Sorry, I’ve been so busy with work these past weeks, and when I have time to write, I try to meet deadlines for my fanfictions. Instead of becoming crazy with overdue stories, I decided to share here one of the stories I published not long ago. It’s from the Dragon Age fandom, but since it’s based on a mythological alternative universe, it’s still understandable for non-connoisseurs of the series. I used a bit of its universe’s genesis mixed in with a mash of Greek, Egyptian and Norse mythological tales, which I’m a big nerd about, so I hope you enjoy.
Dorian hadn’t always been the god of the dead. He aspired for brighter things, in his youth, and quite literally, as there was no sun shining in the Underworld. He was at first the god of witchcraft and wished to help mortals discover their magical abilities. At the time, only a few knew about the powers running through them and kept the information like a taboo secret, but Dorian’s mission was to take that secret and spread it around, for magic was not something anyone should be afraid to possess. Dorian loved it, and so should all mages.
Of course some gods were against it. Either they didn’t have magical abilities beyond their immortality, either they thought the mortals weren’t worth such powers.
It was of note that nobody but the immortals had any powers at first, but as the millennia rolled by, they began to breed with mortals, causing magic to appear on Thedas. Dorian gave in the curiosity as well, hiding his identity to sneak in taverns and brothels to know what the fuss was all about. Opium was a popular drug at the time, the mortals smoking it through pipes before orgies that would last all night long. Dorian participated in those, but never did he take a liking in anyone. He understood why the pleasures of the flesh could become overwhelming above anything else, but after having his share, he continued on more important matters.
A public figure appeared around that time, a woman named Andraste who was the Alamarri’s leader, a tribe in war with Tevinter. It was said she could see the future and was the messenger of the Maker, whereas the truth was that the “Maker”, the King of the gods, would sleep with any mortal he’d find attractive enough, willing to shapeshift if it meant a rump in the bushes.
Dorian found it sickening that his actual wife, and sister, tolerated it all and would instead punish those poor women. Andraste was punished like many others, burned at the stake, but because of her position, she was seen as a martyr and began to be worshipped as the Maker’s bride. The King found it hilarious; it was another thing he could brag about. Before she died, Dorian appeared to her, intrigued by her powers, and she indeed could predict the future. She told him she’d seen him during one of her catatonic episodes, told him things no one knew about Thedas’ future. She fascinated him. She told him something dark was awaiting him, that it’d take a long time before he could see the light again.
Once she was killed, he requested she was made immortal so she could become the prophet of the Gods. His request was accepted by their King, but Dorian suspected it might have to do with his attraction to her.
Time shifted and more magic appeared. Dorian would try to find the most talented and educate them so they could help others, but he witnessed many prodigies turn mad and cast a negative reputation around, spreading diseases and cursing those who would try to stop them. It was a mess Dorian knew he couldn’t avoid, mortals had been scared and wary of any new discovery since fire, he figured magic was quite a step for them. He would still teach the miracles magic could do out of thin air, how it could help infertile lands produce crops and heal otherwise fatal wounds.
It probably was around that time that his father learned what he was up to. He’d disapprove of the god who showed fire to the mortals, been the one responsible for his punishment and many tricks and wars among the gods, so it didn’t come as a surprise he’d disapprove of what Dorian was doing. He had other children beside him, and everyone knew he didn’t like him for the fact he didn’t take any shit from him. Halward wasn’t usually a sadist, but he could if needed, and especially to a son he didn’t like.
Many gods and goddesses would often leave their realm to walk on Thedas, knowing they could return whenever they wanted. The Chantry had just been created; inventing its calendar to measure time, and it was the Divine Age, in the midst of the Second Blight. Dorian was disguised as a middle-aged man, teaching the arts of necromancy to a group of young adults who would listen to him with wide eyes. He was living with them in their village with the excuse his whole family had been killed during a Darkspawn attack.
