Notes: I'm not satisfied with the canon options for Dorian's personal quest and I also wanted to expand upon some things that I think are implied about the Trevelyans (and which I've certainly already stated outright in this story). The subject matter of emotionally abusive relatives was extremely personal for me, and I expect that's come out in the chapter. It may not be very fun reading. But I hope it is at least somewhat satisfying.
Chapter 10: In the Blood
Max remained embittered and distrustful of his advisors in the wake of the Freemen of the Dales incident. He also remained fearful that Ferelden would indeed send spies into Skyhold, discover the truth, and eject the Inquisition from the castle. Ferelden might not have Kirkwall's aerial weapons—and he doubted that they could reach Skyhold's elevation anyway—but it unquestionably had an explosive with the same ingredients, and troops could besiege the mountain from the base if they were so inclined. It was possible to grow things at Skyhold—there was even a small herb garden planted now—but not nearly enough to feed the Inquisition's several thousand troops. Not in this mountain soil. The location of Skyhold protected it reasonably well from Corypheus's dragon and gave the Inquisition a defensible military position, in contrast with Haven, but it was extremely dependent on imports and convoys to provide food. And it was in Fereldan territory. Ferelden could inflict serious harm if its leaders decided to do so, and it seemed to Max that the advisors, Vivienne, and Cassandra had not fully thought this through.
They cannot easily conceive of a world in which other powers are stronger than Orlais, he thought again. I'd say that Ferelden is now.
The advisors still held council meetings regularly in the war room, and Max attended dutifully. The last thing he wanted to do now was to give up the authority he did have by removing himself in spite and distrust. He had Dorian and Varric by his side whenever possible. Varric's presence seemed to discomfit some of them, since he was loyal to Hawke, Anders, and Kirkwall as well as to Max, and Dorian was a shrewd, well-informed political operator whose knowledge was often invaluable at these meetings.
But after a particularly awkward discussion involving strategy for the upcoming Winter Palace ball that Empress Celene was planning, Varric gave Max an inquiring look with a raised eyebrow. Max then decided that he needed to confide in more people than just Dorian about the specific reason he distrusted the advisors. At a muttered request, Dorian, Varric, and Rainier joined him as he headed toward the Herald's Rest tavern on the castle grounds. He requested Solas's presence too, although the elven mage would want herbal tea rather than black tea or a strong drink. Something that will neither dull my senses nor keep me awake, Solas had explained once of his preference.
The Qunari agent Iron Bull was also there, and he invited himself to the Inquisitor's private table. Max was tempted to dismiss him before deciding that he should welcome the man's presence. Leliana let him in partly because she wanted to turn him against the Qun, he remembered. If he does turn, I'd want him on my side rather than hers. A former Ben-Hassrath would be an extremely dangerous agent for her to have. I haven't spent very much time around him yet, so that needs to change for me to achieve that goal.
Sera tended to spend a lot of time in the tavern as well, and she readily joined them at the table, leaving behind a room that was—to Max's eyes—strikingly frilly, something he would not have expected of her at all.
"I suppose you're wondering what I needed," he began. "I'm sure that Varric, at least, has questions about... what he saw in the war room."
"It looked to me like you regarded your advisors as your enemies, not to put too fine a point on it," Varric said.
Dorian sighed heavily, staring into his drink. "Well, after recent events, an argument can in fact be made..."
Varric gaped at him. "Really, Sparkles? I could understand why Hawke might consider them enemies. But Inky here?"
"That's what we're here to discuss," Max cut in. "What I'm here to share, I should say. And while I don't see them as enemies, I... must admit, I no longer trust them."
"You don't? That's a shame," Iron Bull said.
A Qunari would think that way, Max thought, what with the Qun's instilled respect for authority figures. This consideration troubled him. I'm going to tell you exactly why I don't trust them. Why it's important to think for oneself instead of just going along with what authority says should be done. And I need to consolidate my own "faction." They deserve to know this, all of them.
With this resolution, he spoke up in strong tones. "I agree it's a shame," he agreed, "but frankly, they have earned my distrust." His expression hardened.
Those who were not in the know—which was everyone except Dorian—exchanged querying looks. "Is this about the interference with Hawke and Blondie in the Free Marches?" Varric asked. "Or something else?"
"That was certainly an inauspicious beginning, but it wasn't the clincher of mistrust for me," Max said. He exchanged a knowing look with Dorian, before turning back to Rainier and Sera in particular. "I'm sorry. I should've told you about this earlier, since you two were along. Cole too, but it wouldn't surprise me if he knows already, with that... thing he can do."
And with that, he explained the ugly truth about the Emerald Graves stunt.
Rainier spoke up indignantly. "Those men who chased the refugees to Fairbanks's lodge were disguised Imperial soldiers?" he sputtered. "And the advisors knew about this in advance?"
Max nodded. "They believed they had everything under control and no harm could come to us from the Imperials." He glowered. "It's why I haven't told them this other thing I'm about to reveal to you." He gazed around the table. "I don't want this shared outside our little group."
"Of course," Rainier said, surprised at the demand.
Max took a deep breath and told them about the envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt. At the end of the story, they were all disturbed.
"Hawke and Anders striking Skyhold," Varric muttered, wide-eyed. "That's dark, Inky. But I can no longer say it's impossible. I don't think their rockets can get this high, but they innovated before. They could do it again."
"That was exactly what I thought. And the King and Queen of Ferelden accused of 'hiring thugs and bandits' is exactly the rumor those Orlesian nobles spread. I don't know who the Dalish elf was—no one we've met yet—and of course, only the demon would ever imprison and torture you. But the general disaster might happen even with the real me here, if we don't act to stop it."
"It won't happen, by the Maker," Rainier swore. "We will stop it. We won't be so arrogant as to think we have everything under control because we know about this possible future. It's clearly already getting out of control!"
Max nodded. "I agree completely. I'm counting on you to stand by me if it should become necessary."
"You know I will," Dorian said with a half-smile.
"Not much of a choice," Sera said. "They don't give a nug's dried-up shit about the little people. You do."
"I think that's a bit harsh," Rainier said. "I think they do mean well. But power always needs checks, and so does arrogance."
Solas smiled thinly. "Arrogance and pride. They do indeed."
"Simple calculation for me," Varric said. "I side with the friend who isn't working against my other friends."
Iron Bull was the only one not "pledged." Max gave him a raised eyebrow.
He sighed, draining his stein. "Are you my boss, or are they?" he asked.
"The Ariqun is your boss," Dorian said severely.
"But while I'm here, I'm also taking orders from the Inquisition. But from whom?" He considered it. "You say you're a figurehead, Inquisitor."
