Semper ad Meliora - Prologue

Title: Semper ad Meliora
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Pairing: Dorian Pavus/Idhren Lavellan, Idhren Lavellan/Tainan Lavellan

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Prologue; Endless Possibilities

And His Word became all that might be:
Dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.
     - Canticle of Threnodies 5:1


Vyrantium, Tevinter Imperium, 9:27 Dragon

The first time Idhren set foot outside his master’s estate he was thirteen years old, and he was to be granted freedom. Freedom was something that Idhren had never contemplated before, at least not seriously. He had been born a slave, and until a handful of days ago he had fully expected to live the rest of his life that way. That fact had never bothered him at all. In fact, Idhren thought that he was incredibly lucky. His master was not cruel; did not harm his slaves without reason, ensured that they were fed every day, and even allowed them a half-day of rest every week. Certainly, Idhren could have been born into the service of someone much worse.

And of course Idhren had magic.

Four years ago, at the age of nine, his gift had made itself known. He had been playing with his elder brother, Sahren, in the dirt yard outside the slaves’ quarters. Four years older, Sahren’s longer legs were always able to outrun Idhren’s, which made games of tag terribly frustrating. Especially when Sahren kept taunting him, letting Idhren get just close enough before dashing out of his reach again. In one last desperate attempt to catch his brother, Idhren leaped forward to tackle him, missed spectacularly, but found that somehow one of Sahren’s feet had been frozen to the ground.

The ice melted quickly in the oppressive Tevinter heat, but not fast enough to escape notice. That very day Idhren was removed from his family and herded into his master’s great estate. He was not so young that he did not realize what he had done. In Tevinter, everyone wanted to be a mage. Mothers prayed that their children would be gifted with magic. Anyone would consider Idhren lucky, but at the age of nine, standing in the great hall of his master’s gilded mansion for the first time in his life, being prodded and questioned by the human servants, Idhren did not feel lucky. He felt scared.

Idhren never returned to the little dirt and plaster hovel that his family lived in after that day. He was sent to live with the house slaves, he was given new chores, and he was ordered to spend five hours each day being tutored in magic by another slave.

Alvinius was also a mage. For twenty-five years he had served as the master’s assistant in matters that required magical knowledge. But he was getting old now, dark hair going grey at the temples. (Lucky, most slaves do not live long enough to see themselves grow old.) He was a good teacher, patient but strict. He taught Idhren to read and write and to control the power at his fingertips.

In four scant years Idhren surpassed the skill and power of his instructor. That was the first time he met his master.

He was tall, or so he seemed to Idhren at the time as the young elven slave stood ramrod straight in the library, barely over five feet tall and impossibly thin. In contrast, Magister Linus Canidius absolutely dwarfed the young elf in height, width, and magnificence. But Idhren’s eyes were fixed on the tips of his boots, dark polished leather and glistening golden buckles burnished to such a sheen Idhren could almost see his reflection in them.

“So this is the little apprentice I have heard so much about,” the magister’s voice was not harsh, but it was not gentle either. He sounded amused, if anything. “You are a wisp of a thing, aren’t you?” he asked, and Idhren wasn’t certain whether he was meant to respond. He had never spoken to a magister before, and had no idea how to address someone so high above his own station. “Come here; let me take a look at you.” A hand on his chin and Idhren’s head was lifted up, not harsh, but not gentle either. For the briefest of moments Idhren’s eyes met the magister’s, a deep brown betraying no emotion, and then he quickly looked elsewhere, fearing reprisal for even an accidental act of insolence. “Pretty little thing, too. Look at those eyes. Violet is such a rare color it’s a wonder you weren’t snatched out of the slave quarters earlier. There are people who would pay good money for this face.”

Idhren swallowed thickly, but remained silent. His mother always complimented his eyes, but it did not sound like a compliment coming from Canidius. A moment later his chin was released and the slave immediately dropped his gaze to the floor once more.

“Alvinius, where is his talent the strongest?” Canidius asked, stepping past Idhren to confer with his tutor as though the elven boy were not even in the room.

“Master, although his first emanations of magic were of frost, he has proven far more adept at storm magic, and seems quite perceptive of manipulations in the veil,” Alvinius answered in a voice that was low and curt. “His barriers are strong, but he has little to no talent for healing.”

“An elf with no talent for healing?” Canidius repeated in surprise. “That is shocking. And yet you informed me yesterday that he had passed your ability to instruct him. How can this be?”

Alvinius was very good at healing. Elves were all supposed to be good at creation and nature magic. That was what all the books said. But no matter how hard he tried, and no matter how much his instructor explained and demonstrated, Idhren simply couldn’t make the threads of mana flow the way they were supposed to. He couldn’t heal much more than a papercut, so it surprised him even more to think that Alvinius considered him talented.