His father was waiting for him at his temporary house, along with some of his friends. He told him he wasn’t worth returning to the gods’ realm anymore, that he couldn’t kill him but instead would trap him down on Thedas so he would stop spreading knowledge only the gods should have, and he did. Dorian couldn’t defend himself against three persons who rendered him unconscious and locked him in a cage lost in a cave no one knew about. Runes prohibited him from leaving or using magic, the only thing he could do was scream for help. He screamed and cried and pleaded, but no one came.
Immortals didn’t need to feed their body to survive, but there was only so much they could endure before they became a shell of the splendor they used to be.
He was trapped in the dark for centuries, his eyes blind and his ears hearing nothing but the cave slowly giving in around his cage. It would someday be buried under rocks, truly impossible to find. He hoped he at least had made a difference for all those mages, that some would escape the hardship of the Circles and use their magic for the greater good. After a while, his mind wandered and he fell asleep in a deep slumber.
The King of the gods found him, helped by Andraste who had a prediction about his location. When they helped him out, they found out he couldn’t endure the light anymore. He wasn’t blind, but his eyes could now see better in the dark and the sun would hurt them. He was lucky he didn’t suffer any other physical damage other than that, but mentally, he wasn’t sure he could go around Thedas helping mages anymore when he felt broken, empty inside.
The King punished Halward, sending him into a pit where a snake would drip venom on his face each day, only to heal during the night. He offered Dorian a place as the Lord of the Underworld, a place devoid of sun but where he could rule as he suited. Souls from the dead needed a place to live their afterlife but were lost most of the time down there, and Dorian would help them so they could spend the rest of eternity comfortably.
The Underworld was a cold, humid place when he first stepped in there, and Dorian had enough of that, so he made adjustments. He compensated for the years spent in the dark. Burgundy, dark green and golden draperies were installed on the walls of his castle, torches were added to light every corner, soft and plush carpets covered the floors, and he decorated his private quarters as regally as he wanted. He brought in some black marble statues of the other gods to present them to the dead so they would know the truth about the immortals.
Ruling over the dead wasn’t that difficult most of the time, to be honest. There were the occasional discords, but he would quickly take care of them. He only needed to judge souls once they stepped in and send them to their deserved eternal resting residence. Humans, elves, qunari, dwarves and other species would live together for the most part on a few floors carved through rock designed for mortals, another floor would be used by the heroes of Thedas, half-gods included, and then there was a special place for evil souls that Dorian took pleasure in finding punishments for and leaving them in the dark. Each of them reminded him of his father, and their pleads fell in deaf ears. Many actually offered their body for a better place, which Dorian refused firmly. Sex hadn’t interested him for a long time now, he believed his heart had been replaced with a stone of his prison.
He would often receive news from the surface, corresponding with the other gods or visiting at night. Dorian would visit the heroes as well, have a chat with them to share information no one but him would know about, and it was up to the Lord to judge if it was worth sharing or keeping for himself. Most of the time he would keep silence on it, truth be told, because anyone knowing would’ve influenced the natural order.
They entered the ninth age, the Dragon Age. Blights always brought more work for him, and as the fifth one began, it was no different. He met multiple heroes on a short amount of time, beginning with Cailan Theirin, the King of Fereldan, whose death was his father-in-law’s fault, then Duncan the Warden-Commander stepped through the portal. He’d successfully established new wardens in Fereldan for them to save Thedas, earning himself his place in the Land of Heroes. Loghain Mac Tir was the one who left his son-in-law to die by abandoning the battlefield, but Dorian considered him a hero for his previous war victories, so he believed the two family members had a lot to talk about when they met again.
He met Surana, the elf mage who stopped the Blight by sacrificing her own life. She asked for him to leave a message for her lover, the present ruler of Fereldan, and he liked her enough that he accepted, in exchange of the Grey Warden’s secrets. The fact that they used Darkwspawn’s blood to access new powers proved that blood truly had miraculous effects when used properly and for the greater good. He knew blood magic had the reputation to be used only for bad purposes by that point in history, so he wrote a thesis about its beneficial uses, pretending to be a famous writer who had been dead for years to publish it, with the hope someone would take on it.
