Chapter Text
The eleven-year-old magical prodigy steps over bodies in his silks and makes his way to a settee by a windowsill. Whether they were dead or blackout drunk, he couldn’t say and all the red stains certainly didn’t help, but after all, it was a Tevinter wedding. His cousin, Jasecca Thalrassian, was getting married to some Free Marcher, so the whole of Northeast Thedas decided to show up at their estate.
All Dorian had wanted to do today was read his copy of the Liberalum that his mother urged his father to borrow from the Magisterium Library when they were last in Minrathous. He was astounded she could persuade his father to, that man was determined to make his life a living hell since he was expelled from the Circle at Carastes two years back. It wasn’t as if Magister Amladaris’ son didn’t deserve those burns from his Chain Lightning spell, and in all honesty the lesions it caused that looked like Dalish vallaslin had only improved his appearance. The Grand Enchanter, however, had thought otherwise. Since then, he’d attended the Circle at Minrathous and had been through a slew of private tutors, who all, to his father’s dismay, hadn’t worked out. He was to be off to the Circle at Vyrantium in a few months' time, but Dorian had serious doubts that it would be anything different.
But today, today he had to be the noble son and paragon of House Pavus to the Thedosian aristocracy as opposed to the young pariah. He couldn't give two figs about how darling Felicia Erimond looked or how well her brother Livius was doing in the Circle. He didn’t care if one of the Lord Trevelyan’s sons killed the ninety-fourth Pentaghast in line for the throne. He just wanted to read in peace and quiet. But no, his “intended” Livia Herathinos thought it would be funny to steal the book and dare to tear the pages out unless he would dance with her.
The second she gave him back the tome he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the patio across the estate where many decadent nobles drank their fine wine over games of Wicked Grace. It was certainly more peaceful here, and there was no Livia or father to disturb him. Dorian wets his finger as he turns the page, and smiles to himself as he furiously reads each world hoping to unravel all the secrets of early Tevinter. As he lets out a sigh and scans the patio, he spots a young blonde boy in silks on a settee across the way, reading what looks to be a copy of The Malefica Imperio.
Upon seeing the offending piece of literature, if one could call it that, Dorian straightens his robes and approaches the blonde. He stands in front of the boy, waving his hand behind the book, but it does not distract the reader. Dorian gently pushes the book down, causing the blonde to look up at him astoundedly, which Dorian smirks at.
“If you wanted to hear about the evil ‘Vints you could just talk to us, no need to read garish attempts at history,” he says smugly to the wide-eyed reader he has disturbed.
The other boy squirms uncomfortably under his gaze, which Dorian allows himself to take a bit of pride in. He could enjoy himself at this party yet. The blonde replies, “I didn’t mean to offend, I was just—”
Dorian lets out a small laugh, “Reading propaganda against my homeland and in my own home? Rather bold for a Southerner.”
This seems to get the boy going, as he flares up in self-defense, “I’m a Free Marcher mind you, and no.” The boy gathers his thoughts before saying, “I was trying to acquaint myself with the area I was visiting, seeing as I’ve never been to Tevinter before and didn’t want to seem like a complete fool, Lord Pavus.”
“Well if you want to be educated as I said, there are better books,” Dorian says, taking the boy’s book out of his hands and plopping down next to him on the settee. The other boy looks at him incredulously and Dorian smirks as he examines him, “Blonde hair, charming eyes, Free Marcher, you must be one of the seven Lord Trevelyans I take it.”
“I would be the seventh, yes,” he says stifling a small laugh before extending his hand to Dorian, “Matthieu.”
Dorian takes his hand and firmly shakes it, “Dorian, the one and only, Lord Pavus, at your service, and before you ask, Magister Pavus is my father. You Southerners always get them mixed up, don’t you?”
As he speaks he can practically see Matthieu’s cheeks heat up in frustration, “But I said I’m from—”
“Yes, the Free Marches, as you so passionately put it,” he says dramatically. He wishes he could do something else but mercilessly tease the young lord right now. However, he’s having too much fun and fears he’ll lose the boy’s attention if he stops. If he does, Trevelyan will go back to that dreadful tome, and that is something he would not allow to occur. The sake of Tevinter’s reputation in the lord’s eyes was at stake, of course. It was quite ironic actually, that he was trying to keep someone else away from a book, which was the cause of his previous misery today. He, however, would not let Matthieu know that.
Matthieu counters with, “Do you take pride in frustrating me, Lord Pavus?”