"Am I not? I don't usually get to make major decisions about overarching strategy. When I go to the war table, they present me with a list of choices that they have already made for me, and I must select from their list. Yes, I'd say they're in charge of the overall direction of the Inquisition."
"Well, then, I guess I'm defying authority," Iron Bull said. "Cheers."
The moment seemed very important to Max, though he did not dare speak of the implication.
Later that week, Varric approached Max privately. An idea had come to him.
"I don't know if you know this—how much they told you in the Circle and how much you have learned since you got out—but you have a mage niece."
Max raised his eyebrows. "Evelyn's daughter? I did know about her. She was said to be in Kirkwall."
"She is. Her father... I don't suppose you ever met him?"
Max shook his head. "The Orlesian merchant she ran off with? No."
"Well... he died several years ago. Murdered, to be specific. By thugs in the 'Satinalia Massacre,' if you know what that was—"
"A mob of extremists attacked Kirkwall civilians on Satinalia Eve 9:36 Dragon. Yes, I've heard of that." Max glowered. "I also heard that my niece was basically a ward of the Viscountess."
"Well... sort of. There was a time when she was shuffled from family to family. Then Johane Harimann, the mage supremacist who ended up trying to assassinate Hawke, offered to foster her. But she mistreated her, kept her locked in her room, and tried to indoctrinate her. She didn't succeed!" Varric added hurriedly at the angry look on Max's face. "After she was killed, Hawke sent your niece to her own mother's home. Alison is friends with Hawke and Blondie's son. But she's your niece. I thought you might want to meet her."
Max regarded him shrewdly. "That's not you, Varric. I know you aren't sentimental about family. You have an angle."
He burst into chuckles. "Maker's breath, you're smart. And more cynical than you want people to know. But—you're right. I do have an angle." He lowered his voice. "Junior and Daisy—Warden Carver and Merrill, I mean—are here, as is yours truly, but if my friends in Kirkwall did decide to... um... mount an attack... I think they'd wait until all of us were on a mission. Maybe even you too, Inky. But if a child lived here as well, that could be additional insurance. She wouldn't go on missions. Who would take a fourteen-year-old girl to the ass-end of nowhere, with Venatori and Red Templars about?"
Max gaped at him. He had not thought Varric capable of such a scheme. "Inviting a child here to use as a human shield?" he repeated. "Maker, Varric!"
"Not just that!" Varric exclaimed, holding his hands up. "She'd also be an additional tie to Kirkwall and the Free Marches. Putting a face to the shit that the advisors want to do. And finally, you're too hard on me. My family is a mess, but I really did think you might want to meet your mage niece, since you never have. And not everyone's family is a mess like mine."
Max glowered. "True. But mine is unfortunately in that category. My father didn't want anything to do with Evelyn or her widower or even this girl. Just like he wanted nothing to do with me after I showed magic. He was ashamed of me, and he became ashamed of Evelyn after she defied his plans for her—plans which he only made because he thought he needed to 'apologize' to the Chantry for the grievous sin of siring a mage." He sighed, trying to control his temper and keep spite out of his words. "But you're right. I would like to meet her. But I have my doubts that Hawke and Anders will let her come now, after the stunts the Inquisition has pulled."
"You might be surprised. I bet I can convince them."
Kirkwall.
Viscountess Caitlyn Hawke glowered as she set aside Varric's letter. "How is the new weapons work going, Anders?" she asked abruptly.
"Testing compounds," Anders said in confusion. "Why?"
"I would very much like to send that message to the Inquisition—a successful test strike high in the Vimmarks. The Inquisitor has the unmitigated gall to ask that we send Alison to Skyhold! After what his organization has done against us!"
Anders quickly perused the letter before setting it down. "Varric said that Trevelyan himself didn't support what the inner circle has been doing."
"But he couldn't manage to prevent it. I know a figurehead when I see one. It's exactly as I thought, those seasoned players are using a twenty-three-year-old sheltered ex-Circle mage for their own agenda."
"This is from Varric, though. It isn't their agenda."
She looked defeated for a moment before doubling down after all. "That may be, but the problem is, it looks weak if we give them anything they ask, after their behavior in the Grand Tourney." She heaved an angry sigh. "We were so close to getting Sebastian to sign the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty! I think that would have been a tipping point for the rest of the holdouts."
"I'm irritated about that too, but you know what Varric told us then. He did want to sign and they essentially threatened him out of it. Sebastian has turned; he supports a unified Free Marches under VMTO now, and we just need to be able to counter them. You say that Trevelyan himself is a figurehead, and I agree, but Varric also says that he disagrees with the course his advisors set and supports our efforts. In my opinion, that means we need to try to get him as an ally and strengthen his internal position, if we can."
Caitlyn gazed skeptically and wordlessly at him.
He changed his approach, seeing that she did not believe that was possible—and in truth, he didn't have any specific ideas himself for how to achieve it, other than beginning with the prospective olive branch before them. "And the other thing. This is a mage family, Cait, love. We fought and won a war to keep mage families together. Even if they don't share our views—though it seems that Trevelyan himself does. But even if he didn't, this is his niece. He wants to meet her, and she has mentioned that she wished her blood family cared about her. Well, he does. We have no more right to separate their family for our own agenda than the Chantry had to separate our family for its agenda."
Caitlyn blanched. "You're right," she conceded. "When you lay it out like that, it's starkly clear." She rubbed her temples. "Still, I don't want Alison stuck there if it turns out she doesn't like it—or if Varric, Carver, or Merrill realizes that she is being used and manipulated by those people."
"Tell her that she can confide in one of them if necessary," he suggested.
Caitlyn considered. "Merrill," she concluded. "I trust Varric, but I don't want to risk him sacrificing his spot in the Inquisition by helping her escape. We need him where he is. He's become friends with Trevelyan and is still our best chance of influencing him—as well as being an invaluable source of inside information in his own right. And Carver is a Grey Warden and shouldn't be involved in this. I'll tell Alison she can trust Merrill."
But before Alison Dupres-Trevelyan could arrive in Skyhold and meet her uncle for the first time, a letter from a different member of the Trevelyan family arrived: a most unwelcome letter to Max.
.
My dear son,
It feels impious to offer congratulations to you for being selected by Our Lady Andraste, but I pray that the Maker will understand I mean no worldly boast in offering congratulations to the son of my blood for this. Trevelyans have ever been faithful children of the Chantry and intend no worldly gain by professing the piety that all of us fallen mortals owe our Maker.
Our Lady must have chosen you due to the fact that you obeyed the Enchanters of your late Circle and did not become an apostate (for so the rebel mages were until Divine Justinia acceded to the College of Magi vote) fighting in Hawke's army. Her champion must be peculiarly free from willfulness of temper, self-conceit, and that defiant independence of spirit which prevails so much in the present Age—and which is particularly offensive in mages.