“Master,” the elderly slave bowed his head in shame as he attempted to explain, “Perhaps the failure is mine, that I cannot explain the intricacies of creation magic in a way that the boy understands. He is most talented the schools of spirit and primal magics, as I have stated, and in these he has already surpassed my ability to instruct.”

The magister made a thoughtful noise, and Idhren heard a shuffling of papers that made him curious enough to raise his eyes from the floor and peek over. Canidius had picked up a sheaf of papers from the small table that Idhren usually used as a desk and was looking through them with apparent disinterest. After a moment he set the papers down again. “I’ve looked over the boy’s pedigree,” he commented. “It seems he comes from mixed stock. There is no trace of magic on his sire’s side as far back as anyone would care to look, but his mother, it seems, is half wild. The mother’s mother was taken from one of those wandering tribes, what do they call themselves?”

“Dalish, master,” Alvinius answered without hesitation. Every elf knew that.

“Yes, of course,” Canidius murmured thoughtfully. “That must be where the magic comes from. The blood will be incredibly dilute, however. You’re positively certain he has further potential?”

“Yes, master,” Alvinius replied. “For the past month he has been engaged in self-study, under my guidance and observation, of course. He reads and writes as though he has been taught since birth. In practice I have on occasion been unable to break his barriers. And his academic understanding of the veil is well above what I would expect of someone his age.”

“How very intriguing,” the magister mused. He turned back to Idhren and the elven boy immediately dropped his gaze back to the floor again. “Tell me, servus, how old are you?”

For a moment Idhren’s breath froze in his throat and he was unable to speak. His master addressed him personally, asked him a question. “Th-thirteen, master,” he eventually managed to stammer out.

“And how old when your magic first manifested?” Canidius questioned.

“Nine,” Idhren answered, “Master.”

“A decent enough age,” Canidius commented thoughtfully. “We will have to find him another tutor, if his studies are progressing this quickly. It will at least give you more time to attend to your own duties, Alvinius.”

“Thank you, master,” the elderly slave said quickly. Idhren had never considered that his training was an additional responsibility, and he felt a sudden guilt for having taken up so much of his tutor’s time. Not that Idhren had much choice in the matter. He only did as he was told.

“I will look into the matter. Until then, he may continue with self-study and regular training exercises,” Canidius said. He spared the small elven boy a last curious glance, then swept past him and out of the room. The heavy hardwood door closed behind him with heavy thud that made Idhren flinch slightly.

The young apprentice was then dismissed from his lessons for the remainder of the day. The prospect of a new instructor had Idhren excited. Although they were often difficult, he enjoyed his lessons. He enjoyed reading his master’s books on magical theory and practicing new spells under Alvinius’ watchful eye. But a new instructor would be able to teach him new things, help him where Alvinius could not. He wanted to run down to the slave quarters and tell his family, but they would all be working still. His mother toiling in the kitchens to prepare the master’s dinner, his father in the orchard on the hills, and his brother in the training yard with the master’s guards and gladiators. He would not be able to see them until their half-day of rest in five days time.

But it was a full week before Idhren heard anything more about the subject. And then it was not at all what he was expected.

The elven boy was pulled away from his regular duties in the library and given a brand new set of robes to wear, the nicest that he had ever worn. The fabric was still rough spun cotton, but it was new and dyed dark, tailored to fit him properly, almost stylish, although Idhren did not know any better. There were no embellishments, simple brass buttons and buckles, and it did not hang far enough to cover his bare feet. For all the simplicity of the garment, as Idhren smoothed the fabric over his chest he felt for a moment like the fanciest Altus in the Imperium, and not a slave at all.

He was herded out of the mansion and into a gilded carriage on the front drive where Magister Canidius was already awaiting him. Idhren was too stunned and confused to do much more than collapse into the seat across from him and stare stupidly at the upholstery.

“Ah, good, you’re finally here,” the magister said, interrupting Idhren’s thoughts. He was seated on the cushioned bench across from Idhren and took up well over half of it. He had a folio of papers in hand that he did not look up from. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time to devote to this endeavor, Idhren. It is Idhren, yes?” he glanced up from the papers and Idhren immediately looked down at his knees, where his hands were twisting nervously in the new robes.

“Yes, master,” the slave answered quietly.

“Speak up, boy,” Canidius scolded, but not cruelly, “You’ve nothing to fear. Do you know why you are here?”

“No, master,” Idhren answered. He managed to speak up a bit, but his voice trembled shamefully.

“You have far exceeded my expectations,” the magister said, and he finally set down the folio in his lap as the carriage began to move, bumping along the gravel drive toward the estate’s main gates. “Alvinius is not a terribly skilled mage, I will admit, but to have surpassed his abilities in only a few years is quite impressive. He is getting on in years, as I’m certain you noticed. Served my father before his death and is quite good at keeping notes, but not terribly bright. You, on the other hand, seem to have a bit of cleverness about you.”