“Of course, it’s not as if there’s anything else at this party to do.” The young Lord Trevelyan rolls his eyes which gets a small laugh out of the young Lord Pavus who has all but forgotten the Liberalum and its records of ancient magisters. Maybe he could thoroughly enjoy himself at a Tevinter party, just this once.
Dear Matthieu,
It has been a few weeks since I last heard from you and I am certain you must be undone by my absence. Getting adjusted to the Vyrantium Circle has been a complete and utter bore. The Enchanters here are incredibly dull and there’s not a single advanced thaumaturge here with fascinating research! Castrates, the hell that it was at least had that. Please pray to the Maker for me, he certainly isn’t listening to my devotions.
Did you receive my parcel yet? The actual histories of Tevinter I sent are immensely better reading material than The Malefica Imperio. I found Lord Rodney Pierce’s Tales and Legends of the Free Marches a riveting read, and upon reading its contents you must promise to allow me to accompany you at the next Grand Tourney. I will not accept a no on this matter.
I had been meaning to tell you my family is doing Satinalia in Minrathous as opposed to Antiva this year. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms with the Valisti family at the moment so staying at their estate is out of the question. Would you like to grace your holiday with my presence and visit the capital instead of wasting away in Antiva City? My parents are open to your visit and I’m certain the Montilyets and your family will not mind.
Mother is beside herself that I have a friend my age who I haven’t terrorized with my magic. Not that I do not terrorize you, but you seem to rather enjoy it. Regardless, it is altogether more pleasant to have you by my side and I eagerly await your response.
Charming as ever,
Dorian
Dear Dorian,
I am sorry I have robbed you, as it seems you are the one undone by my presence, dear friend. I am hesitant to admit that the desperation is unbecoming, but we shall remedy the issue soon enough. I am sorry to hear the new Circle is not up to your monumental standards and hope you can find your place there soon. If there are no thaumaturges, it seems as if the self-proclaimed prodigy of House Pavus must rise to the occasion. You are no doubt up to the challenge, I presume?
I did in fact receive your parcel and did my reading so you do not scold me. I learned my lesson the first time and would rather not repeat it. The book on the Imperial Chantry was fascinating to say the least, I am beside myself you found a way to get me a banned book without it having been confiscated. You should have seen the look on Thom’s face when we read it together under the cover of night. If the servants find it and I get in trouble, I’m blaming it on your corrupting influence.
Speaking of, I shall be spending the holidays with you as you wish. I asked my father to relay a message to yours to see if there is room enough in your apartments for the whole clan. We all enjoyed our time in Qarinus and it would do for a nice change of pace. I’m sure you must be heartbroken you will not have me all to yourself as you wished, but it is a good compromise.
Please let me know if you have any recommendations for me as we make preparations for the trip. I do not wish to embarrass myself in Tevinter society again as I did at the Thalrassian wedding, and I know you would be more than willing to lecture me.
Eagerly awaiting your thoughts,
Matthieu
In the middle of Minrathous’ hanging gardens, Dorian pushes his emerald encrusted black and gold mask in place with one hand and holds tightly to the Free Marcher noble’s in another. The young Lord Matthieu Trevelyan, wearing a gold and white mask that sparkles with pieces of sapphire, is dragging the Altus. The gardens are alight with magic, as the sun had already fallen on this year’s Satinalia and the stars were out. The sounds of festivities can faintly be heard from the apartments overlooking the Gardens, but here, things are more peaceful.
They have been wandering for an hour or so ago after the feast in the Pavus’ Minrathous apartments. The alcohol-induced adults started discussing marriage arrangements and the latest gossip in Thedosian aristocratic circles. When his mother began speaking of his intended, Livia Herathinos, he had taken it as a cue to leave with Matthieu. He wanted to give the two of them a chance to be alone before the Trevelyans head back to Ostwick on the morrow.
He completely forgot to get Matthieu a gift in his insanity adjusting to the Vyrantium Circle, so he offered Matthieu an evening tour of the city’s gardens. What he lacked in planning, he certainly made up in poise as he had presented Matthieu with a yellow rose during said proposal, which was now pinned to the blonde’s lapel. Well, he is supposed to be giving the tour, but the wide-eyed Free Marcher seems to have other plans. Like an excited Mabari, Matthieu has been running from plot to plot to stroke the petals and taking in the smells of what seems like every flower in sight.
