Dorian left Alexius' estate in a daze, numbed by the abrupt loss of those he held most dear. He wandered the cobbled roads until sunset, caught in a cycle of disbelief, desperation, anger, and self-loathing. As the sun sank beneath the roof tops of the Asariel markets, traders began to pack up their wares, and shop keeps shuttered their windows and bolted their doors, panic began to settle into Dorian's chest and gut. He was alone. More than losing Alexius and Felix, he'd lost his only allies and his benevolent Patron in one fell swoop. The consequences of that would undoubtedly be dire. If Alexius chose it, he could destroy Dorian's reputation, out him to the Magisterium, see him ejected from the Circle, and render him destitute with just a few words: Dorian fucks men. For all he knew, the servants in the Circle could already be striping the linens from his bed, crating his belongings, and changing the locks.

And perhaps part of him wanted it that way. Let the hypocrisy finally be done with, he thought to himself. No more hiding. No more evading his mother or feigning interest to young noblewomen. What was the point of continuing on with polite society when the only tolerable people in polite society failed him so utterly? His parents could never be satisfied with him, no matter how he tried to make up for his wayward youth. Rilienus was married and determined to live his life caged by his lies. And now Alexius—Dorian fought back the trembling in his chest as the memory of his ejection from the estate played out for the hundredth time in his mind's eye, interrupting his train of thought. Now Alexius had turned to blood magic, abandoning all he believed in on the scarce chance of prolonging his son's misery.

Why had he tried so hard to fit in in the first place? Sure, staying in the good graces of Tevinter elite kept him in relative comfort—food, drink, shelter, fine clothes, and the like. And certainly, it was preferable to not be hounded by brutes too eager to punish men like him for his proclivities. But there was more to life than comfort and safety and… living. Dorian groaned at the turn of his thoughts. What had he done? He was not some Soporati trained in a trade and accustomed to scraping by! He was noble born! An enchanter! Accustomed to a warm bed, a full stomach, and enough income to do what he will. If Alexius exposed him, the Circle dismissed him, and his family cut him off, he would starve on the street. He did not yet have the status for his reputation to withstand rumors, his livelihood still precariously dependent on the whims and financing of others.

Dorian frowned as the direness of his situation settled in. This argument with Alexius would amount to more than the loss of a friend and mentor. It was the end of him. Unless Alexius chose not to act against him. Was there hope of that? Dorian shuddered thinking of the hateful sneer on Alexius' face as he told Dorian, "Get. Out. I'm done with you." Even if he didn't actively report what he knew of Dorian's nocturnal activities immediately, losing Alexius patronage would raise suspicion and questions. Alexius would be asked why he'd withdrawn his support of Dorian, and what answer would more readily leave the magister above reproach than the venomous "Dorian fucks men." He'd be applauded for ejecting the pervert from his home, protecting his son from Dorian's wicked influences.

The hollowness of Dorian's stomach after a full night and day of consuming nothing but tea heralded the paucity Dorian anticipated for the days ahead. He could perhaps try returning to the Circle, maybe catch a good night's sleep and a meal before Alexius formally withdrew his sponsorship. But the thought of being ushered from the University in disgrace when the word came down was more shame and humiliation than Dorian could bear. Better to not be made a spectacle and starve than to be humiliated on a full stomach. Still, he could not spend the rest of his days and nights wandering the streets of Asariel. Eventually he would need a place to rest his head lest he collapse in midstride.

Dorian removed his coin purse from his belt and bounced it in his hand, judging its weight. Enough for a day or two if he could manage a level of thrift to which he was hardly accustomed. If he took a carriage back to Minrathous, he could perhaps stretch the meager remainder by depending on the good will of his acquaintances, convincing a lusty fellow to rent a room and buy him a meal or two in exchange for some attention. He could make that work for a few days, anyway. At least until he had a chance to decide on a long term solution or be sure that Alexius would not betray him. Better to put some distance between himself and Alexius, anyway. Perhaps if Dorian stayed out of the way, Alexius would feel no need to formalize his denunciation, and everything would blow over in a few weeks' time. He could only hope. If the rumors began, the men of Minrathous would undoubtedly start to regard being seen with Dorian as too much of a risk to their own reputations, and he would be facing destitution once again. But he would have to adapt to that when and if the time came.

It's decided then, Dorian thought to himself with a half-hearted nod. He would take a carriage to Minrathous and drop a letter to the First Enchanter explaining that he had to attend to personal business and would be away for some time. His fellows would be curious, perhaps even suspicious, but it would at least keep his life from burning to ash as he waited to see how Alexius would react to their estrangement.

