Chapter 1: A Letter to Mae
Chapter Text
My dearest ally,
It has been far too long since I have seen you last in a well-enough state to fully remember the encounter, and of all the misdoings I have committed against you, I think that is the one I hold the most shame for.
I cannot supply you a list of every individual crime I might have inflicted upon you over the last year, for the sole reason that, admittedly, I remember very little of that time. One of the few clear memories I have is of vomiting on someone’s bed of zinnias - I believe they were yours. Sorry about that. They were lovely, I think. Besides that, though, I have only vague recollections of making a fool of myself at your expense whenever you provided me shelter from templars, my father’s dogs, and various others seeking vengeance for the misfortune of crossing paths with me.
And so, I apologize for the entirety of this past year. Deeply, and truly. My behavior was unworthy. I could make excuses about how I was not myself, but then it would sound like my father was writing for me. I can at least promise you that I am now sober enough to write my own letters. Good on me, yes?
I heard about
Dorian’s pen went still, leaving a blot on the page visible when he finally lifted it to think on his words.
It had been months since he had written her. The last time it was to tell her that her insistence upon reconciliation had finally gotten him to give in and seek out Alexius after their fight and seek peace, if only for Felix’s sake. Alexius hadn’t been responding to letters or magisterial matters for some time, and Mae worried that he had lost himself in his cause. When Dorian found the true cause of his silence, he hadn’t sent her a message. Instead, he simply slunk back into the slums and drank, leaving her to discover for herself that Alexius was not lost in his own mind, but in literality - he and his son had vanished.
Since then much had happened in Dorian’s life, and yet very little had truly changed. The only thing different now was that he was no longer free, held under house arrest in his childhood room to keep from bringing the family any more shame.
It was not a totally foreign situation for him. Admittedly, it had never been carried out to this degree; he had never been snatched by mercenaries and hauled onto a boat, drugged out of his mind with magebane and tranquilizers to keep him from killing everyone on that ship and sinking their corpses to the bottom of the Nocen Sea, and locked within his room with sigils and wards so neither he nor his magic could escape. But regardless, it was not completely unfamiliar.
And yet, during his drunken blaze of glory and his subsequent drag back to reality, Maevaris’s entire world had fallen and shattered. He had avoided writing this letter long enough with the excuse he could not think of what to say in the face of such a thing. He allowed himself only long enough to take a sip of his wine before forcing himself to continue.
I heard about Thorald. I wish I could at least say I came away from my time obsessing with Alexius knowing which words lessen grief, but I cannot. He was a good man taken far too soon. I wish I had not allowed Alexius and I’s hopeless endeavor to keep me from spending much time with him - I know he made you happy. The chantry brothers will tell you to be grateful for the time you had together, but to have so little with him and to lose him so suddenly is a kind of agony I cannot imagine.
He hoped she would not relate this to Felix’s sickness, if she replied. It was not the same. He refused to say it was.
I will not speak much upon this subject in case you believe it to be false, and if it is I apologize, you can imagine how difficult it is to judge the credibility of rumors one hears on the street or through locked doors - but there has been mention of the possibility that this was not an accident. It is tragedy regardless whether or not this is the case, but if you believe it might be - I am not foolish enough to think I could talk you out of vengeance, not after how thoroughly you dealt with your father’s betrayers, nor am I callous enough to wish to. All I ask of you is to be safe, Mae. I know you love him, but do not allow this to consume you or sully your reason. I beg of you, do not forget yourself.
I am sorry. I am sorry I did not write as soon as I heard. I am sorry.
Dorian let out a breath that emptied his chest. It did not feel right to speak of himself immediately after giving his condolences, but he knew she would at the very least be curious about his current circumstances. He compromised, and added it as a post scriptum after his signature.
P.S. - I write this from the room I grew up in in my father’s estate. Do not worry about me. I am well, albeit supplied with far less drink than I would like. I am unsure of how long it will be until I am permitted to leave - no doubt my family is desperately searching for some rehabilitation group willing to take in the infamous scion of House Pavus, let alone capable of bending him into shape and making him a honorable citizen of Tevinter and worthy of his future seat in the glorious Magisterium - but I promise that, if you wish to write, I will reply. Be well.
Dorian cleaned his pen and set it aside, screwed the inkwell shut, drained his glass, and with the weight of words unsaid lifted from his shoulders for the moment, he moved to a more comfortable chair to read as the ink dried.
Chapter 2: The Final Conversation
Notes:
Did I say weekend? I meant barely-even-Friday. Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Dorian’s mind had been restless nearly all day. It was a problem he occasionally had, often without any discernible cause and otherwise easily triggered by seemingly meager things, and normally the solution came easily as walking. Literally: on worse days he’d stroll all through town and do any errands he had until his mind was too tuckered out to scamper off every page he set it on and wander its way into spirals, and on better days a simple jaunt to the park and back would leave him good as new.