He also met a certain Anders, killed after he made a Chantry explode. He didn’t like the Chantry himself, Andraste didn’t either, and Anders had done this so people would realize how poorly most of the mages were now treated and for their situation to change, so Dorian bid him a good eternal life on the Heroes’ floor. The mortal had been possessed with a spirit, but the separation had already brought him a clearer mind, he admitted to Dorian during their meeting.
Another human came in after him, a certain Cullen Rutherford. The man had been a Templar most of his life, had witnessed horrors during his youth that had changed his opinion on the mages for the worse, yet he died protecting them from actual abominations and from his own superior in command (whom had been sent straight to the bad people’s floor, needless to say, with her soul still reeking of red lyrium). Dorian had to deal a few times with tortured souls, but that Cullen was proving to be rather difficult.
“I deserve punishment for what I did,” were his first words after he bowed to Dorian. They were in the judgment room, with the god seated on his throne made of polished ebony and ornamental stones that caught the light. The judged soul was a few steps down in front of him, wearing a soft black tunic with leather breeches, the dark fabric enhancing his paleness and blond curly hair. His frame was definitely masculine however, well-built with wide shoulders and muscular arms, his defined jawline stubbly.
“What have you done exactly, to think so low of yourself?” Dorian asked. He already knew, but he still wished to hear it from the attractive mortal’s mouth.
“I killed innocent people and let others do worse, blinded by hate for what a small group of mad mages had done to me long ago.” His stance was rigid, shoulders straight. He wasn’t looking in Dorian’s eyes, few ever did, but his gaze was locked on the bare shoulder his outfit allowed to see.
“Don’t you believe your death suffice to redeem yourself?” Dorian couldn’t help but be surprised by that mortal’s self-hate, and not many things surprised him anymore.
“It seems to have been a convenience instead, a way for me to stop almost a decade of bad decisions.”
“Your actions might not all be excused, but don’t lessen what you endured either, the accomplishments you made for yourself.”
“Anger and hate aren’t the answers to deal with a problem and never should be, but this is exactly what I did. I realized how wrong it was only while I was dying. “ Cullen’s voice was filled with pain and misery, yet Dorian sent him an appraising look. Not many had the wisdom and courage to admit the mistakes of their own actions.
“And so you believe you deserve an eternal punishment for those actions? What impossible task should I give you, then?” Dorian taunted him.
Cullen shrugged, but met his eyes for the first time, almost challenging him. He remained stubborn even through death, talking to a god. “Whatever you think is best, my Lord. Make me live again those weeks in the Circle, if you wish.”
He didn’t care for himself, but for some reason, Dorian did. There was something in Cullen that remembered him of himself, when he had just left that dark cave, misery tainting him and darkening his every thought.
“Did you know you have mage blood running through your veins? Not much, but enough that you could cast a few low-level spells if you practiced enough?”
The surprise was evident, then Cullen was chuckling.
“I just discovered that what I believed in for all my life was wrong and I’m having a chat with the god of the Underworld who is judging my soul, I don’t know what could surprise me at this point.”
“You forgot that this god is very good-looking and full of charms.”
“That too, but I’m sure you have plenty of fans already,” Cullen replied smoothly, a shift in his demeanor. If the man was attractive with a serious expression, that small crooked smile made Dorian raise from his seat and step down to his level.
“I only flirt back with those whom I deem worthy of me, and you, my dear…” He sent him a smoldering look. “I find very worthy.”
Cullen’s cheeks and neck turned red, but instead of stepping away, he openly admired his god-like features.
“I know what you will do, Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” Dorian said on a more serious tone. He knew how this mortal could serve him. He had served under the Knight-Commander for years and had a strategic mind, punctilious and fastidious on details Dorian rarely cared about.
“What will it be then, my Lord?”
Dorian smiled for the first time in over a millennium. “You shall become my right hand.”
Conatus 
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