Chapter 12: Judgment

The celebration about Kirkwall went on far longer than Dorian found tasteful, even by Tevinter standards. While many of his peers lamented that they weren't in Minrathous to celebrate what they called "the beginning of the end" for southern Circles, Dorian was actually glad to be tucked away in Vyrantium. He could only imagine the blood flowing in the homes of Magisters in Minrathous. He wished his imagination were not so vivid.

People were still drinking and throwing raucous parties when Satinalia rolled around, which was all the more reason for drinking and parties—and probably some sacrifices and carousing in the Fade, as well. Dorian tucked himself away in corners of the library where few people would find him. The place was nearly deserted to begin with, thanks to the frenzy in the streets. He focused on reading anything he could get his hands on, anything to take his mind off of the fact that with Satinalia came his name day.

Every year his parents had thrown extravagant celebrations of their only child's birth. He wasn't expecting much this year. They never wrote, never called on him, and only his resourcefulness and reputation kept him from being a complete pauper in a Circle filled with other wealthy mages. He didn't like to admit it, but at this time of the year he did miss his family. Even the years he'd been in Minrathous they'd marked the occasion somehow. He carefully coached himself each day to feel no emotion over it; to smile brightly, to pretend that it was just another day.

Still, he wasn't prepared to wake up that morning feeling empty and alone. He stared at the ceiling for a long while trying to decide if he felt any different, any older, and he decided he didn't. It was just another day. He spent it in his quiet library corner to avoid anyone who might remind him that it wasn't. He didn't look up when he heard footsteps, and especially remained focused on his book when someone sat down across from him.

"I'm reading, Relenus," he said without lifting his eyes.

"You're always reading. It's time to get out and live a bit," Relenus said, reaching for Dorian's book. Dorian pulled out of reach and glanced up. Relenus was grinning and dressed in green and gold brocade that made his eyes look almost greenish, despite how dark they were.

"I'd rather not, but thanks," Dorian said with a forced smile as he looked back to the book. The words were all a jumble and he couldn't focus anyway, but he was getting quite good at pretending.

Relenus sighed and all but jumped across the table and snatched the book from Dorian's hands. He slammed it shut and shoved it down to the other end of the long table. "No. You're done avoiding people. And me," he added with a smirk. "Come on."

"I was reading that," Dorian said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, you weren't. Look, I know how you feel about the Kirkwall thing, but surely you're not opposed to Satinalia?" Relenus pouted. "You've avoided every party. And if it's because you don't know what to wear, you can borrow something of mine."

The chance to be alone with Relenus in his room, perusing his wardrobe, was so tempting to Dorian that he couldn't help but smile. And Relenus's mock pout was too endearing. "Today is my name day," he finally confessed. "My parents surely have remembered, but are sending me a message by pretending they've forgotten, and I'd rather sit and sulk in the mires of academia."

Relenus's face lit up. "Your name day? No, I won't let you spend it alone up here. Come into town. We'll drink until we can barely stand, then we'll drink some more. We'll be so drunk we'll each wake up with two hangovers, and then they'll fight!"

Dorian laughed. "I may be getting too old for that," he said, though he was only twenty-four.

"It's my treat and I insist," Relenus said, grabbing him by the hand and all but dragging him out of the library.

As it turned out two hangovers having a fight was not as fun as Relenus made it sound. Dorian would have traded a week of seasickness for the one night Relenus had given him. But when the worst of the vomiting was over, and he was just praying for the room to stop spinning, Relenus let Dorian sleep in his bed while he passed out on the floor next to him with a pile of pillows and blankets. Soon Relenus was snoring softly and Dorian closed his eyes and tried to rest.

The sun slanted through the window and woke him up hours later. Relenus was still sleeping in his nest on the floor, and for Dorian, the room had stopped spinning. His head was pounding and his stomach burned, but he'd never felt more content. What would it be like to live with someone who took care of him like this, and to whom he could repay the favor?

