"Dorian Pavus, stop pretending you are sleeping and focus on today's lesson!"

The voice boomed through the air like a small explosion, but the boy the statement was directed at seemed like he had barely heard of it.

Grey eyes slowly fluttered open as he sat up properly on the chair, having balanced it on its back-legs for a good ten minutes before he had been caught.

"Perhaps, if you spoke of something of interest, I wouldn't have to," the young man drawled instead, smirking some as he eyed the teacher with a clear look of disinterest.

"Though I make no promises, your voice is enough to bore anyone to sleep."

The rod the tutor was holding slammed down over Dorian's desk and despite his distaste for the subject in question; he didn't think the poor book deserved that.

"You watch your tongue, Pavus. I know your reputation and I will have you know that your attitude, or lack thereof, will not be working here."

Dorian just tilted his head, giving the tutor another lazy look and an equally lazy smile.

In contrast to the tutor and many of the students that were here, young Dorian was looking extremely out of place.

That is what you got from being requested to leave (or being kicked out) of most circles in Tevinter for misconduct and for being a troublemaker, he supposed.

In fact, his reputation was so bad that even private tutors were unwilling to handle him after words have spread on how Dorian behaved.

The boy was simply too much of nuisance, to unruly to handle, something the Order of Argent was slowly starting to realise:

The boy did not follow the school's strict code for how you were to appear, refused to keep his hair and appearance clean-cut.

He had burned all the robes he had been provided until the school had simply given up on forcing him to wear it because punishing him did not work.

If letting him dress the way he wanted would mean he would actually come to class, they would allow it, especially after Dorian's father had all but pleaded for them to overlook it, paying them a rather handsome sum to make up for the damages and to look away.

So Dorian had been "allowed" to do as he pleased and he took full advantages of it.

The young Lord Pavus was fully aware of his reputation, having carefully added to it over the years for reasons only known to himself.

Not only was he acting the part he had made, but he was doing his best to look the part as well: partly to intimidate, but also because he simply liked the style he had created for himself.

It had happened gradually as he grew, such as nature were, but at age sixteen, Dorian had lost almost all traces of the short, lean and fair-faced boy he used to be, having started to grow and fill out nicely.

However, he was still not done growing; he was still fair-faced and a little on the short side compared too many of the other boys, but he made up for that in the way he dressed.

Gone was the short, well-cut black hair, replaced with a Mohawk like style cut that covered the top of his head. From the back of his head, he had grown the hair long enough to be gathered into a ponytail or bun while the hair on the sides of his head as well as his neck had been shaven off.

His grey eyes, having grown narrower with age, were outlined with kohl to give him a more intense stare, and there was a golden hoop going through the septum of his nose.

He wasn't doing well in the facial-hair department yet, but there was some scruff on his chin and up around his mouth, which he was hoping to grow out as some point. Maybe he would just grow a full beard, he had thought at one point. That would just be positively, deliciously scandalous.

His clothes were just as outrageous; a mix of black and leather with alterations and cuts of his normal Tevinter-style robes that made them unusual.

For one, he refused to close the robe over his chest with the laces and buttons, letting a loose, black-leather belt hold it together. Underneath was a green-black silken shirt to cover up his skin, matching the black and gold in his robe. To accompany it, he wore tight leather-pants dyed black, the sides of them decorated with straps and silver buckles with boots to match the pants.

He also started wearing black, fingerless black gloves with leather-straps fastened with large, silver clasps that were more for decoration than having any real sort of function.

"Then dazzle my mind," Dorian drawled, drawling lazy circles on the wooden table with his finger, one eyebrow raised and his lips tugged into a smirk.

"Give me something to sink my teeth into instead of droning on about the Maker and Andraste and her saggy tits."

He didn't have time to pull his hand away as the rod came down again, hitting him hard over the knuckles and making a pained gasp escape him.

"Your tongue does you no credit, Pavus. Your family name means nothing here, nor does your status. You will follow this school's rules and obey the orders you are given."

"Like I obey the dress-code," Dorian bit out, rubbing his abused knuckles, but trying his best to keep the shit-eating grin on his face; he knew that was the best way to downright infuriate the teachers.

He wasn't too surprised that he was told to sit back after class, only to be lectured and yelled at for a good long time before he was sent to his room.

It was a song he was learning by heart now and he was taking as much from it this time as he had all the other times, which was absolutely nothing.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure exactly when he had just stopped caring…

He knew he had cared when his family has sent him to a new Circle after what had happened in Carastes; he had tried to do better there, but it seemed like he just wasn't able to fit in.