Again, my dear son, I do not presume to boast by association—though as a father, it is natural for me to congratulate myself that some part of my tutelage prior to your admission to the Circle must have influenced you to be as you are. I would not dream of trying to profit from your holy titles of Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste. But it occurs to me that it has been many years since we spoke, and I did hope that I could procure a meeting with you in Ostwick as father and son.
I am sure that you are quite busy doing the Maker's work. I do not presume upon you for any specific date, and I am quite flexible and understanding of the holy work that you are undertaking. But I shall think you rather ungrateful if you do not do what your father wishes, considering what you are. I hope to hear back in the affirmative and look forward to speaking with you again.
Your loving father,
Bann Reginault Trevelyan of East Peak
.
Max threw the letter aside, fury blazing through him at the enraging epistle: This letter was a perfect mixture of simpering, disdain, insincerity, arrogance, and entitlement. "The nerve of that man!" he raged.
"'That man'?" Leliana murmured in mild disapproval. "He is your father."
"He sired me, he trained me through childhood, but as soon as I was an embarrassment to him, he got rid of me. Now I'm not. Now I'm useful to him again, so he wants to try to worm his way back into my life."
"He may regret his actions..." Josephine began to say.
"Does this letter look like he regrets anything? I ask you! And he has the presumption to summon me to the bannorn! I am the Inquisitor. What is he? Not the Teyrn of Ostwick! Not a head of state! I outrank the old man now, the embarrassing mage son. I bet that bothers him, so he wants to reassert the old order. Get things back to 'normal'!"
"I... am not sure that focusing on who outranks whom is the best idea..."
Max crumpled the letter in his fist. "He wants me back at his estate so he will have the power—and the appearance of it. 'The man who can summon the Inquisitor at will.' That's what he wants."
Dorian gave Max a curious sideways glance. "I understand about obnoxious fathers. But his letter suggests that he might retaliate with slander if you don't do something, and he is a noble. His word has reach."
Leliana and Josephine raised their eyebrows even higher at this. "Dorian, are you quite sure that this negative representation is right?" Josephine asked.
Max held out the wrinkled letter. "You're an ambassador. Look me in the eye and tell me that you think this is polite."
"Your father's letter could have been worded more affectionately, to be sure. It is indeed an arrogant, rude missive. But if this is the way he has thought for his whole life, it must be difficult for him to change his tone. I think there is at least the possibility that he does want to speak to you again, father to son."
"I think he wants to use the Inquisition to gain status. He's obviously lying through his teeth when he says he doesn't. And I think if he has even a twinge of regret for surrendering me to the Templars instead of trying to protect me, or shipping Evelyn off like a blood sacrifice to beg favor of an Old God—"
"Maker's breath, Max!" Dorian exclaimed.
"That's what it ended up being," Max insisted angrily. "So I think what he actually wants is to reassure himself that he did nothing wrong and that Andraste herself agrees. And, as I said, to reassert status over a mage. That's what I think, Ambassador." He scowled. "But if I'm wrong, if there is more to it than that, he can come here instead. Because unless the man is on his deathbed, and cannot go anywhere, I'm not going to darken his door again."
With that, he tossed the crumpled letter to the floor and stalked out, pulling his cloak around him. Dorian gave the advisors a studying look before following him out hurriedly.
"I meant what I said when I told you I understood," Dorian said when he had caught up with Max. "Better than you can imagine."
Max stopped and turned around. Profound anger was in his visage, but Dorian knew that it was not directed at him. "What did yours do? You told me he wanted you to take male slaves to your bed and marry a woman for the sake of appearances. Was there more than that?"
Dorian scowled. "Oh yes, there was more than that." He closed up, and Max realized that whatever it was, he was still not going to talk about it. It must be bad indeed, he thought. "But yours. I think your assessment of the letter is likely completely accurate. But what I don't understand, I suppose, is why you feel such anger. You said that he didn't even try to protect you from the Circle when you showed magic. Is such protection a common thing for nobles to do in the south? Or was it, before the war, I should say?"
"It depends. I've heard it's quite common among Orlesian nobles. But the Free Marches..." Max gathered his thoughts. "I love my homeland, but it's full of contradictions."
"Ah. I empathize with you there."
"There are cities that are quite free. There are places like Kirkwall, where the population is divided between the dogmatic and the reform-minded. You can see hints of that tension in how Grand Cleric Petrice has gained support by speaking against the Qunari, and how Viscountess Hawke rallied the liberal-minded in favor of mage rights while raising the Chantry loyalists against 'heretics.' —And then there are Marcher cities where the majority of the people are dogmatic. Tantervale was one, of course, but in its own way, so is Ostwick. My home city is just less aggressive than Tantervale has been. Ostwick hasn't adopted Chantry dogma as the secular law like Tantervale did, and it's got an isolationist streak, not wanting to get involved in wars at all. Even my Circle took that position in the Mage-Templar War."
"So that's why the Teyrn of Ostwick hasn't signed up with Hawke."
Max nodded. "Undoubtedly. It's untenable, in my opinion. I think if the events of the Dragon Age have taught us anything, it's that isolationism and non-interventionism are untenable. You can't stay out of all conflicts forever. Eventually one will come to your doorstep." He sighed. "But to return to my father. The problem is that, for all that my father is an image-conscious noble, he's also a true believer. He surrendered me to the Templars because he believed it would be a sin not to. If I thought he had just needed to save face as a noble, I might've been able to forgive him."
Dorian raised his eyebrows. "Really? You think that would've made it better?" There was something darkly skeptical, and personal, in his words.
Max nodded. "I do. I still think that, as a noble, he had resources available that many families did not. I still think that he could have protected me. There were a lot of apostates in the Free Marches and he could have hired one to train me. But he sent me away not because he didn't think he could keep my magic a secret, but because he didn't even want to try. Because he thought it was wrong to try." He gazed miserably at Dorian. "I get the argument that there shouldn't have been one rule for people who can afford it and another for those who cannot. I get the argument that at least he was not a hypocrite. But... in this case..." His voice became a whisper. "I wish he had been." He covered his face. "I think it's often all right for parents to be hypocrites about their children. It's a special relationship, after all. Or at least, it should be."
Dorian didn't know what to say. His own experiences with his father were about hypocrisy, deception, and presenting a false front to the world. For a long time he had thought it might have been easier if his father really had believed it was a sin for a man to be with another man, instead of abusing him in order to present a socially correct family that followed altus norms of conduct. But Max had experienced a true believer, and it had broken his heart. Is it worse for a parent to put social conformity or dogmatic belief ahead of their child? Dorian thought mordantly. Maybe they're equally bad.