When they take a break from meandering, they find a bench where Matthieu hands the Altus half of an extra sugar-drizzled lemon cake smuggled from the feast. As they nibble on the delicacy, Matthieu tries to flaunt his knowledge, pointing out several constellations in the sky. He only messes up once, confusing Draconis and Satinalis, which the Altus does not let him live down. Sitting here, with a dear friend, is a simple joy he has not come to expect, but one he is grateful for.
For what seems like hours, but is merely a short while, they jovially discuss their Satinalia spoils. At one point, Matthieu exclaims, “Maker, I had almost forgotten,” as he frantically searches his satchel out of what seems to be nowhere. He pulls out a small parcel and extends it towards Dorian with a shy smile. Matt isn’t usually this reserved? This is strange . He raises an eyebrow to the Free Marcher who urges him to take it. And so he does.
Gently undoing the silken ribbon, the fabric falls to reveal a small wooden statuette of a duck with little wheels on it. Confused as to if this is a prank or not, he eyes Matthieu and asks, “Matt, you do know I’m older than you? What am I to do with this?”
“The craftsman is teaching me to woodwork as a way to better myself. It’s the first decent thing I’ve made and thought to give it to you,” he says, not making eye contact with the Altus and fiddling with his fingers. Dorian can sense a flush on the boy’s face but the mask obscures too much to tell, which is frankly disappointing. It is already hard enough to see the noble’s bright blue eyes behind the blighted thing.
Matthieu puffs up his chest and lets out an anxious laugh. Dorian can tell he’s desperately trying to cover his nerves with sass so as to not flounder: it’s quite adorable. He continues, “I’m sorry if it’s not up to your impossibly high standards. I—”
The gift, in all its bizarreness, is quite charming and extremely Matthieu. His holidays are always filled with the best finery that coin can buy, but never with things this thoughtful or made directly for him. As silly as it is, this is different and he cannot help but feel heartwarmed, as unbecoming as it may sound.
Dorian gently places a hand on Matt’s and gives him a smile. Not a smile filled with snark or charm, but a genuine one, to ensure Matthieu gets his meaning. “Hush now, I adore it,” he offers, before quickly adding, “It just radiates that dreadfully rustic Southron charm of yours.”
When Matthieu scoffs at him, a playful smirk crosses the Tevinter’s face. It seems as if his dear friend has returned to normal from whatever state he had been in. “Consider you miss my barbarism on the daily, you’ll shan’t miss it now when I’m gone,” Matthieu smugly retorts.
“Such a pity and here I was just starting to forget it,” Dorian counters, which earns him a light elbow in the side from Matthieu.
“Sod off. You know you could never, Dor” Matthieu lightly snorts as he gets off the bench. Smiling down at him Matthieu extends a hand out to help him up, “Come now, it’s getting late and we don’t want our parents to think anything uncouth.”
Dorian, this time the one slightly beside himself, takes Matthieu’s hand. He allows the blonde to get him to his feet and before he can say anything, he’s dragged by the hand towards the family apartment. Matthieu bounds ahead of him with a spring in his step, but does not loosen his tight grip on their entwined hands. They must look completely foolish, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.
He’s glad that Matthieu is ahead of him and cannot see the light flush he feels spreading across his face. Only Matt would have thought to give him such an intimately personal yet utterly ridiculous gift for the holiday. The Trevelyan is certainly right about one thing though. The more time he spends with the lord the harder it is to forget him and his insufferable charm.
Dear Dorian,
I hope this letter finds you well, if at all. I had a dreadful time trying to figure out which Circle you were at, considering I received a ‘contrite’ reply that you were not a student anymore at the Vyrantium Circle. What have you done this time?
Things in Ostwick have been well. Did you receive word my brother Seamus is marrying the Teyrn’s daughter? We all had thought he’d make nothing of himself, but here he is doing better than the rest of the lot. I’ve received word that Michel is enjoying his time in the Order at Ansburg of late, but I pray I will not be next. I think I’m not oafish enough to be a Templar. I’m more of the bookish mage type, that would be if magical abilities did manifest and mages weren’t blasted prisoners here.
I do hope I will see you again soon. It has been what? Six months now, and as charming as your letters are, they are incredibly dull in comparison to your presence. You must come to the Teyrn’s palace for Seamus’ wedding, it will be a bore without you criticizing us Southron heathens.