The Circle in Carastes had shaken something in him, making him terrified of making mistakes and because he was trying so hard, his temper had grown worse. It didn't help that his father's words and disappointed face was burned into his memory and it created a strain in the young boy.

He had only lasted two months before the Circle sent him back for violent outburst on students. "Hysteria," it had been called by the First Enchanter, but for Dorian, it had been an outlet.

A violent one that left a student with frost-burns on his body, and with Dorian crying and gripping at his own head because it just hurt so much.

It only escalated from there.

After the third Circle had sent Dorian home for the same reasons as the first two Circles he had been to, there had been words.

Hurtful words that did nothing to help Dorian feel better or helped him understand what was going on. Nobody asked him about how he was feeling; they only wanted to know "why". Why was he like this? Why was he acting like this? Did he feel no shame? Where was his sense of decency, his honour?

Nobody asked him how he was doing.

Nobody tried to ask why he was doing, what he was trying to say with his actions.

Dorian never told anyone and the circle just continued.

He was sent to another Circle, then another, until the Pavus household had run out of options and decided to try private tutors instead.

It seemed like it worked better, at the start, until the first tutor send Halward an angry letter about Dorian insulting and threatening the tutors own children.

The second time was almost worse and Dorian had, of course, been the one to blame for seducing and kissing the tutors' older son, never mind that Dorian had only been twelve years old.

Dorian had tried to say that it was the son's idea, that he had wanted to show Dorian how to kiss after the young Altus had confessed he had never kissed anyone. He had not expected for the kiss to turn into a deep one, only to be tugged away by the scruff on his neck by the boy's very angry father, with said boy pointing at Dorian and saying "He said I had to do it or he'd burn me!". Dorian had been slapped hard across the face that day, by a hand that was easily the size of his head before he had been sent straight home to his father and mother.

He did not know what the tutor had said to his parents, but the look on their faces was enough to break Dorian's insides even more as he was chastised for his actions and being lectured firmly on the fact that "young men simply do not kiss other men!", that it was immoral, disgusting and wrong.

He had later found out that the boy had detested him for doing well under his father's watchful eye and had wanted him out of the house. The fact that Dorian already had a reputation of being difficult was enough for the boy's word to be taken over his.

That feeling of betrayal along with the firm words of Halward Pavus made everything feel so much worse as Dorian realised how much he had liked kissing the tutor's son. That confusing feeling along with the hurt just added to the conflict that was raging inside the young Altus' mind until he was just done.

He just couldn't do it anymore.

He just stopped trying because he was starting to learn that no matter what he did, it would be wrong.

As a result, after several more tutors and several new attempts, nobody wanted to take on the highly talented, but very difficult scion of House Pavus.

And Dorian had grown difficult.

With each year that passed, Dorian grew quieter in one way, but louder in others. He became more stubborn, more resentful. He was restless, unsettled, and unhappy.

And the lump in his stomach had grown with him until he had given up trying. He offered no explanations, no excuses.

He went wherever his parents sent him, but what had once been honest attempts at settling and trying, had become attempts to sabotage the stay.

He had been talked to countless times, Halward Pavus' hard voice chastising him as he was told time and time again what a shame he was on the family.

That was the one thing he never got used to and the small boy inside him that was still nine years of age felt the shame and hurt that came with it. That little boy that wanted to make his father happy again, that wanted his father to be proud of him.

After the last attempt with a private tutor, where Dorian had been send back home to his family for simply not doing anything, they had decided to take matters to friends and colleagues while Dorian remained home.

His parents had involved several people in discussions on what to do with their son while Dorian were not even asked what he thought should happen, even after he turned sixteen years of age.

After weeks of consultations and dozens of letters had been sent to gain advice, the answer had become the Order of Argent.

By then, Dorian knew that there was nothing that can be done to make him feel like he belonged anywhere. He had all but given up and had decided that he could might as well have some fun while he could.

He would be a shame to his family either way so he could use the time to try and find something, or someone, inside himself that he could accept and like.

He hadn't had much luck so far.

As he stepped into his very modest room, Dorian closed the door and looked at himself in the small looking-glass that was hanging on the wall over the dresser. He touched his hand over his chin, up over his jaw until the hand reached the corner of his eye.

He watched himself, eyes flickering down before slowly moving back up as he took in his appearance, only to grimace and look away.

He could only stand to look at himself for so long before his stomach coiled with how wrong everything felt.