"And then there's what he did to my sister," Max continued. His sad expression morphed into an angry snarl. "I compared it to blood sacrifices to an Old God for a reason. She was eight years older than me. I was the youngest, and as you can imagine from that age gap, I was an unexpected child. We were so close, despite our ages." He became despondent. "And as soon as I showed magic, my father decided to force her into the Chantry. It was as if House Trevelyan needed to make amends for the 'sin' of producing a mage."
"Now that you mention it, that reminds me. We are distantly related." Max's eyes widened in surprise. "About three ages ago, a Trevelyan married into the direct line of my family. A mage, of course. So you weren't the first."
"Fleeing Ostwick? Lucky," Max said bitterly.
Dorian winked. "I think it's distant enough in the past that you and I are still good. Though I admit, it would've made my life a lot more pleasant if you had been the Trevelyan to escape to Tevinter."
Max flushed momentarily at this flirtation. "There was a family legend that we were related to Tevinter magisters. My father wouldn't speak of it, but I found it in books. But the story I heard was that we were a cadet branch of... you'd call them soporati... who left Tevinter. Supposedly our founder had a big nest egg from his magister father, basically a bribe to keep him from returning to the homeland and embarrassing him." He scowled. "If that's true, it means we were likely founded on a slaver fortune. I was a hypocrite to condemn—"
"You were right to condemn slavery," Dorian said firmly, "and you cannot help who your ancestors were. I of all people know that."
Max smiled gratefully, feeling warm inside. "Well... thanks. Anyway, I suspect there's truth to it. It'd explain a lot. Every so often, a mage is born to my family... including the one three hundred years ago that you know about."
"It's distinctly possible. I doubt, in fact, that my ancestors would've admitted your known ancestor into the family, even as a mage, if there hadn't been documented evidence of a Tevinter bloodline. Snobbish as that sounds," he sighed. "I'd have to look more deeply to find out who your founder was, because the altus families tend to keep non-magical children hushed up." He smirked again. "You and I are more closely related than sharing an ancestor whose soporati child founded your House. But, as I said, it was three ages ago. And I'm sorry, I distracted you from talking about your sister."
"It was a welcome distraction," Max assured him. He sighed. "So my father sent her to the Chantry after I did magic. If the legend is true, there's quite a history of parents getting rid of embarrassing children in my family! And it came full circle! A magister sends away a non-mage. Then for centuries, it's the reverse," he said bitterly. "Only Evelyn was a victim too. She didn't want to go, and she took the first opportunity of escape, eloping with a merchant. She died in childbirth."
Dorian grimaced. "I heard about that, after Varric mentioned your niece."
"Varric shouldn't have had to be the one to introduce my niece to me!" Max exclaimed. "I should have known her from birth! But the family wanted nothing to do with her father or her. That's why they were living as commoners in Kirkwall. That's why he was murdered by that rampaging mob. That's why she was held prisoner by a mage supremacist who tried to assassinate Viscountess Hawke!" He put his hands over his eyes. "This is about far more than the way my father treated me. I wish he had protected me. But he didn't have to send Evelyn away, and he definitely didn't have to ignore her husband and daughter." He raised his gaze to Dorian, and the latter nearly jumped back in shock at the amount of hard anger present in it. "That's another reason why, if I must speak with him, I want it to be at Skyhold. I want him to look my niece in the eye. She could have been murdered too that night. Or that woman who fostered her could have turned her into a Venatori. I want him to see her face—his granddaughter. If that won't make him feel shame, nothing will."
Dorian gave him a sympathetic look. "You don't believe he'll feel shame, but a part of you wishes he would," he said quietly.
Max nodded. He hadn't wanted to press Dorian, and then had been caught up in explaining his own past, but at last, his curiosity had become too much. "You do understand," he burst out. "You understand very well. What did your father do? It must've been bad."
Dorian seemed to close up again.
"You don't have to tell me if it's that bad—" Max began apologetically.
"No, you opened your heart to me. I should share this. It's about to come out anyway," he said in a sudden snarl.
"What do you mean?"
He was silent for a moment before answering. "That priest, Mother Giselle. You must have noticed that she won't leave me be."
"I have indeed."
"My father is in the south, and he approached her."
"Not me?" Max was rather offended.
"I think he knows, or suspects, what you and I..." He broke off. "He didn't explain to her what he actually wants, but he must've picked her as his mark for a reason. I'm surprised she hasn't come to you yet. She's been at me to talk to him and then return home with him to Tevinter. He apparently told her that I had run away from home and was hiding out with the Inquisition. She thinks it'll all be some terrible scandal that'll hurt the Inquisition—and you, since we're getting, well, close—if I don't do as my father wishes."
Max glowered. "I think she has tried to approach me, but I've had a lot on my plate. What does your father want, then? Is he afraid you'll further embarrass the family?"
"That's my guess. He has to suspect about us. I mean... there's not that much to suspect... yet..." In spite of the topic, Dorian smirked at the flush on Max's cheeks. "But he has doubtless heard that I'm spending a lot of time with the famous Inquisitor, who is a handsome, young, noble male mage."
Max flushed deeper.
"I wanted to save Magister Alexius—and I'm glad that I could at least help save Felix. After I heard who the Elder One was, I wanted to fight him. I wanted to present a better face of my homeland. And a handsomer face."
Max laughed. "That is certainly true, but 'handsomer than Corypheus' is a low bar to clear, no offense."
Dorian chuckled for a second before his mirth faded. "But although all of those motives are true, I also did want to get away from him. My father did not just try to coerce me. He tried to change me. To force me to be attracted to women, or at least to puppet me so. With blood magic."
Max gaped at him in disbelief. "I..." He was about to say "didn't hear that right," but he knew he had, and it would only hurt Dorian to have to repeat it. "That is vile," he finally managed. "I know you'll think I fling this word around with the abandon of a drunk sailor, but that's... that's accessory to rape."
Dorian waved his hand. "No, you were right to use it in the other context, and you are right to use it in this one. He didn't succeed. But that is what he tried to do when I just would not conform. He tried to force me to."
"I am sorry for even comparing my personal... shit, as Varric would say... to this," Max burst out. "That is far worse than what my father did."
"Don't apologize. Maybe it is nug shit versus bronto shit, but it's still shit." He clapped a hand on Max's shoulder and gave him a wry smile—a smile of resilience and strength, Max thought. "We're survivors, not victims. And maybe it's time we both showed that to our fathers."
"If that's what you want," Max said dubiously. "Personally, I don't think you owe him anything other than perhaps a spell blast in the face. If I were in your shoes, I'd tell him to go to the Void."