-x-

Dorian slept fitfully throughout the ride back to Minrathous. Exhausted though he was, whenever he began to doze, panic would grip his chest and a falling sensation would cause him to bolt awake, his blood pulsing in his ears and breath quickened as he braced himself against the carriage walls. By the sixth repetition of this, Dorian was relieved to see the familiar buildings of the Great Market come into view.

He leaned forward and rapped on the edge of pane-less window between himself and the chauffeur. "Drop me at the east end, would you? By the Alleys," he said, voice rasping with exhaustion and stress. The Alleys was the somewhat discrete, though widely known, name for the red light district. Ordinarily Dorian would have hopped off at the east end, and walked through the winding paths to the Alleys. But he had no energy left to invest in keeping his dignity with some driver, so let him think what he would.

The driver shook his head and clicked his tongue either at Dorian or his horse. "Aye," he grumbled, with what Dorian guessed was a scowl of disapproval, and turned the carriage toward the Alleys.

Dorian ignored the judgment. It was a small thing in comparison to the shame of the fallout he was anticipating. A mere pilot fish that signals the impending arrival of the shark. What difference did the little nips of a surly commoner make when Dorian's complete destruction was imminent? He busied himself in the last few minutes of the ride, smoothing his mustache, adjusting his hair, and blotting the oil from his forehead with his monogramed handkerchief. When the carriage came to a stop near the edge of the district, Dorian disembarked, paid the man his due, and took a deep breath in an attempt to draw courage from the heavy air around him.

The Alleys foregrounded the businesses that catered to the most ordinary shapes of depravity. The deeper into the district one went, the more specialized and debased the establishments and their clientele became. Though none of the happenings in the Alleys were technically unlawful, the stigma around being caught in the depths of the district had been known to ruin reputations and lives. Still, many took the risks, and the Alleys never wanted for customers. Dorian passed the brothels—worked by well-cared for and highly trained slaves and patronized by men of means who shamelessly strutted in and out of the stately buildings. Further in, he wove through the crowds lined up to attend the marvelous shows the Alleys were known for. Some were simple striptease taverns, while others showcased the most singular talents. He vaguely noticed the whooping of the waiting audience as a comely donkey was lead through the entrance of a nearby building by a coyly smiling beauty. As he moved deeper through the winding pathways, the enthusiasm of the patrons became less overt as they slouched into their favorite haunts under cover of dark cloaks and drawn hoods. Some were there to sate desires that even Dorian reviled, others were ashamed of the strange shape their harmless urges took. And some were like Dorian, visiting these dark bends of the Alleys to find those few places where their wants were considered entirely mundane and were reflected freely in the eyes, words, and actions of others.

Dorian avoided the brothels. He detested paying for sex as a grievous injury to his considerable ego. Besides, he hadn't the funds to indulge. His preference was for the salons catered to men who sought the company of other men. There parties gathered to meet and blissfully pass the time with others like them, generally retiring by evening's end to one of the establishments' pricey rooms to pass an hour or a night in private ecstasy with a willing partner.

The Rosebud was the salon most likely to host an affluent clientele who would have the means to assist him, so Dorian made for its familiar doors with as much confidence and swagger his exhausted and half-starved body could manage. Upon entering the Salon, Dorian felt the tension he'd been carrying in his chest and shoulders release some. The soft colors and smell of mulled wine and spiced cake calmed him with familiarity, as did the toothy smile of Romus, the proprietor, who turned Dorian's way at the sound of the opening door. Romus was easily a head taller than Dorian but a good two stones lighter. He moved with a dancer's grace, and always dressed with an elegance that Dorian admired.

"Dorian!" the elderly man said brightly, excusing himself from the circle of patrons he'd been entertaining. He enveloped Dorian with his long, thin arms, careful not to spill his glass of wine, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before stepping back and looking the young man over. His smile faded as he searched Dorian's face. "Dear boy!" Romus said aghast. "You look poorly used! What has happened?"

Dorian winced. He'd hoped he'd managed to tame his worn appearance into presentability. "It's a long story," Dorian said. "And not a very good one." He could feel the eyes of the gathered guests on him. "I wouldn't want to dampen the mood."

Romus nodded, his brow still knit with concern. "Then allow me to lighten your mood," he said, patting Dorian on either arm and smiling sympathetically. "Wine?"

"I might need an entire cask to shake of this day," Dorian said, forcing a grin.

Romus' laugh twittered fondly. "That can be arranged, darling. Now, please, sit and enjoy the company! Do you know Lord Ulio Abrexis? He is an absolute delight. And Bendela is here tonight too!"