Granted, it wasn’t always an accessible solution. It hadn’t worked very well, for example, whenever he was stuck at a Circle or in a tutor’s lesson (more than one personal tutor had refused to come back on account of Dorian's milling about and fidgeting, much to Halward's ire). But otherwise, it was easy, it was enriching, it satisfied his desire to explore, it gave him a fantastic ass, and it worked wonders at keeping him sane.
Until now, being locked in a single room with little contact with the outside world hadn’t actually been as bad as he would have thought, ignoring that first day or two of screaming himself hoarse, battering against his door and windows, and wringing himself of mana trying to escape, and the following week spent in bed recovering from achingly numb exhaustion. It was lonely, perhaps - Dorian didn't think himself some bullish extrovert but even he was beginning to miss conversation and meeting people - but for most of his time here he had done rather well, he thought.
Right now, though? Now he thought he might claw his way through the walls like a mad fucking dog.
It was evening by the time Dorian had managed to sit down and read without his attention drifting away every other paragraph. It helped a little; it was stupid Orlesian romance, foolish and slightly smutty, and he had read it before some years ago, but the mindlessness of it was lovely compared to the tangents his train of thought kept driving itself toward.
A knock interrupted his focus. He had half a mind to throw his book at the door as a suggestion for them to leave, but that’d mean losing his spot, and so he waited for whoever was there to announce their purpose as he stared blankly at the sentence he’d left off on.
Seconds passed, and there was nothing, which meant this was not a servant bringing him food or collecting laundry.
Dorian took in a deep breath. Wet his lips, straightened up in his seat. He could count on one hand how many times his family had visited him in this room in the past couple months, and it had always been his father, and it had never been pleasant even when both of them played at pleasantries. Truly, the only evidence he had of his mother even being in the same house as him was this morning’s argument between his parents - he hadn’t been able to make any of it out, but the fact he could hear even a murmur of the distant shrieking and hollering through the thick walls of the house was a testament to its volume.
Maker knew what his father wanted, but Dorian was torn in two as to what to be grateful for: the fact he might be able to convince him to send out his letter to Mae, or how he might finally have a way to let off some steam.
“Yes?”
“May I come in, Dorian?”
Despite everything, Dorian smirked. First time he had ever asked him for permission to do anything in his life. “You may,” he said, feigning boredom.
The sigils drawn around the entryway crackled as the door opened and Halward stepped through. The brief opportunity was alluring - an opening for a break for freedom - but he hadn’t tried it after that first day, and he wouldn’t try it now: the servants that served as his lifeline didn’t deserve the ire they’d receive for letting him escape if he pushed past one of them, and at this moment, even though he was a stronger mage than his father, if he just charged at him the man had enough power to force him back for long enough to shut the door and lock him within once more.
Of course, Dorian could strike first, gain the upper hand. It was a straight line from him to the just-open-enough door, broken only by his father standing between him and liberty. All the sigils did were reinforce any possible exits and keep any spell cast from leaving this room; once Halward crossed the threshold, there would be nothing to stop Dorian from calling upon his own magic to slam into the man and throw him backwards into the hall. While he regained his breath and got back onto his feet, Dorian would be halfway to the stables. He'd be free.
But even though the Pavuses were a family of tall and strongly built people, no amount of fine breeding or high pedigree could change the fact that his father was gaining in age. His back in particular gave him trouble, especially when it stormed, and there had been rain this morning, freezing cold judging from how the chill had seeped through the window. Not even boiling anger or desperation could make Dorian run the risk of harming him.
Halward nearly shut the door behind him out of force of habit before remembering that’d lock both of them in, and he instead left it barely ajar. He looked upon him for a moment, then turned his gaze elsewhere, exhaling through his nose.
He looked… tired. More so than he’d seen him in a long time. Dorian wondered if his earlier squabble with Aquinea might have left him drained, since it’d been an even longer time since he’d heard them yell and shout like that, but it still did not give him any hope for what was to come.
Dorian dogeared his page and closed the book with a loud and perhaps dramatic clap. “If you’re going to interrupt me, you can at least be polite and be quick about it.”
“I… need to speak with you.”
“Oh, and I thought you were just here to admire the furniture.”
The quip didn’t succeed in getting Halward to look up from what he was apparently so captivated with: the old writing desk Dorian had had in his room for as long as he could remember, well before he could use it. He slowly scanned over the few baubles Dorian had collected in his years - most of them gifts from Felix, given to him when he’d come back from school in Orlais or vacation in Antiva - and the envelope that laid on the desktop, the green wax that sealed it dried and printed with the family crest from when it’d been stamped yesterday evening.