"Oh, I mean to. But I can do it to his face. The nerve—going to that priest, not to you, not even to the Ladies of the War Room, but to her. But the problem won't be resolved until I face it."
"Where is he exactly?"
"He tried to get into Redcliffe, but Ferelden wouldn't admit him after what the Venatori and Red Templars pulled inside their borders. So he's gone to that chateau in the Emerald Graves, Villa Maurel. The Inquisition is the only law enforcement in that area, and somehow he sweet-talked his way in."
"All right. Back to the Emerald Graves it is, then."
But before they could begin their trip back out to the Dales, a pair of Trevelyans arrived at Skyhold.
Alison Dupres-Trevelyan was the first to arrive, a pretty young adolescent girl with the dark hair and light tan skin of her Trevelyan heritage. She recognized Varric, Carver, and Merrill, but it was her uncle for whom she had eyes when she was brought into the castle.
For Max, it was almost like seeing his sister again. Her facial features were not Evelyn's, so they must be from her father—and Max deeply regretted that he had never met the man—and neither had Evelyn been a mage, whereas Alison carried a staff of her own. But there was enough resemblance that it felt to him like having his beloved older sister back.
"Inquisitor," she began.
"No," he burst out. "Not to you. Unless... you aren't comfortable—"
She smiled. "Uncle Max, then."
He grinned. "That's more like it."
She wavered for a moment before rushing him. He embraced her in a tight hug, feeling himself almost choke up. This girl is all that is left of Evelyn. He instantly chided himself for that representation of it. No—she's Evelyn's legacy.
They broke apart and regarded each other. "I wasn't sure if I would ever get to meet you," she said quietly. "I had such hopes when the Circles rebelled, because all the mages were coming to Kirkwall to join the fight, but then they told me that your Circle hadn't..."
He sighed. "Our meeting was delayed, but it did happen at last."
She smiled again. "And now you're as famous as the Viscountess."
Max was startled by that remark, but it was true, he realized. "I suppose so," he agreed. "You've lived with her family, haven't you?"
"Her mother. And before that..." The girl trailed off, darkening in anger.
"I've heard," he said curtly. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. You're safe now, in any case. No one is going to lock up either of us again—not Templars and not Venatori sympathizers."
Alison's face lit up. "Oh! I just thought of something! Viscountess Hawke fought the Templars and now they can't lock you up, and you are fighting the Venatori when one of their allies locked me up! It's funny, that."
Maker, she's quick-witted. "I guess so!" he agreed. "So on to better things. What do you think of Skyhold? It isn't much like Kirkwall, I suppose."
"It is pretty different," she agreed. "But grand in its own way. I like the fresh air, and I heard about a library upstairs..."
"Oh yes, you'll like that. My... friend... Dorian Pavus can show you once you've settled in." Behind him, Dorian bowed gallantly.
Leliana then entered the main hall. She smiled at the sight of the teenage girl, aware of who she was and feeling sentimental. I am glad that Hawke and Anders are not so angry with us that they would retaliate by keeping a child from her uncle. Apparently they meant it when they spoke of fighting for mage families to be together. That restores some of my faith in people, actually. And I am glad that Amethyne and Ellandrion are with Elissa in Vigil's Keep, she thought in melancholy. They're safe, even if I don't get to see them again...
She cleared her mind of that as she approached Max. "I am so sorry to interrupt," she said, meaning it, "but you have another family guest, Inquisitor."
Max knew who it was—and in that moment, the tempered joy that he was feeling shattered into a million fragments. A dark cloud seemed to fill his mind.
His resolution to make his father look Alison in the eye suddenly wavered. She had looked forward to this meeting—a meeting with him. She had known full well who the grandfather was who had refused to give a copper to her or her father, refused even to meet or correspond with either of them. Why tarnish this meeting by forcing her to meet a man she must, at a minimum, feel nothing for, and might even regard with hatred? I will not use an innocent girl as a weapon against that man, he vowed.
As Varric, Carver, and Merrill helped Alison to the quarters that had been prepared for her, Max steeled himself for the next meeting. He gave Dorian a pleading look. Dorian understood what he wanted—moral support—and he gave Max a quick nod as Leliana and Josephine left court to admit Bann Reginault Trevelyan.
The bann took his time entering the castle, plenty long enough for Max to work himself up. I could have been spending time getting to know my niece, he thought angrily as he waited for his father. I daresay the old man knows she is here and is procrastinating on purpose because he knows he's keeping me from talking with the relative I'd actually like to talk to.
He was also indignant on Dorian's behalf. Dorian's account of his own father trying to use blood magic against him riled Max up whenever he thought about it, and since they were currently unable to take it out on Halward Pavus, Reginault Trevelyan was an easy alternate target. Max refused to let the word "scapegoat" get a foothold in his mind. The bann had been abusive in his own right. He deserves what he's about to get, Max thought, anger churning as he waited in the court of Skyhold, and it makes no difference if I'm actually angry about something someone else did.
At last Bann Trevelyan entered the castle. Max regarded him with anger. The bann was dressed in Marcher finery, the style of which was muted and conservative compared to the ostentatious pomp of Orlesian high fashion—minus Vivienne's personal style, which was markedly different. The bann himself was of average height and weight, clean-cut, handsome, his salt-and-pepper hair combed back neatly. Max thought it might have been easier to deal with him if he had been an overdressed, bewigged, corpulent, obese fop, instead of this—it pained him to admit it—understated nobleman.
And the fact that he couldn't hold his father's physical appearance in contempt somehow exacerbated his anger. Ridiculing his presentation would have been an outlet for some of Max's pent-up rage—an outlet denied.
The bann was good-looking, like all the Trevelyan family, but the arrogance that his letter had indicated was also present in his visage. As he approached the throne-like chair that Max used to greet dignitaries and judge Inquisition prisoners, that arrogance became very apparent to Max.
"Well," Max spat as his father reached the dais, "I 'did what my father wished,' so you can't accuse me of ingratitude. Now what do you want?"
"Is this a bad time?" Bann Trevelyan asked. "A difficult mission just before I arrived? Or a difficult person?"
At this allusion to Alison—and Max was absolutely certain it was deliberate—he felt the heat of anger tower high enough within him that he was no longer sure he trusted the words that came from his mouth. "The only difficult person I have seen today is the current one," he snapped. "I was referring to your rude letter. Don't you recognize your own words? I'll say again—you have your audience with the 'holy Inquisitor.' So what do you want?"
"Well, first, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, son."
Max cut him off. "You, Lord Trevelyan, will address me by my title."
