Chapter 7: The Emperor
The last thing Dorian remembered was a feeling of the air being sucked out of his lungs and the light being sucked from the air around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't stand; all he could do was collapse on the ground and claw madly at the Fade, which was just out of his reach, tantalizing him with a quickly dissipating pale green light. And then it was gone, and he'd not been able to touch it again.
This whole thing would be a bad dream, if he'd been able to dream. As it was, it had to have been at least a day or two since he'd lost his connection to the Fade, and hence to his magic: anything that had given him power and status had been reduced to nothing. He felt groggy and helpless.
Every jolt of the wooden cart made his head throb. It still felt like he couldn't breathe, but maybe that was less the cutoff from the Fade, and more the burlap hood over his head. His neck was stiff and his arms cramped behind his back. Every time he tried to move his hands or twist his arms the manacles burned his wrists. Every time he tried to move his legs the shackles seared into his ankles.
He'd never hurt so badly before.
He groaned as he fumbled toward consciousness, still trying to comprehend what had happened. He was a Tevinter mage, more powerful at his age than most in the Magisterium were after a lifetime of study. And he was trussed up in the back of a wooden cart like a roast.
The cart kept moving, the horse trotting over rocky ground. Each bump hurt all over, stabbing into his head and burning into his arms and legs and he gave a muffled groan and struggled to move out of his cramped position. There it was again: the feeling of being punched in the stomach without actually being punched. It made him curl into a ball, in spite of the burning in his limbs, and whimper at the breathless pain it caused. Even if he had not been gagged he wouldn't have been able to ask any questions, thanks to the intensity of the pain.
Minutes… hours… time was meaningless, and without the Fade Dorian was painfully conscious of everything. It was excruciating. Right about now he probably could have been persuaded to listen to any of Ophelia's offers. Maybe he dozed here and there, but without dreams he wasn't sure. It was always the clop, clop, clop of the hooves, the creak of the wagon bench, the rustle of wind.
Finally the cart stopped. He stayed curled in a ball, remaining as still as possible, but his captor grabbed his chains and dragged him off the bed of the cart. Dorian had the sensation of falling briefly before the person dropped him on the ground and pushed him into an upright position. "Will you behave?" a voice asked.
Fucking Laertes. Dorian should have known it was too good to be true. But what choice did he have? He nodded, and Laertes pulled the hood off his head. Dorian squinted at him in the light of a setting sun. Laertes pulled out a mallet and Dorian's eyes widened. "Don't worry, Vint," he said. "I'm under strict orders not to hurt you. Make you uncomfortable? Sure. Hurt you? Unfortunately not." He ran a length of chain from Dorian's manacles to a stake and used the mallet to pound it into the ground. Dorian just stared, confused. "The pay is good. Best I've ever had, so I'll follow the terms. Though fucking with a Vint may be the most fun I'll ever have in this career."
Out here on the road Laertes didn't look nearly as handsome, and Dorian realized his playful and cultured accent had been affected for his benefit to lure him in. He cursed himself for being so careless. Now he didn't even know where he was, where he was going, or what sort of career made "fucking with a Vint" enjoyable.
Laertes built a fire and set a small pot over it to heat. He added a chunk of meat to the pot, and some herbs and root vegetables and soon it began to smell so good that Dorian thought he'd die from the pain in his stomach. Laertes also set on a small travel kettle to boil. He periodically looked up at Dorian, who must have looked pathetic staring at him, and he finally sighed.
Dorian shrunk away when Laertes approached, but the other man simply reached behind him and undid the knot keeping the gag in place. "If you yell I will smite you from here to Ferelden," Laertes said. Dorian spit it out and shuddered. He coughed and his jaw ached, and it took a moment to find his raspy voice. "Is this how all of your first dates go?" he asked. Laertes just shook his head and went back to working on the food. "I suppose your name isn't even Laertes."
"Oh, it is. Ser Laertes."
"It's now chivalrous for knights to kidnap Tevinter mages?"
Laertes smiled. "You're pretty sheltered for having grown up so high and mighty," he said. Dorian must have looked offended, because he said, "You've never met a templar before, have you."
"A mage hunter?" Dorian asked before he could stop himself from saying anything stupid.
Laertes hit him with another smite, but not quite as hard as the last time. Dorian stifled his cry of agony as the air was sucked from his lungs and his body seized up; it was like he had nothing left to give. His wrists burned. "Sorry, sorry," he gasped, tears in his eyes. He craned his neck to try and see his hands behind him. "Maker's testicles. This fucking hurts," he said, unable to do much more than wince and laugh at the absurdity. "What is it?"
"Lyrium shackles," Laertes said. "Helpful for when I'm driving the cart or sleeping, and can't be constantly casting a cleanse or smite on you. The lyrium folded into the metal leeches your mana out. Keeps you from going into the Fade or pulling some demon out of your arse."
"Beg pardon, but my arse is demon free," Dorian said with a wry smile.
