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Astarion had never meant to go to law school.
His ambitions had been nebulous, not even ambitions, really. Honestly, he'd really just meant to prove to his father that he was totally capable of making his own decisions and being in charge of his life.
But as he straightened the stuffy black robe that was his new uniform as a magistrate, making sure the crimson edgings on his sleeves were folded crisply and the buttons on the collar perfectly aligned in the mirror, he hadn't done half bad for himself. The youngest magistrate in the history of Baldur's Gate, and he'd barely even tried.
Of course, it wasn't like it was hard.
It started with a fight. A fight that was the repeat of a thousand or more previous fights.
"You are too young to decide that!" His father yelled (though he would claim later he'd merely spoken firmly) (because it would be uncouth for a grown elf to yell) across the entirety of the house.
"I'm leaving, with or without your permission, Father." He'd practically spat.
"And your mother? Will you have the courage to tell her that you are abandoning us, abandoning all it means to be a Tel'quessir to go gallivanting off with humans and … others? Or shall I have to do that for you, too, just like I've had to fund your whole life of wastrel partying?"
It had stung, but he'd tipped his chin up. "I will handle my own duties from now on. In this and everything else."
He'd felt good about standing up to his overbearing Father.
"Good. Then you will manage this on your own, without my support." The threat wasn't hidden (he would also claim it wasn't meant to be a threat,) but that was fine.
Astarion knew it was time to go. Evereska held nothing for him. He wasn't interested in spending another eighty years behind his parents' protection, studying poetry and archery, and learning how to appreciate the lack of change the Elvish society was so obsessed with.
He craved, more than anything, the attention and approval of others. A character flaw since birth, his mother had tried to love it out of him while his father had tried to discipline it out of him. Both had failed. Amongst the Elves of Evereska, a city where no other races were allowed and which suffered from the stifling of the long lives of its leaders, patience, self-control, and moderation were all the highest of virtues.
A child and then a man like Astarion did not belong in such a place. A fact he'd realized almost as soon as he could walk, and which only became more clear with the passing of each year. Having finally reached his twentieth birthday, he was now allowed to freely exit and enter the city, and he spent more time in the small trading town that had grown up outside the entrance than anywhere else.
He loved the humans, especially. They were so exciting. So free with their short lives.
Being denied an allowance hadn't been the deterrent his father had hoped, as Astarion had always had a way with charming people into doing what he wanted. A smile here, a sweet word there, and men and women would buy him a drink and tell him stories of the wider world.
And it was the stories of a particular city that captured his imagination. Baldur's Gate. A city of immense corruption, a seedy underbelly of thieves and manipulators and greedy patriars.
It sounded exciting. It sounded like freedom.
And now, he decided as he packed his things hastily, it was going to be home.
Not having money was far worse in a human city than an Elvish one.
In Evereska, wanting for coin meant losing out on luxuries like fine clothes, wine, and massages at the public baths. In Baldur's Gate, it meant starving and being homeless.
"Good evening, Saers. What brings such a fine-looking couple to grace our table tonight?"
Astarion had learned the art of saying such things and not gagging or rolling his eyes (most of the time). His ability to sleep indoors now rested upon such magic as this. He'd always had a knack for charming his way into and out of trouble, but his edge had sharpened in less than a month of living here.
The man, an older human, with only touches of silver at the temples of his dark hair and creases in the corners of his eyes when he smiled, which he did now at the beautiful and clearly younger woman with him. "My wife has little experience with wine. I thought perhaps a tasting lesson might help her learn the best varietals for our banquets."
Astarion gave a small smile to the woman. Not so broad as to incite ire in the man, but warm enough that she felt like perhaps she had an ally.
"I think I know just the menu. Shall we stick only to wine, or shall I include some liqueurs and digestifs as well, Saer?"
He'd learned this tale since he'd been here. These young, pretty maidens were married off by their poor families to older, wealthy men. The family got a payout somehow - perhaps the father got a job in the husband's business, or even sometimes it was straight up a cash exchange. The men received a wife they'd never otherwise attract, and one who had to be subservient lest the man file for divorce and reclaim the funds from her family.
These men enjoyed lording over their wives' supposed inadequacies, since they had no title or position with which to actually be a Lord. It made him sick to watch. Among his people, marriage was something only the individuals involved could agree to, and assets were never part of the exchange.
