The smell of incense was thick and heavy in the air, making Dorian's already throbbing head hurt more as he slowly came back to himself. It was a small blessing that the room he was in was dark, but the fact that he was laying on a blanket on the hard, stone floor cancelled out that rather quickly.

Groaning, Dorian carefully managed to turn himself around so he was on his side, using his elbow to prop himself up while touching his head with his free hand.

He was having trouble remembering what had happened, his last clear memory being of him inside his bedroom. Exactly what had happened after..? He could remember something sweet… A precious memory… Big, teary eyes and a soft, caring hand going through his hair.

Squinting his eyes some, Dorian allowed himself a moment to shake off the dizziness before he looked around the dark room.

Several candles were lit along with a large bowl of incense placed on a small table by Dorian's legs, the sticks in it already lit and making the air smell sweet.

He then noticed that the mana-suppressing shackles had been removed from his wrists.

Carefully pushing himself up to a sitting position, Dorian took a moment to rub over the sore, sweaty skin around his wrists, gently moving his hand to loosen the stiff joins up as much as he could. He was still confused, even a little afraid, but at least he had a means to defend himself now, already feeling the familiar surge of mana inside him, flowing through his veins. It was but a trickle for now, but it was familiar and it was welcome. It made him feel better, stronger, more confident and while still weakened, he was able to defend himself now. It was more than what he had had earlier.

Looking around the dark room, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, Dorian tried his best to figure out where he was when he heard voices coming from behind a door.

He stiffened, his body tensing and he even held his breath as he heard the voices grow louder and louder. The voices were muffled, but it was clear that there were at least two men that seemed to be arguing.

Frowning, Dorian carefully shifted up from the floor and moved as silently as he could towards the door. His mind was still a bit foggy and he was having a hard time focusing, the voices almost blending into one another as they spoke, but he was able to make out a few of the words as he came closer.

"… work? … fix it. … too long."

"… complete. … slaves… not missed. … need. … blood."

Blood..?

Swallowing hard, Dorian pressed his ear against the hard-wooden door, trying his best to gather more information.

What he heard sickened him.

"This is about fixing him. This… His attitude, his mannerism. It will destroy him. Destroy us. I cannot let him continue like this, I need to change him. I need to help him, no matter what."

"And we will, Master Pavus. As said, we have all we needed and the preparations are complete. All we need is your son."

"And this will help? This will fix him?"

"This will let you control and mould his mind to be the son you want him to be, Master Pavus."

"Good. Then we can proceed while he is still asleep."

Feeling nauseas, Dorian stumbled back from the door, feeling a sour lump gather in his throat from what he had just heard.

The voices… One was his father. His father. And they were speaking of a ritual. A ritual to change him. To fix him.

The footsteps came closer and Dorian scrambled to the back of the room, desperately trying to find something, anything to protect himself with. His mana was still gathering, he was still weak and there was no way he could defend himself, especially against his father. He had the advantage of being awake, his father and companion clearly expecting him to still be sleeping, but there wasn't much else he had going for him.

That's when he spotted it. Next to the bowl of incense on the table, resting on a large, blood-red silken pillow was a dagger. Elegantly crafted, the blade gleaming in the candle-light, the metal thin, curved and sharp.

A dagger used for rituals. Blood rituals.

Before he could think, Dorian grabbed it, holding it as he heard the lock to the door open before the door itself was pushed open.

As the door swung open to reveal his father and his companion, Dorian in turn brought the dagger up to his neck, eyes staring in disbelief at his father. The man he had held above all other. The man that now broke his heart as badly as the day Alexius slipped into depression.

"Do not take another step, father."

Halward immediately froze, eyes glued on his son and the dagger resting against his throat. "Dorian, what-," he started, only to be interrupted by Dorian's angry snarl.

"No 'what' from you, father! The only what should come from me, as in what the fuck are you doing?!"

"Dorian," Halward started as he took one step forward, hand raised. As Dorian pressed the dagger harder to his throat, the thin blade nicking the skin and drawing blood, Halward stopped, inhaling sharply. "Dorian, please don't-"

"Please don't what, father," Dorian spat. "Spill my precious blood? Funny, since you seemed pretty into the idea of manipulating my blood just a couple of minutes ago."

"Dorian, please. You misunderstand," Halward continued, trying to regain his composure as he looked at his son.

"Am I? Or did you not speak to this man about… changing me? Making me better?" Dorian barked, gritting his teeth. "Am I that much of a shame to you, father? Am I that wrong? That disgusting? Because I will have you know, most of what I did, I did because of you and mother. Because you were choking me. Because clearly my best was not good enough!"

"Dorian-," Halward tried again, but Dorian interrupted him again.

"Dorian what?!," he spat, eyeing his father hard. "Is it not true?! You did not rent this damn man to change me? With bloodmagic?!"

Halward didn't respond, looking away from his son for a moment and in that moment, Dorian could feel his heart break.

He had hoped. Hoped that it was not true. That maybe, just maybe, it was something else, slim as the chance was. Part of him had summoned up the words, thinking up the most vile thing he could and screamed them out in hopes that his father would protest. Tell him no, that he would never stoop so low and yet here they were. The shame so obvious on Halwards face and the pain in Dorian's chest becoming more and more overbearing.

"Leave," he snarled, looking at the man who stood next to Halward. "This is none of your concern."

The man hesitated, but the slight nod from Halward had him moving. "… Contact me later, should the need arise, my lord."

