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When Dorian had walked into the Commander’s office with a basket of snacks and a bottle of wine he didn’t expect a box to fly over his head and hit the doorframe behind him. Cullen completed pacing length of his desk, piled high with documents and melted candle wax. The smell of lyrium in the room from a broken vial near the door.
“Maker’s breath! Can a man not be left alone to think?” The Commander takes a deep breath but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. “Dorian. Forgive me. I am not very good company at the moment.”
“You’re hardly the first person I’ve met weaning off lyrium, Commander.” Dorian tries to keep his voice neutral if not calm. “Though I regret not paying attention to the aftermath at the time, rare as it was.”
Calisarcas had stopped looming on his shoulder, thank the maker, his daemon knew how to hide their reactions well, a hard won lesson in a place as unforgiving as the upper nobility of Tevinter, but he seemed more open around his steadily growing circle of friends.
“It might not be widely known here in the south, but if a non-mage were to use lyrium for a long period of time it weakens your bond with your daemon. It makes you more compliant to authority, but you know of the most obvious effects-- the madness, the memory loss, or the loss of self entirely if one is dosed enough for a long period of time.” Losing your sense of self was a terrible way to way to live. At least Tranquils are able to still hold and recognize their daemons, lyrium addicts too far gone couldn’t even see their daemons, even if they were touching.
“It used to be an old practice in Orlais and Tevinter, fifty or so years ago, to make slaves more docile with doses of lyrium. It was outlawed in the same year they outlawed blood magic, not to say that there are some that practice it in secret, of course.”
“Forgive me, when we first met, I assumed… you were like other Templars who no longer cared for their daemons. You don’t touch or speak to each other and I more often see her around Skyhold.” Calisarcas takes the basket from him, gliding across the room to the breakfast nook after a single flap of his wings to gain enough altitude. The breakfast nook, which the Inquisitor had insisted on installing, was a small table next to the window of Cullen’s office for “mandatory breaks.”
“It’s a… logical conclusion I assume, if you’re an outsider that knows nothing of our history.” Stray bits of hair are sticking out from Cullen’s normally well tended coif and the depreciating smile made the stress of his duties more obvious to how spread thin the man was now. The Commander’s daemon was well known to be stalking around Skyhold in the evenings. “She must like you then, if she allows you to see her outside of battle or training. Lucia wasn’t always a red mountain lion, despite the whole “Lion of Skyhold” moniker that the troops insist on calling me.”
“Well, your coat says very much otherwise, Commander.”
“Oh, this was actually a trophy from my Hunter’s Day ceremony. Lucia settled as a white mabari that night. We took down the beast together, a yearling that had wandered too far from the mountain top, and just like that I was on my way to becoming a Templar a few days after. My sister sent this to me after I left Kirkwall, she said I needed something from home.”
“I can agree with that sentiment. You look like you’ve had a long day.” Dorian leaned his staff next to the door. “This conversation would certainly be better with some food and wine yes? I’m fairly certain a few bites of this and that at midday don’t constitute a real meal.”
“I would appreciate the distraction then, though forgive me if I’m not in the best shape to entertain you tonight.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something Commander.”
---
The only thing more Fereldan than a mabari is a dragon.
It is not unheard of for a Daemon to settle more than once in a person’s life. It’s common among soldiers during time of war or people that have experienced a great tragedy and it changes them, fundamentally, forever. However, what is unheard of is someone, barely two decades old, to settle for a second time barely a year after the first.
Into a dragon no less.
There was an unspoken status quo in Tevinter. Elves, free or not, have Daemons befitting of their station, namely something small and inconspicuous enough to hide on their person such as a mouse or squirrel. Mages on the other hand were known for their Daemons to settle much later in life and it usually coincides either before or after their Harrowing. Some researchers suspect that because Daemons have settled so late is why most mages have a Daemon range far wider than others and with Mages of great power, typically from the old families, may not even have a range at all.
In Tevinter, at least for the higher nobility, Daemons were tools that spoke of status. To been and not heard, a tool to ally to any Mage’s magic. Many Daemons were decorated with their mage’s runes and protective spells, to be more strength than weakness in battle.
The nobility’s daemons will almost always settle as the form of a beast, predatory in nature or opulent in their beauty. The older families daemon’s also follow a set pattern, a good guess usually based on the family crest.
Dorian could never forget that one day, the day of his Harrowing when upon waking he saw his father full of pride and saying so, announcing to the room where the Circle of Magi were present to witness the prodigy of the Pavus family undergo his Harrowing. Dorian in all his happiness, bowed and expressed his thanks to all those present with his Daemon in the form of a bearded vulture by his side, a symbol of both beauty, strength, and a connection to his affinity for necromancy. Anything. Anything to make his father proud.
Of course, that was too easy if the story ended there.
It was barely the dawn of the next day, hours after he retired to his room after much celebrating as fitting for the heir of the house of Pavus and rumored to be the next Archon, when the happy warm feeling in his chest to settle into an artic dread as cold as death herself. Calisarcas had not settled as a bearded vulture, instead he had settled into a blue jay. Beautiful yes, known for their intelligence and cunning, yes. But.
A Pavus would always have a bird of prey. Always.
Halward’s golden eagle loomed even larger than Dorian had ever seen, betraying his father’s fury. “Dorian, boy, what is this?”
There were many things his father had chosen to overlook in Dorian’s life. His choice of lovers. His choice of school of magic. His life of debauchery. Those things could easily be covered up with well placed rumors and enough coin but there would be no changing the one thing aside from Dorian himself that betrayed his true nature and that was his Daemon. Better to have none than one that was such an obvious sign of weakness.