Suddenly, even to himself, Dorian snapped, “So, out with it.”
Halward didn’t react to the sharpness of his voice, but he did raise his head and finally look at him again. All his movements were terribly slow. “You cannot keep doing this, Dorian.”
“And what are we referring to exactly? My living a life separate from yours,” he tossed the novel into a clear spot in the set of shelves he sat near, its hard cover banging against wood as it nearly bounced out and fell to the ground, “or my sitting here rereading every book on my shelf thrice over in the room you’ve locked me in?”
A line flickered deeper between Halward’s brows. “This hostility isn’t needed.”
“Blasted mercenaries weren’t needed either.”
“We have already had this conversation. You know why I had to collect you.”
“First of all you insisted on having this conversation again, and second of all, no, I truly don’t know why you felt like it was an obligation of yours to hire thugs to ransack someone’s house and kidnap me!”
His voice was rising too quickly, and Dorian forced himself to stop and collect himself. They had spoken about this before - or, rather, Dorian had screamed about it through the door, and Halward had spoken down to him like there was no reason to be so hysterical - so bringing it up again probably wouldn’t bring any more satisfying result. He was rearing for a fight, but he wanted a fight he could win.
He closed his eyes, pressed cool fingers to his temple and took a steadying breath. “Just say what you need to say, father. I’m getting tired of waiting,” he said lowly.
Halward seemed relieved, almost, though the exhaustion in his features barely let any expression through. “Tired of waiting for me to get to the point, or beyond that?” he said, head tilting, and Dorian thought the quirk of his lips might be the beginning of a smile. The utter glower Dorian gave him was enough to wipe any attempt at amusement from his face, and Halward continued without trying to get Dorian to lighten up again. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t enjoy seeing you like this. If I thought I could, I would lift these wards this second. Believe me, it brings me no joy to see you locked like a bird in a cage.”
Dorian had promised himself to hold his temper for the moment, but he couldn’t help being snippy. “You couldn’t? I knew your magic wasn’t anything to boast about, but those wards shouldn’t be so difficult to break from the outside.”
Halward frowned. “However,” he said, raising his voice for that first word before it softened again, “I cannot stand by and watch you destroy yourself. This path you are on, have been on for years, is dangerous.” Dorian scoffed and stood up, turning to face his bookshelf and thumb through his collection, but Halward continued and spoke to his back. “You are suffering. I cannot allow that. I want to help, but every attempt I make you push away.”
Dorian spun around and almost spat. “I push them away, father, because they aren’t help, they’re attempts at recasting who I am. What’s that analogy you used? Bird in a cage? You keep shoving me into smaller and smaller ones and expecting I’ll fold myself in two in order to fit!”
Halward raised his brows and spread out his arms, as if he was confused by his anger, and Dorian seethed at even the gesture. “And what am I to do? Leave you to your own devices? I am tired of fearing you might be dead in an alleyway every time you are gone from the house. At least for the time being I can have some peace of mind and know that you are safe.”
“Oh, well isn’t that nice? I’m glad to hear my imprisonment relieves you so.”
“My point is, I cannot allow you to leave until you promise to change your ways, Dorian, for your own sake. For as long as I am uncertain you will even survive if left alone, you will stay.”
Dorian stared at Halward for a moment. It was not like his father to make him lost for words.
Despite himself Dorian laughed, soft and astonished. “What a way to come out and say it.”
Halward acted like he didn’t know the gravity of what he asked. He just acted tired, and Dorian was beginning to grate at his weary look. “What other choice do I have anymore. Please; I have tried again and again to reason with you. You need to begin to take on your duties, you cannot continue to pretend you can escape them by running. Whatever you need, whatever support you require, I will give it, gladly, but I cannot—”
“That’s what it takes to get your support, is it. Promising to become just like you? Fall into your shadow perfectly and pretend I enjoy it, that I’m grateful for all you’ve done to me?”
“I have given you support! I fought with professors and grand enchanters to get you the best education I could manage despite your consistent delinquency, I drained my purse to ensure you’d have what you need to thrive, because I made the mistake of assuming you would eventually take advantage of it.”
“I didn’t ask for you to pay ridiculous tuition fees for the strictest school you could find that’d beat me into shape! I didn’t ask for any of that! All I wanted was for you to listen to me, and you never did! Still, now!”
“I have listened! I’ve tried to compromise and you refuse, you want your way only and will tantrum like a child until you get it no matter the cost! All I ask—!”