Clever. No one had ever called Idhren clever before. Did his master actually think so? He had no reason to lie, so then it must be true. His master thought he was clever.

“And truthfully in a few years time Alvinius will no longer be able to fulfill his duties,” Canidius continued, oblivious to the flurry of emotions his young slave was feeling, “I had planned for you to take over his position, but we must first get you a proper education. It would be a shame if any of your potential went to waste.”

Potential. His master thought that he had potential and that he was clever. Idhren’s mind was running a mile a minute as he fought to take in such glowing compliments given by someone who was clearly much more accomplished than Idhren himself ever would be. Is that where they were going, then? To meet his new instructor? It was a surprise, Idhren had expected that his lessons would continue at the estate. He was certain that his master could hire or buy another servant to teach him.

“The easiest way to ensure you get proper training is to send you to a Circle,” Canidius stated casually.

All of Idhren’s swirling thoughts ground to a halt immediately. His eyes went wide, mouth agape, and he was unable to stop himself from looking up and into his master’s face for any sign that this was a lie. He saw nothing, only a curious and amused smirk on the man’s round face. Then his mind returned to the present and he looked away quickly, heart thundering in his chest. Insolence was a sure-fire way to get this privilege taken away. And it was a privilege, Idhren knew that. Circles were for Alti and Laetans, not slaves.

Not slaves.

Slaves did not learn in Circles. Not proper Circles, at least.

Now Idhren was confused. He was definitely a slave, so he couldn’t go to a Circle. What was Canidius planning, then? Where was the magister taking him?

“You look terribly confused over there, boy,” Canidius commented. “What seems to be the problem?”

Idhren swallowed thickly, pushing down the emotion in his chest, the disappointment after the brief moment of excitement. “Master,” he began hesitantly, “Slaves cannot attend Circles.”

“No, they cannot,” Canidius confirmed. “Which is why we must first see about making you Liberati.”

Idhren’s heart stopped in his chest, his breathing caught. There was no way he could have heard correctly. Liberati? Free? His master was giving him his freedom? All because the magister thought that he was clever, and that he had potential? Nervously, and cautiously, Idhren raised his eyes again to catch a glimpse of his master’s face, but it was the same as before, watching him with veiled amusement and a bit of self-satisfaction. “Truly?” Idhren asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” the magister assured. “It’s a dreadful hassle, but an even worse one to find a suitable private tutor. This will be easier for everyone involved, I think. I am certain you understand, however, that this is a great responsibility that I am giving you. To attend a Circle is a privilege afforded to few and I expect you to work hard while you are there. Do not let me see my faith in you misplaced, Idhren.”

“No, master,” Idhren assured quickly, perhaps too quickly. “I will study hard, I promise. I won’t let you down.”

“There’s a good lad,” Canidius praised, “That’s the attitude I want to see. Depending how well your studies go, I may even consider taking you on as my apprentice after your harrowing.”

Freedom, a Circle education, and apprenticeship to a magister? Idhren could hardly believe that any of this was real. It must be a dream, but no. He ran through all the usual checks, and this was no illusion, no demon tempting him with impossible dreams. This was reality, and it was the best day of Idhren’s life.

It was the first time Idhren had ever set foot outside of Magister Canidius’ estate, but he barely remembered to look at the scenery. The rest of the day passed in a blur. The carriage ride from the estate in the country into the bustle of Vyrantium’s center. The local senate hall, all marble and gold and onyx, towering statues of dragons and Archons long dead. Through it all Idhren had to speak very little, only confirm his name and perform a small bit of magic to prove that he was actually a mage. Canidius signed a large number of papers relinquishing ownership of Idhren. Papers that were then handed over to Idhren; certificates and contracts that recognized him as Liberati, a freed slave, a mage.

Idhren had never before had the opportunity to read such paperwork. He had never seen the deeds that tied him to Canidius, the pedigree that traced his family tree back for up to ten generations. But he had these now, and they were infinitely better. These were not titles of ownership, but symbols of freedom. The Imperium recognized him no longer as property, but as a person. And for the first time in his life, Idhren allowed himself to think and feel like a person, not an object, to dream of the future and of what someday he might make of himself.

The dream that Canidius had offered was the only one he could imagine, however. A Circle education and apprenticeship to a magister. The chance at a better life for himself, and maybe even for his family. He had heard stories, legends, fables, about slaves gifted with magic gaining their freedom and then the freedom of their loved ones in turn. Could Idhren become one of those? Perhaps if he worked hard enough, if he proved without a doubt that he was worth the chance that Canidius had given him his master – former master – would be kind enough to free his family as well. Then his mother would never have to set foot in a kitchen again, his father would no longer have to work long hours in the hot sun, and his brother would no longer have to risk his life in the arena.

If Idhren worked hard enough. If Idhren was good enough.

He would be, the boy determined that day. He would work as hard as his entire family combined to earn their freedom, to earn their happiness.

He would be the best mage this country had ever seen.