Halward didn't respond, but Dorian could see that his father was regaining his composure. His jaw tightened, his eyes trying to lock themselves onto Dorian.

Silence filled the air as the foot-steps from the man grew distant, then finally vanishing.

Seconds ticked by as the two of them stood there, staring at one another, neither willing to speak first as they both readied themselves for whatever would come.

"Why?" Dorian's voice was hoarse, the pain obvious as he finally broke the silence, unable to take it anymore. "Why would you do this to me..?"

'Why am I not good enough as I am?'

'Why can't you accept me like as I am?'

Halward looked at Dorian, his eyes pained even as his face hardened. "Because you were getting out of hand, Dorian. You were destroying yourself, destroying us. Destroying the family-name and our reputation. I could not let you continue. I had to stop you."

"Stop me?" Dorian asked, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Did you not stop for a second to consider just where my anger came from, father? Or were you too busy worrying about our precious reputation to think about that?"

"Because of your selfish desires," Halward retorted, his eyes flaring with slight anger. "We all make sacrifices, Dorian. The world does not revolve around you and your wishes and desires, neither do they revolve around me and my wishes. Sometimes, one must do what one must do. Such is life and such is the way. Your mother and I tried out best to do what was best for you, but you wouldn't listen as you rather wanted to chase your selfish-"

"Selfish?!" Dorian let out a snort. "Is me simply wanting to be me selfish?!"

"Your desires were selfish to the family," Halward replied, gritting his teeth. "And your behaviour-"

"My behaviour was only because you and mother made me hate myself! Because I was never fucking good enough because of the one huge flaw that apparently overshadowed everything else!" Dorian yelled, removing the knife from his throat in favour of pointing it at his father.

"Why do you think I rebelled, father?! Why do you think I became so stubborn?! You taught me to be stubborn! You taught me to fight for myself! Because the day I realised that nothing I ever did would be good enough in your and mother's eyes, I stopped caring!"

He let his lips tug up into a pained, bitter smile. "Do you know how many times I tried killing myself, father? Do you know how many times I put myself in danger because I didn't care what happened to me? More times than I care to remember because the numbers and episodes bleed into one another now. Because the thought of going to the Maker and Andraste was far more tempting than remaining here, knowing that I would never reach your impossible standards."

Halward didn't say anything. He merely stared at Dorian, his face now so hardened that Dorian couldn't read it anymore.

"You created me, father," he spat out. "You created what I am. So if you want to blame something, blame the sperm in your fucking ball-sac for not being up to par. Because you made me what I am. You and your fucking legacy. You never did what was best for me. You did the best for you and mother. So I wouldn't be the shameful son."

Unable to hold back the tears of anger, pain and sorrow from appearing in his eyes, Dorian lowered the dagger, hands shaking. "You never fucking understood me, father. Only Alexius did. He was more the father to me than you ever was."

It was a low blow, but Dorian was hurting and he wanted Halward to hurt just as bad. He wanted to see a reaction, he wanted to see something. Anything.

He didn't get that satisfaction.

"Then maybe you should follow in his footsteps."

The words were hard, low, a perfect match to the hard, blank expression on his father's face.

"… What?"

"Go. Follow that fool. If you want him as a father, then you are no longer my son."

"Fath-"

"Get out. You are no son of mine."

The words cut deep. Deeper than Dorian had expected. He wanted to shout, to scream, to cry, but instead he stared. His expression as blank as his father's.

He then dropped the dagger as he started walking, hearing the metal clank against the stone ground.

"Just so you know, I will prefer for my memorial to be made out of Obsidian," he spat out as he passed his father, not looking at him as he did so. He didn't want Halward to see his pain.

Halward didn't answer and despite Dorian expecting for the dagger to come flying into his back, nothing happened. He was allowed to go free.

So he kept walking. He kept moving out of the dark hallway, unable to recognise exactly where he was, but he didn't care. He kept on walking.

The hallway was long, but Dorian soon reached a set of stairs made out of slabs of stone. He ascended them, using his hand to support himself upward until he reached a metal door. He pushed it open, blinking as the sun hit his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

As soon as his vision returned to him, he looked around, chuckling as he recognised where he was.

An old graveyard just outside of the main town-square in Qarinus, created centuries ago as a place of memorials. So very ironic and fitting. Almost poetic.

He had been brought down to what seemed to be a rundown mausoleum, most likely a forgotten crypt of some dishonoured family whose ashes were stored there. Again, the irony felt almost cruel, considering the situation he now found himself in. Disowned by his father. Dishonoured.

That is when it hit him, as he walked down the run-down cobblestone pathway, anger and sadness still burning inside him.

He was on his own now.

He couldn't go home, he had no home.

He had nothing besides the clothes on his back and whatever was left in his coffers at the bank.

Letting out a pained chuckle, Dorian pressed his hands to his face, a mix of laughter and broken sobs escaping him as he continued walking, no doubt looking like a madman.

Perhaps he was, for leaving behind a life of status and luxury, all in the name of honesty and being true to himself.

As he reached the end of the cemetery, Dorian could see the carriage waiting outside, no doubt belonging to his father. He had half a mind to take it, leave his father amongst the forgotten spirits of the past, but in the end his pride managed to overcome his bitterness.

He was better than that.

So he continued walking, past the carriage and away from his father, trying his best to ignore the pain that was surging through him.

This was the price he had to pay, he figured. The price of freedom.

He wondered why it tasted so bitter.