“All you ask of me is to turn into someone else!” Dorian shouted, and he hated, hated how hot his face felt, hated how his voice cracked, and most of all despised how easily his father had wound him up and tore him down to this point, and how he stared at him now with wide, offended, bewildered eyes. “You ask me to marry, to subject some hapless girl to being trapped with a man who has to keep the lights off and his eyes shut every time he lays with her! To set aside all my ideals - everything you taught me - so I can maybe get some meaningless tax reform I sponsored signed before I pass my seat on! To spend every day surrounded by matters I don’t care about and people I loathe! To raise a child the exact same way you raised me and pretend that as long as they can hold up my torch in their ruler-whipped hand I did a good job! I did my duty, and now I get to die, and I should be satisfied! Grateful!
“And all the while,” he spat, hands moving frantically, clenching and unclenching and waving in the air, “I pretend that I’m happy! I pretend everything’s perfect and lovely and I wouldn’t wish for anything more or less! I’m living the life of my dreams, what every Tevinter citizen aspires to!” He’d been pacing, stumbling around in lopsided circles, and now he stopped and faced him, uttered words dark and deliberate. “No father, I am not a happy man. I’m not happy here, and I wouldn’t be outside. But at least - at the very least - I can say I’m not as fucking miserable and pathetic as you.”
His words were bitter on his own tongue, but it was worth it to see his father’s glacial facade crack.
His mouth twitched. His arms were stiff at his sides, his face was dark, and his breaths came like the slide of steel against leather. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “Dorian Pavus,” he said lowly, “you have brought your name disgrace time and time again. You cannot continue like this.”
“Good,” Dorian said, and he knew he sounded like a petulant child now, but as far as he cared this conversation was already over. He turned back to his books and pretended to continue going through them. “Better to not continue at all than become just another Pavus, if that’s what it takes.”
“Do you not hear yourself? Did you not hear me?” Halward's frigid mask suddenly fell apart, and Dorian flinched as the man barked, enraged, “You cannot continue like this; you no longer have a choice to! You bring disgrace, to everyone in this family, to everyone who has called you their friend only to have you spit in their face when they show you compassion! I had to convince your mother to even take you here and save you from yourself! She didn’t think it was worth the effort!” Dorian turned around, slowly, and gawked at how rage had twisted his face into something he almost didn’t recognize as his father. “You mither about pretending?! You pretend your - your conceits are more important than your country and family name!”
Halward bellowed, his magic flaring hot in the room and nearly erupting into flame, “I will not have a son who goes down in history as a laughing stock! No son of mine will continue on providing nothing to this country but shame!”
The words hung heavy in the thick, static-filled air. As they stared at one another, the angry lines between Halward’s brows and around his mouth smoothed. For a second, Dorian almost wondered if he looked remorseful.
Then he straightened up, and his face fell into stone once more. His words were hoarse, and tranquil, and tired. “Do you understand?”
Dorian’s mind swayed as if he were standing under a ship deck and rocked by the ocean. His hand lowered where it hovered over a novel, and settled on the wood of its shelf.
“Yes, father,” he said. His voice came out subdued, but he did not allow it to carry even the smallest hint of concession. “I understand perfectly.”
He turned around and tried once again to return to his pretend task, though all he could manage was to drag a thumb over the spines of novels and books as if searching for which one to choose by texture alone. Behind him he heard Halward lingering, not moving yet. It took him nearly a minute to finally hear his footsteps as he drifted away towards the door. Through his daze and the confusing buzz of his mind, a thought came to him. He nearly didn't voice it.
“Father.”
The footsteps paused. Dorian glanced over his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye and saw that he had stopped just before shutting the door behind him.
His gaze fell again. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself away from the shelves and straightened up to his full height, stiff-backed. He crossed the room to his desk, his own footfalls sounding too loud in the otherwise silent room even with socked feet, to collect the letter he'd left there. Then he turned and stood in front of Halward. He held it out to him, and looked him in the eye.
“This is for Maevaris Tilani. It’s about her dead husband,” he said, his words blunt and his expression all but blank as his own mask, usually reserved for times in court where amiability but not weakness was ignored, slipped on. “She needs to get it. Read it if you want - if it’s gotten to the point I can’t even give someone my sympathies without you looking over my shoulder, go ahead - just reseal it and send it when you’re done.”
Halward hesitated before reaching out the door and taking the letter from his outstretched hand. He scanned over the front of it, scrutinizing, like he was searching for something.
“She needs to get it,” Dorian said again, slower and more forcefully. “Send it.”
Halward was silent for another few seconds before he nodded. “I will,” he said without looking at him, something strange in his voice. He pulled away. As the door clicked shut the sigils' light shuddered once more, then settled down into their soft, orange-tinted glow.
Dorian was left alone standing in front of that locked door, feeling numb and wishing keenly to know which address to write to so that he might hear from Felix as well.