So far, his attempts at finding himself, at seeming dangerous and strong, were only succeeding in making his family angry and shocking the Chantry-brothers and sisters.

At least there was a small victory in all his efforts.

But he wasn't happy.

It had been so long since he was truly happy that he had kind of forgotten how that felt like.

Sighing some, Dorian removed the leather-belt from around his waist before shrugging out of his robe, draping them over a chair before letting himself fall onto the bed, face first, not caring that he would probably smear kohl all over his pillow and cheek.

He had been here just shy of three months now.

Three months of being lectured on Andraste and the Maker, of the rules of the Chantry, of Tevinter, the Magisterium, on Magisters.

Three months of having his fingers smacked, of being punished as the tutors tried to tame him.

'The wild Pavus boy'.

Oh, if they only knew…

He was getting good at it.

The hiding, putting up a mask, pretending to be someone he was not.

Maybe, in time, he could hide well enough so he would not hurt so much; learn to pretend to be the man his father wanted him to be.

Despite what maybe his family and the Circle thought he did not act out because he wanted to hurt anyone. He did it because he had no other way to show that he was not happy with his life, but the more he acted out, the more a finger was pointed at him.

Because it was obvious that whatever the reasons were, the problem lied with him, or so he was told.

Dorian knew that not everything that had happened was his fault, but it didn't seem to matter most the time. In the end, he had decided he could might as well make it his fault. He'd be damned if he was going to take on things that were not his fault; better that he did something right away before someone could do something to him.

A lesson he had learned after that blighted, but oh, so nice kiss from a boy that couldn't even stand him…

Oh, if only his father had known how many boys he had kissed after that first one. He would surely shit his smallclothes in shock if he ever found out, but that was yet another thing Dorian had to keep hidden inside him along with the hurt, the confusion and the desperate desire to just see that look of pride on his father's face.

At least he had wanted to make his father proud, once upon a time.

But he wasn't sure if he wanted to do everything in his power to do so anymore.

It wasn't that he didn't want to make his father and mother proud, he still did, but he did not now how to do it anymore. The only clues he had, the only formula he had been given that would spell success was a formula he didn't understand.

He was older now, smarter, able to think and put things together, but even now it was hard to make the pieces fit.

He cracked an eye open as he tilted his head up from his pillow, looking towards the closed wooden door as he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, breaking his chain of thoughts as quickly as they had appeared.

An eyebrow was raised as it was unusual for people to wander at this hour and at this particular end of the floor he was staying at. Because he was so unpredictable, the tutors had placed him away from the other students, not wanting for him to influence them or harm them.

The footsteps came closer until they stopped outside the door, quickly followed by a quick knock to his door.

He didn't even get the chance to say anything before the door swung open, revealing one of the Chantry-brothers that served at the school.

"Master Pavus," he greeted Dorian, though the words didn't quite match the look of annoyance on the man's face.

"The First Enchanter sent me to speak to you."

Not that the First Enchanter in the Order of Argent was much of a mage.

While the Order of Argent was considered a Circle in its own right and magic was taught to its students, that was not the main purpose of the school and the First Enchanter was nothing more than a mage who had barely been able to pass his test before scraping together enough influence to become a "headmaster" of sorts for the Order.

The real leader was a Revered Father and the First Enchanter was readily doing everything the man wanted him to do.

"Oh," Dorian responded as he sat up on the bed, a look of disinterest on his face. "What does he want now? Am I to pack my bags? Write a thousand lines that "I must not comment on Andraste's tits in class"? Allow you to flog me into repentance?"

The man wrinkled his nose and Dorian couldn't help but smile. Ah, it was just too easy to shock them at times.

"The only bag you need to pack is a small one. You are going to Minrathous."

"Am I now? I wasn't aware that we were going on a field-trip. How marvellous," Dorian drawled while stretching his arms into the air, still pulling up a façade of boredom.

"Are we finally going to do something interesting? Perhaps visit a proper circle? Cast a fireball or two?"

"It is not an expedition," the Chantry-brother said, handing Dorian a piece of parchment.

"You, and a few selected others are to come with the Revered Father to visit a proper Chantry."

"What? What for?" Dorian said while snatching the parchment from the man, quickly reading it.

"To teach you humility and respect."

"What? This is… This is a lot of nonsense," Dorian snapped, gripping the parchment hard enough to crumble the side he was holding.

"I refuse; I will not go to this… This Chantry! You cannot make me!"