The man nodded, as though he was surprised at Astarion's astute judgement. "Yes, those, and perhaps a whiskey or two."
Before he could make it all the way through the crowd to the cellar master to request the bottles he would need, Astarion was stopped in his tracks by the face of an angel. A boy so beautiful he rivalled his own looks. Hair of gold, blue eyes like the sky had been called down into them, aristocratic bone structure. And rippling arms from what had been revealed.
He nearly tripped over his own feet to stop at the table. It wasn't his table. He didn't care. He'd deal with that problem later.
"My name's Astarion, and it would be my pleasure to serve you tonight." He winked at the man, half-afraid it was far too much, half-afraid it was too little to be clear he was flirting for real.
The boy, he could see it now, he couldn't be much older than Astarion himself, flushed a deep pink. "I, uh, wanted some wine?" Those blue eyes were wide, and his lips, flushed pink with embarrassment or want, were slightly open, tongue and white teeth glistening in the candlelight.
Astarion found himself wondering what they would taste like.
He took a breath to clear his thoughts. "Well, you are certainly in the right place for wine, darling. Is there a particular vintage you prefer? We have quite the cellar here, covering everything from a painfully sweet Blingdenstone Blush to a deep Berduskan, rich with flavor and an undercurrent of bitterness." He tilted his head, hoping he was coming off far less awkward than he felt.
He'd always loved flirting with strangers, no intent to take it anywhere, but the thrill of winning them over, of seeing the power he could hold over them. Even if it was fleeting. But whenever he actually cared about the outcome, his heart beat too fast, and he sometimes tripped over his words.
The boy swallowed and paused. "I guess I'd like to try what you recommend? I usually prefer a sweet wine, though Father says I should learn to enjoy something bolder."
Astarion tilted his head. The boy was dressed like he came from money, and the fact that his father cared about his drinking habits implied he was from the upper class. Which meant it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to recommend the most expensive vintage in the cellar.
"We do have one vintage that is both sublime for a palette that prefers sweetness, whilst having a bold flavor." Astarion sighed. "But it is one of our exclusive imports. Dreadfully costly because of the rarity. However, I can highly recommend it, given that it's the only Elven wine in the cellar."
"You've tasted it, then?"
"Elverquisst was served at my parents' table with every celebratory meal." He lifted an eyebrow. "Of course, if fifty gold for a bottle exceeds your budget, we have many other fine options."
"No. I - I want that one." The golden-haired man looked up at him wide-eyed and serious. "But only if you'll have a glass with me. I'm Vincent, by the way."
Astarion let a genuine smile spread across his lips. "Well, now how could I refuse an offer like that, Vincent?"
"You must try the honeycake, though." Vincent crooned, holding a small piece of sticky pastry.
Astarion looked up at his love, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed with affection, and attacked, wrapping his lips around the man's fingers and licking every trace of the confection away. "Hmmmm. Yes. That is quite the treat."
Vincent stared with lidded, lust-filled eyes. "Fuck, Astarion. You can't do things like that in Bloomridge Park."
"Then take me somewhere I can, darling. " He whined playfully. "You know me better by now than to think I'm going to behave just because I'm in the Upper City." He followed it up by flopping down on their picnic blanket, letting the warm spring sunshine light up all his best features (which were all of them, in his correct opinion).
With a valiant attempt to look cross, Vincent folded his arms, but soon he was smiling fondly. "Damn you, I can't stay mad when you look so adorable like that."
Astarion fluttered his eyes at him. "Tell me more about why you love me so."
Poking him in the nose, Vincent laughed. "Let's see. You make me laugh more than anyone I've ever met. You are incredibly sweet for such a gremlin of a man, always remembering little things I've mentioned or where we had our first kiss-"
"The alley behind the Elfsong, after we were kicked out completely without cause." Astarion sighed.
"You told the bartender not to strain the precious little brains that the gods had granted him when he poured your wine in the wrong glass."
"I was worried about him." Astarion flipped the thought away with his wrist. "A complete overreaction, in my opinion. Are you going to keep praising me, or should we dispense with the conversation and get to the kissing?"
Vincent laughed, those sky blue eyes lighting up with joy. "Let's pack up. I suddenly find that we have urgent business at your home."