"Yeah, that's what they all say, and then you get something like what happened in the Ferelden Circle a few years back," Laertes said, his voice dripping with venom. "I'd rather not take any chances." He stirred the pot once more and then undid the shackles for a moment to move Dorian's hands in front, before locking them on again. It happened so quickly that Dorian didn't have a chance to try anything; but then again, he feared another smiting so much that he was afraid to.
Laertes spooned some stew into a bowl and set it down next to Dorian. It took some time for Dorian to get the feeling back in his hands. His wrists were raw and swollen, blistered and bleeding, and the chains pulsed with a pale blue-white glow. His hands felt heavy and it hurt to move, but his stomach ached so he steeled himself against the pain and ate. "I don't suppose it's too much to ask you to allow me to relieve myself?" he asked after. Whatever dignity he still possessed was rapidly fading away. Besides, for all he knew, Laertes was going to sell him into slavery; make a quick handful of sovereigns off a high-born mage, or something. But Dorian still had his birthright amulet on, and all of his effects were neatly piled in the cart. He didn't know what to make of any of it.
When he returned Laertes staked him back to the ground and tossed a tattered blanket at him. Dorian tried to catch it and it just fell a few feet away. "We mages aren't exactly trained to be athletic. Just thought you'd like to know," he said, tears leaking from his eyes as he had to reach for the blanket with his bound hands. "What's that? Tea?" he asked when Laertes handed him a tin cup. Laertes watched wordlessly and Dorian sipped. It was bitter, and it dulled his senses even more than the lyrium chains.
"Templar Piss," Laertes said at last, and Dorian snorted. The drink burned as it came out his nose and his eyes watered while he coughed. Laertes was laughing, and Dorian glared at him, thoroughly humiliated. "Magebane tea," Laertes said, shaking his head. "But some mages in the Spire started calling it Templar Piss, and the name stuck. It fits."
"Fuck you," Dorian said, dropping the cup and lying down on the bare ground, turning his back on Laertes and trying to sleep.
Days and nights ran into one another and Dorian hardly knew which way was up after a while. The magebane tea, the lyrium shackles, and the regular magic cleansing spells left him feeling groggy and drugged and after a time he wasn't sure he felt the burning of the chains. During the days he was blindfolded in the back of the cart, unable to see the sun and know which direction they were going. At night Laertes fed him and allowed him to see to his needs; and after about a week of this Laertes didn't even bother to secure Dorian to anything when it was time to sleep. Dorian was simply too weak to try anything.
"Where are we?" he mumbled, clutching the blanket to him and shivering, though unsure if it was from the night air or the effects of so much magebane. The substance wasn't outlawed in Tevinter, but it was extremely hard to come by for many reasons and now he knew why. He thought this might be what dying felt like.
"Northern Nevarra." Laertes handed him a wineskin, but Dorian shook his head. "It's Tevinter red, too," he said, taking a swig. It showed how truly miserable Dorian was that even that didn't perk him up. Laertes passed a bowl of some sort of porridge, but Dorian just turned away. "You'd better not starve to death," Laertes said. "I'm supposed to deliver you alive. If you die I don't get paid."
"Lovely, I'm a fucking templar's paycheck now," Dorian said.
Laertes laughed. "You didn't think I actually liked you, did you?" he asked.
"Oh, no. I knew you didn't like me," Dorian said, somehow managing a groggy grin. "Who is paying you, anyway?"
"You'll find out. Soon, too. We're likely crossing into Tevinter in the morning."
It made Dorian even more nauseous than he already was, and he propped himself up slightly as he dry heaved. Tevinter. He was being dragged back home in chains by a templar. What a sick joke.
But he was too tired and broken to care much more than that.
He thought he would feel it when he crossed the border back home, a sense of magic that could overwhelm even the lyrium-infused chains and the overdoses of magebane and restore him, but he didn't even realize they'd traveled well into the Imperium until Laertes set up camp for the night. For the first time in days he took extra care securing Dorian for the night, and set rune stones of warding around the campsite. "You're a hot commodity," he explained. "Last thing I need is someone else making off with you after I've done all the hard work."
His grin made Dorian sick. "I'm also a person, just so you know," he called when Laertes went off to take a piss. "A very tired and sore and hungry person," he added.
"Now I know why the fucking Qunari sew their mages' mouths shut," Laertes said, shaking his head with disgust.
The air was getting warmer, and Dorian figured they must be moving further north, even though he couldn't see. He also noticed that Laertes was being more careful with the magebane dosage, because Dorian felt more alert. Maybe he was running low. Dorian hoped so. If he lived for another age he wouldn't want to go near magebane ever again.
It was nightfall two days later when Laertes pulled the cart over, but to Dorian's confusion did not set up camp. "Time to shut you up, smooth talker," he said, forcing a rag into Dorian's mouth and tying it tightly. Dorian kept glaring at him until Laertes grabbed the hood and jerked it over Dorian's head.
The cart drove on under cover of night and finally stopped. Dorian heard muffled voices and then he was being pulled from the cart. There was one guard on either side of him, gripping him roughly by the elbows and dragging him along. He tried to get his footing but it was pointless. He knew they were indoors at least. Finally after many twists and turns he was set down and pushed to his knees.