So, Halward decided to do what was best for all of them.
In theory, Dorian knew of the ritual to increase his range with his Daemon. It was after all, useful to have an extension of yourself executing your will elsewhere or hiding the most vulnerable part of yourself where your enemies may not reach him. In letter, it was forbidden on par with blood magic but same as blood magic, there were practitioners but only the old families with no written record is kept. However, with the sheer pain required for the ritual, most of the old families that still practiced this would only separate a person and their Daemon for only two kilometers at most, deeming this acceptable range to continue the illusion that the strongest of Mages had no ranges.
Of course, the Pavus were not known to do things the easy way. There was a reason why all Pavus men had large avian Daemons, anything smaller won’t survive being flown to the edge of the world and fly back.
Instead of this ritual happening 3-5 years from now. 3-5 years worth or preparation: for Dorian to meditate and center himself, to get to know his magic on a more intimate level, for Dorian and Calisarcas to learn this form he has settled in and what it means. Instead, his father is here now, barely a day after his Harrowing, locking Dorian in his room and saying it is time with his own Daemon never looking so large and menacing, holding Calisarcas in her talons. Only by virtue of experience and not raw magical strength does Halward restrain his son. On a good day, Dorian has a range of at least 20 feet now he can’t even bare the distance of his door between them.
Halward takes them to his study, the woven wooden sphere cage already enchanted and waiting. Another relic from the family vaults, designed to hold a smaller daemon, to ensure they are forced to shift into a much larger form to be able to escape. Calisarcas struggles but the small blue jay has no strength or cunning to save him.
His father’s Daemon flies out of the Pavus home, high into the cloud cover and into the right air currents as she had been flown once by Lord Kelso’s Daemon, Cecilia almost a lifetime ago. She holds the small sphere tightly in her claws as she makes the flight to the edge of the world.
Dorian spends the first few hours screaming himself hoarse, scratching at the doors until his nails are broken and bleeding before he turns to destroying everything in his room. The small space inside his chest is growing into a chasm as his Daemon is taken further and further from him. Cold. It becomes so cold. If Dorian were to undergo his Harrowing again, he would give his body to the first Daemon to promise to end this pain.
He wants to call fire to his hands. He wants to burn down this Manor that has been here for generations, but his soul is hurt and he can barely even call his magic to him. Instead, he crawls towards the direction he feels his soul is flying to, to the window he has thrown open hours before only to find a barrier keeping him from escaping.
Come back to me.
Even with the aircurrents, it takes a half a day to reach the edge of the world. A deep chasm in the Earth, shrouded in shadow and mist where even the end could not be seen. This of course, would have been the end of the journey. Gloria should have left the little sphere here at the edge of the cliff but instead she drops it into the void and waits.
And waits.
Finally, as expected she hears the sound of wood breaking but what she does not expect is the roar that follows it. Out of the void comes a gold and emerald dragon that roars again in her face before beating it wings harder to gain altitude where the air currents that will take him home could be found.
Calisarcas made it back in under three hours. He was almost as large as Dorian now, from the edge of his snout to the tip of his tail. They wrapped around each other and simply clung, waiting for the burning cold void inside themselves to temper and stop.
Dorian would not leave his room for days and when he did, despite Calisarcas’ size, had managed to wrap himself around Dorian’s torso with his tail curled around his waist. Dorian had ruined several coats and leather armor to create a harness around his body to make it safer for Calisarcas to perch on him because each of his claws were as large as Dorian’s fingers now.
What he made now would suffice until he was able to commission something better.
It was not the fact that Dorian’s Daemon changed so soon after his Harrowing but the fact is was a dragon. The only time a dragon Daemon has ever been recorded was the time of Derinius’ own dragon daemon, Israel**. While this was not what Halward intended, he was pleased with the results in the form of the rumors of Dorian’s potential place as Archon become stronger.
That was of course, until Dorian disappeared a few nights after Halward announced his betrothal to Livia Herathinos.
Dorian was not sure what was worse, the fact that his Daemon was kidnapped the day after his Harrowing or the fact that his father wanted to change him again with a blood ritual. For duty he said. For the greater good he said.
-----
Every week Dorian would sit down with Calisarcas and polish his scales until they were gleaming. After, he would renew the runes and protection spells around him. Recently, they had acquired a collar for the talismans they’ve been receiving.
In Tevinter, the equivalent might be allowing a parent or lover to paint a protection rune on your daemon but it wasn’t a popular practice among the nobles. There was too much risk a deceitful partner to put a curse or something similar.
Unlike Tevinter, in the South there was a custom that Daemons would wear a harness or a collar to hold talismans or mementos from friend and family. It was considered a high honor if your friends or family’s soul wore your gift, usually to mark a special milestone or relationship. He had one from Cullen, one from Bull and one from the Inquisitor. It surprised him sometimes, how open people were here in the South. Daemons would greet each other, touch noses or something similar, their body language open and friendly for the most part, with their humans openly speaking with them.
---
It was a rare afternoon before their daily chess match that Dorian as was able to convince Cullen to take a break for lunch, tempting him with an ale and mutton pie he was able to charm from the kitchen.
“Cullen, will you allow me to paint a protection rune on Lucia?”
“If Lucia would consent, yes I would be honored, Dorian.” Cullen smiled at him.
He and his Daemon were slowly getting acquainted again, there was still too much between them, but that gap was shrinking slowly. She was still very much her own creature but she would sit with him for a few hours each day off the battlefield, sometimes speaking or touching, which was more than they had before.
And if the song of Lyrium became cutting, he would reach for his growing bond with her, warm and all encompassing inside him, would be enough to remind him why it was worth fighting.