The private grotto at the Hissing Stones was everything Astarion wanted in his life. Beautiful, comfortable, and sensuous. The heated pool he was sunk to his neck in was scented with heady Amnian Jasmine, fresh petals of which swirled on the surface of. Bottles of fragranced massage oil and soap lined the shelves above. Thick, soft, linen towels and robes lay on marble benches. And the ceiling was covered in a detailed mosaic of some Baldurian hero on a sailboat.
And yet, everything tasted of ashes now (he supposed, he'd never tasted them).
For two months, he and Vincent had been courting. A whirlwind of sex, low-level crimes, and silly interludes filled their days and nights. Astarion was no longer working at the wine shop. He'd been moved to the Upper City, a kept man, yes, but not on a leash. He saw no shame in the arrangement. After all, they were in love. It simply made sense for Vincent to alleviate his troubles.
Or so he had believed. Until Vincent had sat in this very pool, holding Astarion in his arms after what had been a delightful lovemaking session, and said those words.
"I have to think of my future, Astarion. Next month, I will start my apprenticeship in law and begin building my personal connections. I need a partner who will elevate me, and you bring neither coin nor connection. You have no prospects in this city of your own. You cannot even provide me with an heir."
He seethed.
Couldn't elevate him? The nervous boy who could barely flirt, didn't know a Berduskan from an Ashaba Dusk, and didn't know how to dance?
If one of them was unable to elevate the other, it wasn't Astarion.
The bastard was even kicking him out of the apartment. Oh, he pretended to be generous, telling him it was paid through until the end of the year, but that was just a way to buy him off. In his short time among the elite, he'd learned most of their ways.
No one wanted a public confrontation with an ex they saw as low-class.
Astarion had never much cared for school. Or work. But he'd always had a keen intellect, especially for rhetoric. And as an elfling, he'd been trained in developing powerful memorization techniques. He could read a book once and easily recall it.
If Vincent Dlusker thought Astarion wasn't good enough, he'd simply have to prove that not only was he good enough, he was, frankly, far too good for the pretentious bastard.
The plan was simple.
Step one: Break into High Hall in the dead of night, sneak into the office of the bureaucrat who matched the nominated apprentices to magistrates, and add his name to the list without anyone noticing.
Step two: Act completely normal when the summons comes and fool everyone involved that he was supposed to have been there the entire time.
Step three: Be better at this whole legal thing than Vincent could ever hope to be and seduce someone prettier and more powerful than him, rubbing his success in that smug little face.
The first step was already complete. He'd broken in the day before, hidden for hours, and when the staff dwindled to a handful of guards, he slipped into the office and found the list.
He was almost caught by an overzealous guard after a cat ran through chasing a rat, but he managed to hide behind a curtain (barely in time). After quickly repenning the entire list, adding his name in the middle, he'd taken the original one with him. It had already been burned that morning in his fireplace.
Now, he just needed to pick an outfit for his first day. Something attractive, but that didn't draw too much attention.
Standing before parliament with twenty-two other young men and women, all sons and daughters of Baldur's Gate's elite families, Astarion had a tiny bit of fear that someone would realize he was the odd Elf out. But they didn't. No one questioned the list. After all, the names had been nominated and vetted already.
Vincent, however, did stare at him wide-eyed for several minutes before a woman with a sharp face and red hair simpered at his former lover, and took the bastard's attention back. Lydia Caldwell, Astarion recognized her easily. Eldest daughter of one of the richest families of the Upper City. A real catch, he supposed, if you ignored how serious she seemed.
Wearing a deep green velour doublet, he certainly stood out amongst the sea of gray and brown of the others. But he would have stood out anyway as the only Elf in the room full of humans. At least this way, he stood out attractively. He knew the color set off his platinum locks and green eyes with their flecks of gold.
Each apprentice was to wait for their assigned mentor to come and fetch them. One at a time, elderly men and women, dressed in long black robes, came and fetched the others. He was the last one remaining.
Briefly, he panicked, thinking that surely this was when they would kick him out.
But no, instead, after everyone else had left a full hour ago, he remained standing, and a human woman entered. She was old but not elderly, with sharp blue eyes and her brown hair in an elegant but no-nonsense updo.