The bann's nose turned up ever so slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
"You surrendered the right to call me 'son' when you gave me away to the Circle," Max snarled, gripping the armrests of his throne with each hand. "From that day, I was effectively no longer a child of yours. And it was by your own choice. You don't get to reclaim me now."
Bann Trevelyan frowned. "What would you have had me do? Keep you at home, trained by some apostate with Maker knows what background and morals, risking your life and the fate of your soul?"
"Oh, and no Circle mage ever became an abomination!" Max scoffed. "No Templar or Senior Enchanter ever had bad morals! Do you even know why the mages fought? The kind of treatment some of us received in Circles?"
To his credit, the bann's face hardened. "If you mean that you were abused in the Circle, I hope you use your position to bring justice to the perpetrator. I heard about how you conscripted the Templars into Inquisition service."
Max was surprised at this, but he had no choice but to shake his head. "Ostwick's Circle wasn't that bad," he conceded, "but did you not hear what went on in Kirkwall's before Viscountess Hawke took power? Did you not hear about her background—how the Templars took her husband... or fiancé, whatever he was then... away from her? That happened all the time to mages! And when you handed me to them, you gave your approval to it."
The bann sighed heavily. "So you have been nursing a grudge for fifteen years. I am surprised that Andraste made you her Herald with this attitude..."
I don't think she did, Max thought mutinously. But he knew better than to tell his father this even in spite. Word would get out that the Inquisitor disbelieved in his own supposed divine ordination.
"I always valued you," he continued. "I just did my duty to the Chantry as I saw it. The world has changed now, it is true. Divine Justinia said so almost as her final act—that the Circles no longer needed to be as they had been for so long, because most mages were faithful and responsible with their... ability."
Can't say "gift"? Max thought. Can't admit that it comes from the Maker?
"And I did my duty to you as I saw it. I believed, and still do, that I was saving you. Whatever the risk might have been for Circle mages, it appeared far higher for apostates. And I was not willing to gamble your life and immortal soul. Better to be apart for this life and spend eternity in the Maker's city than to risk my child to the Void out of my own selfishness."
Max wanted to believe his father, and he supposed that perhaps, on some level, the bann had managed to convince himself of this by now. This was still infuriating as an explanation, but... he supposed he could forgive it if his father had really believed he was saving Max's soul. But there was one ugly fact that Max could not ignore, even if his father had neglected to mention it. And this fact, in Max's opinion, proved these fine words false.
"That's all very well if you actually meant it," he said airily, "but I don't believe you do."
The bann was finally moved to visible anger. "And why is that?"
"Evelyn."
Bann Trevelyan glared back. "What of her?"
"'What of her'?" Max mocked. "You prove me right. You were so eager to call me 'son' now that I'm Inquisitor. She was your child too. But she's dead, and she never had a special title, did she? So instead it's 'what of her.'" He regarded the bann coldly. "What terrible danger did you see for her soul that could only be mitigated by shipping her off to the Chantry against her wishes, as penance for siring a mage?"
"Is that what you think I did?" The bann sighed. "Your sister was always slated for the Chantry. Every generation of Trevelyans sends a child to the Chantry if we've been blessed with enough children."
"Then why is it that I never heard a word from her in advance?"
"I can't say. Perhaps she did not want to face it. Given her later conduct, I suppose that is likely."
"Ah, 'her later conduct.' She didn't break a vow, you do realize. She had not sworn one yet."
"She may not have, but she defied her family."
"Her family was the family she built! Her husband and daughter. A family that you cut off! Maker's breath, Alison is your blood! Your granddaughter! How can you look at yourself in a mirror?"
"There are certain expectations that nobles must uphold. There is a concept called 'moral hazard.' If we did not make clear that rebellious children would face serious consequences, such defiance would happen far more often, and then what prospective ally would have any reason to believe us when we offered them marriage alliances or assurances of faith?"
"I know what moral hazard is," Max snarled, "and in this context, I hold it in contempt and do not mind telling you so. You're saying that you place more value on outsiders' opinions of you than on taking care of your own family."
"It is more than just moral hazard. The entire system breaks down."
"The system is already changing," Max retorted. "Viscountess Hawke has found a better way to build alliances. Of course, Ostwick wants to pretend it doesn't exist in the same Thedas as every other country, so that argument likely carries no weight with you. But that aside, do you realize what you are saying? The 'consequences for rebellious children' apparently include letting your daughter die in childbirth! What did she do that warranted death? She might have survived if she'd had the money to pay for a healer!"
"Evelyn would be alive to this day if she had stayed at the Chantry like she was supposed to, instead of running off and getting pregnant," the bann said. "You lived, and that may be because you obeyed the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander and did not try to run away to join the mage army in Kirkwall. An army, I note, that left the Inquisition on orders from its commanders. That says all that needs to be said about Hawke and Anders."
Max was nearly ready to erupt, and the bann's reference to the Free Mages was the final straw. "So you really don't think you did anything wrong by denying your daughter one copper, or her widowed husband, or her orphaned daughter after the girl's father was brutally murdered. Because she'd still be alive if she had stayed at the Chantry—and her daughter didn't exist!" He gave his father a fierce glare. "She's here, you know. Your granddaughter. I challenge you to say that to her face." As soon as the words left his mouth, however, he regretted them. I promised myself I wouldn't do this to her.
Bann Trevelyan shrugged. "I expect she has thought of it herself—that her mother and father would both be alive if they hadn't married and she hadn't been born. Indeed, I'd be surprised if she hasn't thought that. You know your own grandmother died giving birth to me. All such children blame themselves for their mothers' deaths, and I would expect it is even more true in a case like your niece's. So bring her out. I will say it if you truly wish me to."
That had not gone at all the way Max had expected. Fury at his father's blithe assertion and disbelief that he would actually say it warred with derisive outrage that he would use his own motherless childhood to score a point—and, Max had to admit it, pity for his father for having grown up with that on his mind all along, despite what he was now using it to do. But the tumult of emotions within him nonetheless fixed upon only one possible response. "Absolutely not," he spat back. "She is a sweet girl and I will not expose her to your callousness and arrogance. She's been through enough in life already." He regarded his father in fury and despair. "Just—go. I don't know what you hoped to achieve, but if it was to upset me, take whatever twisted comfort you can find in the fact that you succeeded. But get out of my castle."
The bann appeared regretful for a moment, but his reserved pride took over once more as he stalked out. Max sank into his chair, hands covering his face. Dorian approached him, but he was beyond comfort for the time being.
Was it my fault that that went so badly? he thought behind closed eyes. Should I have given him more of a chance than I did? He was the cold, self-righteous bastard I expected, but... I don't know if I was at my best either.
But his actions in the past—and the fact that he shows no remorse for them, really thinks he was right about everything, and continues to justify himself. Doesn't that deserve every bit of bile and venom I can bring forth?