Your ever dull friend,
Matthieu
Dear Matthieu,
I am appalled that you think it was I who did something at the Vyrantium Circle to warrant my expulsion. You know just as well as I how perfect and incapable of wrongdoing I am. The vengeful spirit I summoned agreed with me, the administration did not. Until the great Magister Halward Pavus finds another Circle suitable for his son, I am to train under a Nevarran tutor. Maker help me.
Dreadfully sorry for Seamus, I would not wish that fate upon anyone, but I will, however, attend your party for the sap, if father allows it. I know at least my mother will be eager to get us out of Qarinus, she has redecorated the estate three times since we’ve returned from Minrathous.
If your household’s blind loyalty to the Ostwick Chantry and the Templar robs me of my dearest friend, I don’t think I could ever forgive them. They’ll have to see the true power of a Tevinter Altus when he is displeased. Our shared, although distant, bloodline has strong magical capacity, I am altogether surprised that none of you Trevelyans have magical proficiency. If you do, however, you must tell me immediately and privately so that we can whisk you away to the wondrous Tevinter Circles of Magi. I’d certainly rather you attend than me.
I had no idea you had been so grief-stricken since the Pentaghast funeral by my loss. I will make sure to entertain you in the South when I visit. Expect our appearance at the Teyrn’s estate but ensure the servants prepare something palatable for me, would you?
Your ever charming and closest friend,
Dorian
As much as he was enjoying the wedding banquet, he was not enjoying Matthieu’s attitude with him today. As much as he adored the younger Trevelyan lord, he could be incredibly clingy at events. This passion, however, he did not expect from the studious boy, especially at his own family’s event. “Andraste’s tits, you’re an ass. Do you know that or are you too busy preening yourself for my cousin to notice?”
Dorian would admit that the young lord Sebastian Vael was nothing if not handsome, anybody with eyes could do as much. Had he not been paying as much due attention to Matthieu as the boy would have wanted? Yes. But, they spent the past few days together and he wants to enjoy the ball with an exceedingly handsome face. It’s not as if his father is here to ever find out and his mother is likely already blacked out by now from the amount of alcohol she had consumed, again. This is his chance to try to explore whatever attractions he has been feeling that he isn’t allowed to back home without it likely coming back to haunt him, but apparently this would not slide with the Trevelyan lord.
“Me? Preening? Perish the thought. Is it my fault he’s charming?” Dorian retorts, earning him a glare from Matthieu. For good measure, he adds, “You Ostwick nobles can learn a thing or two about hospitality from them you know?”
Matthieu however is not pleased with him or his witty rapport tonight, “Maker, it’s your last night in Ostwick, and you’ve barely spoken to me.”
“Yes, and we have spent the whole of three days together. Certainly, I can be without you for a few hours, can’t I?” Dorian frowns, crossing his arms.
Matthieu lets out a frustrated sigh, “But you’re going back home and I don’t know when I’ll see you again, why can’t you make the most of this?”
He curtly retorts as he holds his head up high with a smirk, “I’m certainly trying to, Lord Trevelyan… which you so rudely interrupted.”
“You blighted bastard,” the young Lord Trevelyan mutters while giving the young Altus a shove. He expects Matthieu to become frustrated, what he does not expect is the small flames emanating from the boy’s palm. They sear a small hole in his robe as it catches, and he feels the heat burn against his shoulder.
He has not even registered what Matthieu had done, that he used magic. He was used to minor accidents that came up when anger flared between young mages. He had certainly shocked a few people with loose sparks in his day and had been on the receiving end of an untrained pyromancer’s outburst. It was almost second nature that he doesn’t realize the gravity of the young lord’s fiery outburst.
“Dearest Matthieu, I know you’re upset with me but was it necessary to burn me?” Dorian laughs off-handedly, as he brushes the small remaining flames away. He expects a witty retort but all he finds Matthieu furiously moving his gaze back and forth between his own cackling hand and Dorian’s slightly sizzled robes.
“It’s not that big of —” Dorian goes to say, but stops himself as he moves his eyes away from Trevelyan and towards the crowd gathered at the reception. Everyone is staring down the twelve-year-old blonde boy. The noble boy who had just become one of the most dangerous and hated people in the South: a mage.
At this rate, Dorian expects Matthieu wouldn’t even be able to stay the rest of the party with him, he would be taken to the Ostwick Circle immediately. Damn him, the young lord should have had the sense to blow up on him in private, then at least the could have avoided what was, in all honesty, Chantry imprisonment. Now, he would lose his best and only friend over a tiff he had instigated. Kaffas. This is exactly what he bloody needed.