"Good. You are still here. I am Magister Llewellyn. You will report to me."
"I am-"
"I know who you are, Ancunin. What I don't know is how you so cleverly got your name on that list. I know because there were only supposed to be 21 of you lot. I went back and pulled the minutes of the meeting where the nominations were made."
He paused, trying to think of how to smooth this over.
"Whatever lie you are dreaming up, lose it. I don't care that you aren't supposed to be here. I am drowning in work, and thanks to your scheme, you now work for me. Why would I out you? You are free labor I wouldn't have gotten otherwise. However, I do want to know how you managed it, because I don't like that it succeeded."
He swallowed, still unsure if this was a good idea, but the look in Llewellyn's eyes left no room for anything else.
"I broke in and rewrote the list with my name in the middle, but not quite the center." He shrugged. "I figured that if the whole list was in one hand, they'd check the first and last names, if they checked at all."
She blinked, staring at him for several moments. Then she sighed. "My colleagues are idiots. Alright, Mastermind, I've got almost two dozen cases on the docket tomorrow. You are going to prepare me for each one."
The panic was back. That sounded like… a lot of work. But he scurried (he'd like to think of it as following with a quick grace) after the Magistrate. After all, what in the Hells was he going to do now? Quit?!?
Astarion's everything hurt. Not from physical exhaustion, mind. If anything, he was sitting entirely too much these days. His gorgeous body was beginning to suffer from it. But his mind was simply far too exhausted to do anything.
He got home each day, occasionally ate something, and passed out on his mattress. He was up before dawn, quickly pulling himself together, and practically running to High Hall to begin his workday. Picking up the docket for the next day, running to the archives to pull files, researching legal code in the libraries, and then spending the afternoon briefing Llewellyn.
Which usually included hours of being upbraided for how he was wrong about his interpretations.
And now, two months in, he had a new problem. In another month, he needed a new apartment. Without the backing of a resident, he'd never be able to rent anywhere in the Upper City. But he'd never get any sleep if he had to get back and forth from the Lower City each day. He came up with a solution that covered both of his goals: housing and revenge. It revolved around Vincent's new girlfriend. And tonight, he planned to put it into action.
Tonight was a social event for the apprentices at High Hall, not just the future solicitors and magistrates, but also the clerks, accountants, and scholars who made the entire apparatus run. Originally, he'd planned to avoid it, out of worry that someone would out him.
But when Llewellyn had made it quite clear that he was expected (required, even) to attend, he'd considered the problem in light of what he had learned about the culture of this group of ambitious, striving social climbers, and alighted on an idea. Be so boldly present, so undeniably out of place, that they all focus on that and not on his family. He grinned, opening his wardrobe and pulling out just the outfit.
In the sea of black and gray outfits worn at the soiree tonight, with his white outfit, tightly fitted, backless, and embroidered with colorful peacocks in green, indigo, and gold, he was going to stand out like a firework upon the night sky. Which is exactly what happened when a servant took his cloak, and he strutted into the Grand Hall like he owned the place. Every eye snapped to him. Some, in judgement, others in delight, more than a few in envy, and most in lust.
He pretended not to notice (except for the way the corner of his mouth kept curling up in smug satisfaction), casually acquiring a glass of deep red wine, not for taste. He actually preferred white, but the color offset the outfit magnificently and warmed up his sometimes pallid complexion. His eyes and ears roved around the crowd as he lounged against a wall, sipping the bitter vintage with distaste.
"That's your ex? I thought you said he was some nobody." One of the dark-haired men hissed at Vincent. He looked like a Portyr, with that hooked nose, but Astarion had never been introduced.
"Well, he seemed to be. I guess… I never did ask him about his family."
"Obviously, he's somebody, or he would never have been here. And he certainly wouldn't be wearing an outfit like that! It's beyond a scandal. I bet he loses his position over it."
Astarion grinned, his Elvish hearing making the conversation easily understandable in the crowd. He excused himself from the conversation he was having with one of the archivists. A useful friend to have as a future magistrate, he'd realized by his second day on the job.
He strode across the room, doing his best to project confidence.