Or was it up to me to make the first peace offering? To be the "bigger man," as they say? Might that have gone differently if I had? But that seems unfair. I'm not the one who cast off my own family.
With a sharp pang, he then realized that, actually, he had just done precisely that. The counterpoint that his father had deserved it did not placate him. His father had believed Evelyn had deserved that "consequence" too.
He felt sick—at heart and in body. Rising from his chair, he gave Dorian a brief hug of thanks before shuffling off to his room.
Max wished he could spend more time with his niece, but after that awful meeting, Dorian became resolved on confronting his own father. They arranged for a quick trip to the Emerald Graves.
Empress Celene was supposedly going to give Villa Maurel to Fairbanks, but she had not yet finalized the deed. That, Leliana had told him, was something for after the Winter Palace ball, when she hoped that the war with Gaspard would be settled. However, the Freemen of the Dales had been stamped out, at least. No thanks to Celene or Gaspard, Max thought sourly when he and Dorian arrived in the region. The fact that this place isn't overrun with bandits and rapists is entirely due to the Inquisition.
The manor was easy to get to now, with agents of Leliana and Josephine standing guard. They spoke in low voices when the young men approached. It seemed that the magister's presence there was not widely known even among the Inquisition.
Halward Pavus was residing in the lord's suite, which had a fine bedroom and attached study. When Max and Dorian found the place again, he drew back from a bookshelf and faced them.
"Well," Dorian snarled, "here I am. Let's get this over with."
Max stood by him. "Yes, let's. What do you want with Dorian that you had to send furtively through a priest, in this cloak-and-dagger way?"
"I apologize, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved."
Dorian spoke up at once. "Oh, of course not. Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?" His face became an angry snarl. "What do you want, Father? What is this? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?" he added sarcastically.
Halward Pavus sighed. "This is how it has always been, has it not?"
Max could not stop himself from cutting in. "And whose fault is that? Dorian told me what you tried to do to him. How did you expect him to react?"
"So it is true, the two of you. I should have known," the magister said.
"No," Dorian said hotly. "You don't get to make those assumptions. You know nothing about the Inquisitor."
"This is not what I wanted," the magister seethed.
Anger rose in Max, the fury about yet another self-entitled father who thought he had the right to control his adult son's life. "Oh, we don't need you to tell us that, Magister! We both know all about what you wanted for Dorian."
"If I knew that I would drive you to the Inquisition—"
"You didn't," Dorian sneered. "I joined the Inquisition because it's the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would've known that. We actually have a great deal of useful work to do, which your shit is taking me from, and the Inquisitor too. So speak your piece—and then go to the Void."
"Dorian, please—if you'll only listen to me—"
"Why?" Dorian exploded. "So you can spout more convenient lies? He taught me to hate blood magic! 'The resort of the weak mind.' Those were his words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?" His voice wavered and broke. "You tried to change me."
"I only wanted what was best for you," Halward said.
"That sounds familiar," Max sneered. "Where have I heard that before?"
"You wanted what was best for you!" Dorian snarled. "For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!" He turned aside, almost crying. "Once I had a father who I imagined loved me. But then I learned what he really loved." He turned to Max. "I cannot believe I wasted our time with this. I am so sorry."
Max put his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "No, I'm sorry. I should have tried to talk you out of it. It's just like my father, imposing himself on your presence simply to justify himself and make excuses for his atrocious actions."
As they stormed toward the door, the magister finally replied. "Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed."
Dorian halted, stricken—but only for a moment. He snarled to himself and flung the door closed behind him as he and Max left the room.
By the time they reached the outside, Dorian's furious resolve had faded away. He looked visibly regretful that he had not responded to his father's final remark except by continuing to storm off. Max was unsure what to do. Halward had indicated at the end that he might feel remorse, which his own father had never done, but before that, he had used the same excuse that Max's father had: "I wanted to control you for your own good." Max's feelings were therefore conflicted.
Dorian groaned at last, leaning against the side of the villa. "What am I doing," he muttered, not really as a question. He gazed unhappily at Max. "Should I go back inside?"
Max drew back. "I can't tell you what to do, especially considering that this is about someone who did try to make you feel something."
"The difference is that I'm asking you," Dorian replied, "and I'm not asking you to change something fundamental about me."
Max gazed down, feeling awkward. "I'm not the best-equipped person to advise you..."
"Oh, aren't you? Who would be better? Your father may have rejected a different aspect of you, and tried to push you out of his life rather than changing that aspect of you—"
"Thank the Maker," Max shuddered, thinking of Tranquility.
Dorian paused as he realized what he had said. "That's it, isn't it? It would be like if your father had tried to make you Tranquil to get rid of your magic."
"Yes. So what your father tried to do is far worse than what mine did."
"But yours showed no remorse, whereas mine..." He trailed off. "I don't know what to do, and yes, I am asking you."
Max finally forced himself to answer. "I admit I don't know what, specifically, it would be like for a parent to try to forcibly change such an innate part of me. I'm... I enjoy the company of men too, and that's my 'preference,' you might say, though it isn't actually a conscious decision like that word implies. But I have enjoyed the company of a couple of women too. If someone tried to change that about me, it would be denying me something, but it wouldn't be forcing me to act against my nature, like he meant to do to you. So I'm not sure I can fully understand what you felt. But I do know the sense of betrayal that comes of being rejected by your family."
Dorian considered that. "And you have not wanted to make amends with them. Not that I blame you, after meeting your father. I just... don't know what I should do. Part of me thinks that what you did at Skyhold is the strong thing to do. But..." He trailed off.
"I'll support you in whatever you choose," Max assured him.
Dorian gave him a frustrated look. "You are still avoiding answering."
Max took Dorian's hands in his own. "If you insist, then all right. I don't think our situations are precisely the same, so you don't have to take direction from me or think you're 'weak' if you don't. My father wanted nothing to do with me or my niece for years, but now, with the winds changing for mages in the south and my new position as Inquisitor, he's suddenly eager to claim the connection. His refusal to apologize for anything he did proves that it's pure opportunism rather than remorse or rethinking anything in this new world. But your father... Well, I assume the Tevinter attitude hasn't changed. But he might feel remorse despite that. So it's not quite the same."
Dorian sighed. "That is what I thought you were going to say. You're right, though. I can't leave this place without finding out what he meant to say."
Halward Pavus raised an eyebrow in surprise when Dorian and Max appeared again, but it was not an expression of smug, knowing arrogance—such as my father might display, Max thought.
Dorian stepped forward and faced his father. "I couldn't leave it like—that—between us," he acknowledged. He gave his father a hard look. "But I don't expect happiness from this meeting."