He stifled his laughter in Relenus's pillow, which smelled sweet and vaguely spicy. He was still drunk; there was no other way to explain these thoughts. Such a thing would never happen. It couldn't ever happen. Maybe in another place, another life; but not here in Tevinter.

Dorian extricated himself from the tangle of sheets and carefully climbed off the bed and over Relenus. It was harder than it should have been owing to the fact the room began to move like a ship on the sea when he tried to get his legs under him. He stumbled to the door and peered out in the halls before leaving. He didn't want to risk anyone seeing him and having rumors starting about Relenus. The man deserved better than that. Dorian would not let his own tastes be a friend's downfall.

He clung to a wall and took the long way back to his room, partly to throw people off his trail, but partly because he must have been a masochist. He made it, and before collapsing into bed he threw up again; then he placed privacy wards around the room. He shoved the pile of things off his bed: clothing, a couple books, papers, and a letter in a thick envelope with his name on it in glossy black ink. He didn't remember it being there last night, but then again, he didn't remember much about last night. He'd read it later. Right now he had a hangover to continue sleeping off.

It was at least another day before he got around to clearing up the mess in his room, and he spent most of that day avoiding Relenus. He sent a short note with a slave: Thank you for your kindness, he wrote, and left it at that. He crumpled up other papers to toss in the waste bin and came across the thick cream-colored envelope with his name on it. He opened it and found a letter inside, written on the same fine parchment.

Dearest Dorian,

Your father and I miss you very much and wish for you to take a short leave from your studies in Vyrantium to visit. It has been a long time since we've seen you, and we wish to catch up with you and learn more about your work. Also, your name day will likely pass before you receive this letter, and we would like to acknowledge the date, albeit it belatedly. Please come as soon as you are able.

With love,

Desdemona Pavus

Dorian had to reread the letter several times before he could think about it. He'd always assumed his mother deferred to his father in all matters; she'd used 'we', but signed it herself, and it was in her handwriting. He was stubborn and proud, but he also missed his mother. And maybe his father was finally willing to listen.

It didn't take much to get leave to go to Qarinus; the First Enchanter was actually pleased that Dorian's parents were reaching out and encouraged the meeting. Dorian was in a carriage that very afternoon. He figured he'd only be gone for a few days, so he hadn't said anything to Relenus. Besides, after the way he'd ended up a few nights ago, perhaps some distance wasn't a bad idea. He spent the trip reading, mostly; sometimes he stared out the window, absently playing with his amulet. His father hadn't asked for it back or tried to take it. Perhaps they would make amends with this visit.

He hadn't been prepared for the surge of bitterness he felt as the coach pulled up to the estate. The last time Dorian had been home he'd been dragged inside in chains, against his will. He paid the driver and stood out in front for a long time in the warm breeze. Now that he was here he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing. No one came out to greet him, and when he tried the door it was locked. So like a visitor, he pulled on the bell string and waited.

Much to his surprise Halward himself answered the door. "Father," Dorian said with a slight bow. His mouth was dry, but his palms were sweaty. He hadn't seen Halward in nearly a year. He was still as imperious as ever, always looking down on his son even though they were the same height. "I hope you're well," he said. "Mother sent for me."

"I am aware," Halward said. He stepped back. "Please, come in. We weren't expecting you so quickly," he said.

"How kind of you to invite me. Do you have templars stationed nearby in case I decide I'd like to leave of my own volition?" Dorian asked. Perhaps it was not the best beginning.

"No, they're all busy in the south these days," Halward said, accepting the barb gracefully. "Otherwise, I probably would." He was smiling, but Dorian had no doubt that he was not joking. He didn't trust his father, and wasn't sure if he ever would. Dorian took a deep breath and followed his father into the estate. "Honestly, your mother and I weren't sure you'd come," Halward said. "She will be pleased that you did."

"And are you?" Dorian asked.