"On the contrary, Master Pavus, we can. Your father has given us the permission to do what is needed and while some of your-" The Brother trailed off as he searched for the proper words, ignoring the fact that Dorian was clenching the parchment so hard that the tips of his fingers were going through the fragile paper. "-outburst and discard for rules has been overlooked, this is something we are permitted to do," he finally finished before looking at Dorian.

"We leave tonight. Please pack a small bag with what you deem necessary. We will be gone for a little while."

Dorian's mind was still in turmoil, unable to speak up as the Chantry-brother simply turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the young Altus mage to his own devices.

A trip to the capital and a Chantry?

It was clearly a punishment, Dorian could easily see that, but what were they going to do? Were they really going to flog him? Surely his father couldn't have agreed to that!

By the time he was able to actually respond to the statement, the Chantry-brother was gone, door closed behind him, leaving Dorian alone in the small room.

He was shaking so badly with uncontrollable hurt and anger that he accidentally set fire to the parchment in his hand, making him drop it in surprise. He then watched as the parchment fluttered to the floor, the fire dead by the time it touched the wooden surface, leaving only ashes.

That was exactly what he was feeling, he realised.

Dorian was burning, so brightly, so strongly, consuming everything he could touch, but now he was at the risk of becoming nothing more than a pile of ashes.

He was on fire and nobody was there to help him put out the flames.

He barely noticed it, but he soon felt himself gasping for air, a hand going for his throat as his breath quickened along with his heart.

Everything was hurting and he felt himself panicking.

He tried to reason with himself, tried to tell himself that nothing bad would happen in the Chantry. That he would be insanely bored at the absolute worse. He was the son of a Magister, they wouldn't lay a hand on him in fear of his father: a disappointment or not, Dorian was still Halward Pavus' son and he would not stand to let anything happen to him.

Still, there was tightness to his chest that wouldn't go away, despite the fact that Dorian tried to think reasonable.

Dorian had no idea how long he had been sitting there, thinking and trying to breathe properly, but it had evidently been a while as the room slowly turned darker and darker.

He had no idea what time it was when the door to his room opened and a templar came walking into the room.

"Master Pavus, are you ready?"

Dorian wanted to sneer, wanted to say something, anything to toss the templar off balance, but he had yet to find his own footing. "I… I have not packed. I do not want to go."

"I am sorry, my lord, but I have strict instructions to follow you down to the carriage with the others." To the templar's credit, he did actually sound like he felt sorry for Dorian, but that was not comforting to the young mage. In fact, that made him more frightened for what he was going to.

"Please, take a minute to pack what you need."

Dorian still hesitated before he slowly stood up from the bed and started gathering some of his belongings. He didn't really know what he was taking; a book there, a robe there, a hairbrush, whatever he saw that seemed necessary, he took.

When he reached for his staff, the templar shook his head. "No need to bring that, Master Pavus. You will not be needing it."

"… I see," Dorian replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Then… I don't need anything else. I am ready."

An obvious lie, but what else could he say?

His mind was screaming as the templar lead him out of his room and for a moment Dorian wondered if he would ever come back to the school. He hated it, yes, but he knew he would hate being left in a Maker-forsaken Chantry even more so.

His body was trembling, his hand gripping so hard at the small leather bag that his tanned skin was turning pale.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't let them take him away to some unknown faith.

He couldn't take it.

He wouldn't let them.

xoxoxox

"Magister Halward Pavus,

It is with great regret that we feel the need to inform you of the disappearance of your son, Dorian Pavus.

We did as informed and brought your son to Minrathous to visit an esteemed Chantry in order to have your son repent and reflect on his past actions. However, the boy responded with anger and reluctance, and while he came with us quietly, we should have realised that something would happen. He remained with us up until we reached the capital and we made sure that he and the other boys were securely in their rooms at the Chantry before retiring, but when we went to wake them, young master Pavus was missing.

The boys claim not to know anything about his whereabouts, having not noticed anything, which tells us that master Pavus must have slipped out during the night. We do not think it was planned as he left most of his belongings by the bed.

We have naturally orchestrated a search, but we felt the need to inform you and request any aid you might provide in the search for your son.

We would also like to discuss with you about your son's future at our school. We feel that this might not be the place for a boy of Dorian's deep-rooted issues with rules, authority and proper etiquette. Your son is bright, there is no denying that and the boy will, without a doubt, go far in life, but only if he is placed on the correct path.

We will, naturally, continue to try and mould your son if you should desire as he has not acted out on the students, but we will still like to converse with you about what to do.

With the most humble respect,

First Enchanter Malerio Ignavus."