Silence. He trembled and reached for the Fade and it was still not there. He was in a house in Tevinter, so he should have at least been able to feel the magic in that, but he couldn't. For the first time he began to wonder if he'd ever feel the Fade again; the fear of becoming what the southerners called Tranquil made him want to retch.
Footsteps. Laertes pulled off the hood and Dorian squinted. It wasn't torchlight, but a soft orange glow from magical globes placed around the room. He knew the dark inlaid floor, knew the mahogany desk. Knew the boots that now stood before him.
"Festis bei umo canavarum," his father hissed. "Look at me, Dorian," he snapped.
Dorian looked up. If possible he was even more scared than when he'd first woken in the cart after Laertes had captured him. He didn't know how this had never crossed his mind. Even in the depths of his pain and humiliation he'd never thought that his father would be the one paying a templar to drag him home, bound, gagged, and unable to use his magic.
"I suppose you'll be pleased to know that the Valerias family has rescinded their offer of marriage," Halward said, and Dorian looked away as his father began to pace, towering over him. Halward stopped. Dorian stared at the floor. "Venhedis," Halward snapped and smacked Dorian across the face with the back of his hand. His raised emerald ring caught Dorian hard in the cheekbone and pain blossomed over the side of his face. Tears jumped into Dorian's eyes and he couldn't cry, he had to hold it together…
"You are the key to the Pavus family legacy," Halward said after a moment of silence. "Without you our family dies. Thousands of years of magic, gone. Dead, with you; because of you. I can't keep watching you make a ruin of your life. I won't keep watching it," he said. He knelt down and tilted Dorian's chin up, forcing his son to meet his eyes. "This is a lesson, Dorian," he said quietly. "If you defy me like this ever again you will force my hand to employ my absolute last resort. Is this understood?"
Dorian nodded, even if he did not entirely agree with his father, or believe him fully. What could be worse than this?
Halward snapped his fingers and a slave brought a wooden box forward. Dorian felt drawn to it like a drowning man drawn to air. Lyrium. The slave handed it to Laertes, who opened the box and if possible looked at it even more hungrily than Dorian did. "I added something extra for your pains," Halward said with a smile, while Dorian knelt in his chains between them, seemingly forgotten with blood running down his face. "Will you kindly unbind my son? Your… clever devices would likely stymie me," Halward said almost apologetically.
Dorian was torn between shame and humiliation and anger, but all were replaced by gratitude when Laertes unlocked his chains for the first time in weeks and removed the gag. "We should do this again sometime," he rasped to Laertes, who did not even smile. Just took his box of lyrium and left.
Dorian remained kneeling on the floor, having not the strength to get up. He stared at the wood inlay in the floor, at his dirty hands and swollen, bloody wrists. He tentatively reached for the Fade, but his father slapped him again. "You're not escaping that easily," Halward snapped. He sat down behind his desk, staring over it and down at his son. "What were you thinking?" he asked. "Were you even thinking?" He tapped his fingers restlessly. "You defy me; you disrespect a noble house eager for a marriage arrangement with you; and you all but shit all over Alexius's hospitality."
"When you put it that way…" Dorian said with a wry half-smile. "I suppose I do deserve some of this."
"You deserve all of it! I am the laughingstock of the Magisterium! You've shamed yourself and your family and you sit there smiling like it's a joke!" He held his head in his hands, and for the first time Dorian could see some humanity in his father. The man who'd always had it together, who seemed immutable and implacable, was more than angry or frustrated. He was truly upset. "I love you, Dorian," he said finally. "I know it doesn't seem that way after all of this. But it's for your own good. You need to learn."
"Maybe you do, too," Dorian said softly. What more could Halward do to him? What else did he have to lose?
"I will pretend you didn't say that," Halward said. He sighed. "I can hardly believe it myself, but for some reason Alexius would like you to return to study with him."
That was pleasantly surprising in the midst of all of this. "Why?"
"Fasta vass, Dorian, I don't know!" Halward shouted. "But I've agreed, if only so I don't have to look at you for the time being. If you weren't my only son I'd have let that templar drag you to the nearest southern circle to be made Tranquil!" He caught himself and took a deep breath, which he let out slowly. "You will have house Pavus guards with you in Minrathous from now on, who will report any unsavory behavior directly to me. You will finish your studies with Alexius, and you will marry a woman of noble breeding suitable to your status."
He stood and approached Dorian. He reached out and Dorian shied away, but he passed his hand over Dorian's face and hands. The calming bluish-green light felt good, and the blistered, bleeding skin healed before his eyes. The pain in his cheek was only a slight, dull ache.
Halward headed to the door, but paused before leaving. "Your mother was worried. You will clean up and present yourself at breakfast, and you will tell her you returned of your own volition." The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Dorian alone for the first time in weeks.
Author's Note: Two chapters in one night! This is the chapter I've been looking forward to writing, and I thank everyone reading and reviewing! I appreciate it so very, very much and am trying to reply to reviews. I appreciate the favorites and follows, and am really loving delving deep into Dorian as a character and Tevinter as a place. Thank you all, it means so very much!