Halward turned to face his son. "Yes. Thank you for coming. I see you made a staff of your own. You'll have to tell me about it later, as well as what you've been doing in Vyrantium."

"A good deal of studying," Dorian said. "It's amazing; being cut off financially has done wonders for my research."

Halward sighed, but he did not apologize nor did he address it. "Come. Sit. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" he asked. They headed into the formal sitting room. It had been redone again since Dorian had last been home, but he didn't mind; he had little desire to remember the house the way it was at that time. Halward held out his hand to the hearth and a fire sprang up in the fireplace.

Dorian narrowed his eyes and clutched his staff as he sat on the edge of a chair, ready to spring up and run if he needed. "What are you playing at, father?" he asked. "Even before you started hating me you were never this attentive."

Halward blinked. "Hate you? Dorian, you're my son. I could never hate you."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You have a funny way of showing that."

"You are my only child. My legacy. My hope. I only want what's best for you. You're a willful young man and you've tested my limits as a father. But I do not hate you. I am… sorry you've felt that way."

Dorian's father had never been sorry for anything in his life. Something was amiss. "Where's mother?" Dorian asked, rather than try to acknowledge anything his father was saying. "I think I'd like to see her."

"She's resting. She's… felt ill of late," Halward said. "But she will be glad you've arrived. I'll send for her."

"Is that why you called me home?" Dorian asked, his stomach clenching up. "Is Mother dying?" She'd never been particularly close or nurturing, but Desdemona was his mother, and the thought of her dying filled him with terror. Without his mother, there would be no one to buffer the rough edges between Dorian and Halward.

"No," Halward said. "Like your mother said in her letter, we just wished to see you and discuss things. It's been a long time with little communication."

"With no communication," Dorian corrected, and his father nodded.

"Tell me about your work in Vyrantium then," Halward said while they waited for Desdemona. "Are you finding it more rewarding than life in Minrathous?"

"Much more," Dorian said. No sense hiding the truth. "I'm finally making progress on my Necromancy studies." He didn't explain how, exactly. His father approved of the school of Necromancy, but may not approve of the ways in which Dorian had to study. "I've also been perfecting my primal school skills…" He looked up when he heard his mother approach.

Desdemona smiled. "My Dorian," she said. "It's so lovely to see you." Dorian stood and she approached and hugged him. She felt thinner than usual, her shoulders narrow in his hug. She held him out at arms' length. "What a splendid young man you've become," she said. She was paler than was normal, and her eyes were a little glassy. She took a seat on the settee beside her son. "So handsome, so powerful. You will produce marvelous heirs." She patted his thigh and smiled.

"Not this again," Dorian said, gripping his staff tightly. "I've told you, I've no interest in marrying. So what family will I be disappointing this time?"

Halward glanced at his wife, who nodded. "As of now you are pledged to Livia Hirithinous," Halward said. Before Dorian could protest, he added, "Your mother and I have been talking about what we must do," he said. "We are both past childbearing, so the Pavus legacy cannot continue that way. We've decided that it's time for us to be proactive and avoid any more social missteps."

"Proactive." Dorian was still gripping his staff as he looked between his parents.

"You cannot keep lying to us or to yourself anymore," Halward said.

Dorian's heart pounded. His father's dark eyes glowered at him. His mother's clutch dug into his thigh. He thought of Lepidus and Felix and now Relenus, and of the whore he'd bought in Orlais for that one night of pleasure. He thought of his vow to feel no more fear. "I haven't been lying to myself," he said. "Nor to you or anyone else. I've been honest about myself this whole time; it's you who won't listen." If possible, steam would be rolling out his father's ears. He smiled, but still sat alert and clutched his staff. "But will it make it easier for you if you hear me say it?"

Halward's nostrils flared and Dorian pushed his mother's hand off of him. The cuff of her robe moved and he caught a flash of a white bandage, bright red at the edge. He narrowed his eyes and met his father's gaze. He swallowed the lump in his throat and quelled the fear making stomach turn. "Fine. I prefer the company of men. Are you happy now that I've admitted your worst fears?" he spat.