The magister gazed sadly at him. "I am sorry, Dorian. I admit I did seek out this meeting for... selfish reasons, in part. I wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice again—and to ask you to forgive me."
"Forgive you?" Dorian cried. "That is not as easy as you think. You claim to feel remorse, but would you have if you'd gotten what you wanted? If your scheme had gone through? Or would you just have felt relieved that your 'last resort' had worked and convinced yourself that I would be happier that way—that it was for 'the best'?"
Halward Pavus sighed. "In full honesty, I do not know. You taught me a lesson—but if it had gone otherwise..."
"Exactly. And that is why I cannot forgive you or fully trust you again. You determined it was wrong only after it blew up in your face."
The magister looked pained, but he seemed to accept this admonishment. "No one has the right to demand forgiveness or trust from someone else, and I certainly won't do so. But I do hope that we will at least correspond again."
Dorian considered him for a moment before nodding. "We can do that."
They shook hands, Max noting as some of the angry tension dissipated from him. No one was going to find happiness in this meeting, but perhaps at least they would find some measure of peace.
Dorian was silent as they left the villa and began the walk back to the Inquisition compound in the Graves. Max gave him the privacy of his thoughts. This must be a difficult thing to come to terms with.
But at last Dorian spoke. "I don't know how to feel about that. I think the meeting—the second one—was probably the best that I could have hoped for, but I'm still not entirely satisfied." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "And yet I don't think satisfaction was ever possible from something like this."
Max agreed. "I think you're right. I wasn't satisfied with how my confrontation with my father went, either."
"Yours showed no remorse for his conduct. You responded in the only way that lets you keep your self-respect."
"I know. I would feel beaten-down and ashamed of myself if I'd given in, considering how he acted and what he said." He sighed. "And yet."
Dorian nodded. "'And yet.' Exactly."
"I believe you're right, though. It's not possible to feel satisfaction from something like this, and that is not our fault, but theirs for taking a relationship that should be one of love and trust and mixing utter betrayal into it. It's a mix that should never exist. It's just wrong for those feelings to coexist, and we know that in the depths of our souls, so there is no way to make a response to it feel right. It's wrong and we cannot make it right."
Dorian sighed heavily, a shudder that sounded almost like a sob.
Max continued, not wanting him to think he had to speak when it was obviously too painful yet. "Telling the person off leads to guilt, whether it's warranted or not. I guess because we did once have a connection with them. Once loved them. Maybe still do, in a way. And there's a part of us that regrets giving them what they deserve because of the feelings that we once had. We used to care about this person, so we feel guilty about the possibility that we might have hurt them." He considered further. "But acceding to an abusive person leads to dissatisfaction of a different kind—loss of self-respect, as you say—even if the person really is remorseful."
"And is he?" Dorian said. "I hope he is... but I meant what I said that I couldn't trust him again. How can I be sure that he didn't come out here to try to draw me back into his games?" He sighed. "My heart doesn't want that to be the case, but is it just because, as you said, we used to have something as father and son, and I wish we still could, so I cling to a hope that may be false?"
They lapsed into silence, as Max did not have an immediate answer for that. Finally he replied, trying to clarify and sort out his thoughts as he spoke. "You met my father. And if there is one thing I learned from having a parent like that, it's that words that are coerced or demanded mean nothing. Apologies included. If the person didn't say it on their own after seeing that you became upset, it means they're not sorry—or that some other emotion, like pride, is more powerful. It might as well be a priest scolding a child—or a mage—into saying a prayer that they don't actually feel." He chose his next words carefully, noting that Dorian was considering this. "Your father came of his own accord. I don't know whether he has another agenda. I don't know whether he is just trying to get back into your life for his own reasons, or if he really is sorry for what he did. But he didn't apologize because you or anyone else asked him to. My father couldn't even bring himself to say he was sorry for anything he did—because he wasn't. I think yours... might be." He gave Dorian an intense look. "But it's up to you what you want to do with that. He tried, years ago, to make you feel a certain way. I won't do that to you, ever. Not by blood magic and not by emotional coercion."
There was a pregnant pause before Dorian responded. "I think it's time we stopped the teasing innuendo, dancing around it, isn't it? My father certainly saw what was before his eyes."
Max flushed red. "I wanted to hope there was more to it than 'teasing innuendo'... but I just, I guess, didn't want to ruin it by pushing further. I have no more experience with... with relationships of the heart... than you do. We couldn't have them in the Circle."
"At this point it will only be ruined if we don't push further."
"Back at Skyhold, then, we'll talk about it?"
"Back at Skyhold," Dorian concurred.
Notes: Bann Trevelyan's letter and general attitude to Max are based on an amalgamation of two Jane Austen characters I heartily dislike: Mrs. Norris and Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park. One aggressive emotional abuser and one low-key one respectively (the latter of whom is also presumably a slaver in the Caribbean, which was an influence for my own origin story of House Trevelyan). I don't care for the ending of that novel for several reasons, but primarily because the entire Bertram family is emotionally abusive, and it depresses me to see the protagonist permanently enmeshed in it instead of escaping. Sorry to anyone who loves that book, but I grew up amid emotional abuse, and I cannot believe in easy redemption for people like that. Anyway—it was easier for me to write this chapter with a fictional abusive family as my model than to base it on my own.
Their discussion about the Trevelyan "history" is mostly speculation of mine, trying to make sense of canon. The canonical Trevelyan in-law had to have been one of Dorian's direct ancestors for him and Trevelyan to be related. I don't think the Pavus family would have kept inheritance and family headship in that line unless the Trevelyan was a) a mage and b) provably related to Tevinter elite. It's also my suspicion that the reason human nobles have such an unusually high ratio of mages in their families is that most of the older ones are indeed descended from soporati children of magisters.
I hope my "third option" middle ground for Dorian's personal quest worked! I am torn about this quest. What Halward did was incredibly abusive. If it had succeeded, it would have made him an accessory to the rape of his own son (let alone the mind control angle). That's unforgivable IMO. And I will admit that my own experiences with emotional abuse were not related to a lack of acceptance from my parents about being bisexual, so I don't personally know what that's like. I'm torn about it because, although I am Insecure-Avoidant as my attachment style, rather cynical, and do not forgive easily, I also have an idealistic and hopeful streak. I guess I still have a romantic ideal of the family life I never had. So the final discussion between Max and Dorian reflects thoughts I've had about handling people we love, or used to love, who are also abusive. I make no apologies for their conclusions. In cases like this, I do not believe in shaming people either for being "unforgiving" or for not being "strong" enough to end the relationship. In my experience, there is indeed an irreconcilable agonizing conflict between placating love and placating justifiable anger.