Dorian turned to the lounge where four men sat in plush sofas, their necks craned to watch him as he approached. He recognized them all. Bendela—a cross-dressing beauty who frequented the Alleys as a performer in the more niche shows—perched primly on the arm of a chair, careful not to rumple the loud fabric of her playful gown, her legs crossed lady-like while she daintily sipped a glass of clear alcohol. Dorian suspected from the thick makeup and disheveled wig that Bendella had just come off a show. Next to her was Marcus, a bear of a man, with a marked preference for other big men (poor pickings for him tonight). Across from Marcus sat Ferdinand, an insufferable twink, barely eighteen years of age, and always eager to flatter men of means. His youth and beauty were a combination that made him vain and condescending beyond what Dorian could tolerate. Next to Ferdinand was Lord Ulio. Ulio was what was contemptuously called "new money," and thus had a special place of disregard in the hearts of Tevinter nobility, giving him a fair amount of latitude to live as he willed without thought for the opinions of the upper classes. He owned a shipping company that handled most of the exotic goods imported to Tevinter, though he personally never sailed. Ulio's estate was to the south in Marnus Pell, but he frequented Minrathous on business, keeping a lavish home not far from the Alleys. He was an older fellow—in his fifth decade, likely—but he was a lively lover and had an irreverence about him that Dorian appreciated. What's more, Dorian knew for a fact that he was exactly Ulio's type.

"Dorian!" Ulio boomed. "How good to see you, my boy! How long has it been? Must be a year now!"

Dorian smiled and took a seat next to Ulio, ignoring Ferdinand's venomous stare. "Longer, I think!" he said, leaning back in the soft cushions, wishing he could drift off to sleep right there. "Unless you count the ball in Qarinus last Fall."

Ulio snapped his fingers. "Ah yes. The ball. What a dull affair that was!"

"I quite agree."

"You should come to one of my balls in Marnus," he said gently squeezing Dorian's thigh. "It would be more to your tastes, I promise. More drink and far less posturing!"

"Mmm, that does sound more to my liking," Dorian said, giving Ulio his most fetching wink. "I'll eagerly await my invitation."

"I hope you'll invite me, Uli," Ferdinand said, placing his hand on Ulio's shoulder. "I'd be giddy to see your estate."

"Certainly," Ulio said, briefly looking to Ferdinand before returning his attention to Dorian. Dorian's lips twitched, proud of the ease with which he had captured Ulio's attention from the pretty flirt.

Romus returned from the kitchen and handed Dorian a glass of wine, leaning in to whisper, "This should help, pet," before taking a seat next to Marcus.

Dorian sipped his wine gratefully, letting the warmth of it fill him, buzzing pleasantly in his toes and head. "It would be good to get away from Minrathous for a time," Dorian said, feigning nonchalance. "I so rarely get to travel any further south than Asariel."

"Alexius still riding you hard?" Bendela said with a bright faced show of innocence. "A lot of work getting ahead with him, huh?"

Dorian chuckled through the pain of her innuendos. "I'm afraid so. Between him and the circle, I'm lucky to find even one night a week for myself."

"That sounds really hard. But you just have to grind through it, I suppose," she said nodding fervently.

Dorian snorted. "Alas I'm afraid my days of grinding under Alexius are numbered," he said, giving Bendela the rapport she was egging for. "Had quite the falling out with him today, and I expect I'll be formally losing his sponsorship as soon as the day's post arrives."

"Oh, D!" Romus gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

"What does that mean for your place in the Circle? Don't you need a sponsor?" Ferdinand said with what Dorian suspected was glee in his voice.

"Could always find another," Marcus said with a shrug.

"Easier said than done," Dorian sighed. "With a black mark from a Magister on my record, I'll be seen as a risky venture beyond the financial sort. Not many would hazard making an enemy of the Magisterium, after all."

"I can hardly fault them for that," Romus said darkly.

"But why the bad blood between you and Alexius?" Ulio asked. "I thought you were quite close to the family."

"Very," Dorian said, nostrils flaring lightly. "And it's complicated, more so than I want to get into." He straightened up and forced a smile he didn't feel. "In any event, I find myself with a sudden abundance of free time! And I'd be delighted if you'd fill some of it with a trip south, Ulio." He took a long draught of wine and patted Ulio's hand, which was still resting on his thigh. "Tell me, when is your next ball? It will give me something to look forward to while my life is busy crashing down around my ears."

Ulio smirked. "Why wait for the ball?" he said with a wink. "Come down with me tomorrow. Take some time away from Minrathous to clear your head. I'm sure I can think up some distractions to keep you occupied."

At last Dorian's smile came in earnest and he almost wept in relief. "Sweet Ulio," he said, practically singing, "distraction is exactly what I need!