His father closed his eyes. His mother's breath caught in a funny little half-sob. "I'm not a murderer or a rapist," he said. "I'm not even a thief. I'm a valuable and productive member of a Circle. How can my preferences negate all the good I'm trying to do?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch. "So what is it now? The last resort you've been holding over my head the last four years?"

The moment he asked he regretted it. His father's steady gaze and unwavering posture said everything Dorian feared, before the words were even spoken. Desdemona stood and went to sit beside her husband and they both stared Dorian down. "We've thought of everything, Dorian. And there's nothing else to be done," his father said. "This family cannot die out, and if this is what must be done…"

Dorian looked between his parents. His mother wasn't smiling, but her eyes were imploring him to listen to his father. Halward had produced a small, shiny and curving knife and she held out her other wrist, confirming his fears. "No!" Dorian shouted, springing forward and knocking the blade from his father's hand. His mother shrieked and Halward swore. "This is your last resort?" he asked, incredulous.

"You cannot keep running from your destiny, Dorian," his father said calmly. He hadn't gone for the knife yet.

"Maybe my destiny is different from what you think it is," Dorian said.

"Or maybe it is exactly what I think it is, and you insist on being a deviant who brings no credit to this family—only rumors and shame. So long as you behave this way, you are no son of mine."

It was worse than a slap, and he staggered back. "Blood magic? You want to control me?" Both of his parents were staring at him, waiting. "You want to… you want to change me." He felt around with his magic, panicked that perhaps his father really did have templars stationed around the house, but felt nothing. Then again, why would Halward need templars if he had blood magic? His parents kept staring. The room felt like it was closing in.

"You would bleed my mother… your wife dry because I'd prefer to fuck a man?" Dorian asked in a shaking voice.

"I understand what's at stake, Dorian," she said. "I am willing to do what is necessary if it means prolonging the family bloodline."

"So the answer to your question is yes, Dorian," Halward said quietly. He'd found the knife again, and drew the blade over the palm of his hand. "Your mother and I will give our own blood if it means making you right." He extended his bloody palm to his son, beckoning him closer.

The pull of the blood was stronger than anything Dorian had felt before. It called to him and made him feel fuzzy and pleasant and blank. How nice not to have to think of anything; not to have to put up a front, to just give in and do what people asked of him…

"Fuck you straight to the Void," he snapped, slamming his staff into the ground and pulling from the Fade. Darkness came forth, swirling from his staff into the shape of a dark violet skull with glowing eyes. "If your love for me is conditional upon whom I choose to love, then I don't want to be your son." He swung out his staff and the skull seemed to explode in a hail of darkness that left his parents panicked and terrified.

He ran faster and harder than he'd ever run before. He scooped up his bag from the main hall and ran out the door into the night. He ran into the city of Qarinus, which was darkened and quiet at this hour but for the sounds of his feet on the cobblestones. He was truly alone, completely on his own now. He kept running, even when his side ached and his lungs burned and the countryside was unfamiliar. He just ran until he couldn't run any more, and then in spite of his fatigue he cast a Haste spell to buy himself more time.

No son of mine. The words echoed in his ears as he fought back the anger and the tears. He failed and was left gasping and choking. He had no plan. No money. No direction. It was his first escape attempt all over again, only that time he'd had a choice. Now that his father had revealed his hand and shown his true last resort, Dorian had no choice.

The Tevinter Imperium had always been home, always been a refuge.

No longer.

Author's Note: Many thanks to those who have taken the time to read and review, as always. Also a big thanks to those favoriting or following; through some of the follows I've found some real gems of Dorian stories in your list of favorites, so thank you for that! Thanks to Karebear for all the RPing, too-it's helped me really understand Dorian and his voice! Happy holidays to all, wherever you are, and whatever you celebrate.