#dorianism

Half of any good Tevinter affair lay in the intricate decadence, and no one took such particular care to put on an epicurean show than Magister Lucis Caelum. The gustatio had made their first rounds on wide silver platters, with only his prettiest and well-mannered slaves attending his guests with the finest imported fare that could be secured for the guests: honey-sweet grapes from his own vines, pescatarian dishes inspired by the exotic Strarkhaven (garnished boldly with gold flakes to recall the aureate spires of the distant city-state), meat dishes devised to resemble the rusticity of Fereldan (but elevated to adhere to strict Tevinter palates), innovative amuse bouches and creative crudités and daedalean saltimbocca, to delight and confound the senses at once.

How was it that amidst the gilded boughs and the stately carved votives and the golden girandole ornamented with fuscian crystals the color of ox blood that glittered serenely against the candlelight, young Dorian Pavus seemed to surpass luxury itself in exceeding beauty? SO it was natural, therefore, that the magister found himself drifting, meandering over to the fountain to join his side. 

His attentions seemed to idle, over the rim of the wine glass he rised too often to his lips, to something beyond the host of the same timeworn guests the Chancellor was sure he’d be bored of. Youth always tired of habitude and circumstance. And then it was only by chance that he caught that smoldering glance toward a pretty young elf girl in his service, and saw an opportunity. 

Ardyn had heard enough rumors regarding the young Pavus boy to know his unique proclivities (not so unique in Tevinter, but everyone else had the sense to keep it a recreation of recondite discretion) to be surprised of his brief (and fleeting?) interest, but it was interest nonetheless, and he would naturally see how he might exploit it.