposes or reinforces The Magician card, which the Dragon Age creative team has representing Dorian in the Inquisitor's Edition tarot deck. I've taken my descriptions and general meanings from learntarot dot com. Thank you in advance for bearing with me on this journey! ~Jay