"Fancy seeing you here, Vincent. You know, I can't believe I'd quite forgotten you were also doing an apprenticeship with a magistrate." He drawled the words, focusing his eyes on the quiet redhead on his arm. "I am certain, though, that I haven't met you yet, Saer. " She held her hand out, and he took it, kissing the air above it so close to the skin that his lips brushed the fine, translucent hairs on her skin. "I would never forget a beauty like yours."
She flushed a pretty pink, looking softer than usual. "I am Lydia Caldwell, Saer."
He let go of her hand and gave a flourished, theatrical bow. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear. I am Astarion. Astarion Ancunin."
"You know, Astarion, I still can't figure it out. How did you get a spot here? When I met you, you were waiting tables at Blingdenstone's." Vincent sneered.
Astarion didn't rise to the bait. "Have you never done something unpleasant to gather information?" He rolled his eyes. "My family owns a vineyard in Evereska. I originally came here to assist in assessing the competition. I'm not above doing whatever it takes to help my family succeed."
He wanted to snicker. He didn't give a shit about the Ancunins' reputation or success. Nor did they own a vineyard. But the Caldwells were known for their dedication to the family legacy.
Lydia looked at him with warm eyes, a smile softening her pinched features. "It's so important to be devoted to one's family."
"I couldn't agree more. Tell me, I've heard so much about the Caldwell legacy since I've gotten to the Gate, but I don't know anything about them as individuals. I hear that your mother, in particular, is an exceptionally talented artist, and yet I've been unable to find a single painting of hers to view. From what I've heard, I am missing out on a true Baldurian master."
That soft smile widened into one that lit up Lydia's eyes, making her exceptionally pretty. "Not many bother learning about my mother. Did you know that one of her landscapes is here in High Hall? Just outside the Dukes' offices."
He absolutely did know that. And that Lydia and her mother had an unusually close relationship among noble families. But he put on a surprised expression. "I did not! Do you think you might show it to me? I'd so love to see it."
He held out an arm in the gentlemanly fashion of the nobility, and she let go of Vincent and took it immediately. "I'd love to show it to you, Saer Ancunin."
"Oh, darling, there's no need for such formality." He purred at her as they walked away from an open-mouthed Vincent. "Please, call me Astarion."
The first flakes of snow that year were falling over Gray Harbor, and Astarion and Llewelyn were in her office while a small fire behind a grate fought the cold draft that came through the large glass windows.
"Anything?" Llewelyn asked from behind several large stacks of papers on her desk.
More stacks sat all over the floor, arranged in a system they'd devised. The case had so much documentation, it was the only way to go through it all. Llewelyn's court handled real property cases, and this one was quite complex, involving a piece of property that had been unoccupied for nearly two hundred years. A tiny sliver of land, unused, and the four plots that surrounded it didn't account for it within their deeds.
All four owners were claiming that the land was theirs, and Llewelyn was in charge of picking the winner.
"Why not just let this one go to the highest bidder?" He sighed, flopping back on the settee. "It's not like it even matters. Honestly, it's barely enough land to fit a bench on."
Llewelyn placed her hands down, pressing them out flat on her mahogany desk. "Saer Ancunin, I am going to pretend, for the last time, that I did not just hear you suggest bribery as a solution to this case." She took in a deep breath. "It matters because every case establishes a precedent. What doesn't matter in this case may be crucial in a future situation. A shortcut today, a little indiscretion to make your life easier when, as you point out, the outcome cannot harm anyone, could become a life-or-death matter a hundred or two hundred years from now."
He scoffed. "Why do you care what will happen to people who will live when you are long dead and buried?"
"Why are you here, Ancunin?" She looked up. "I never did ask. You risked significant consequences to get this position. There must be a reason."
"I was inspired. And bored. Did you know I was working as a barmaid? An appalling waste of my talents." He deflected her interest with a spinny wrist, knowing she'd allow the disrespect (because they were in private) (and because he'd earned it).
Llewellyn had gone from being scheduled almost a year out to a mere three months in the time he'd worked for her. His lack of need for a full eight hours of rest and the Elven memorization training from his youth were most of his secret, it was true, but he'd also found that his love of finding loopholes made him a keen eye at finding the weaknesses in most legal arguments. Whilst his need to be the cleverest mind in the room pushed him to find the most unusual yet technically legal understandings of a situation.
Cases that used to take her days on end to listen to evidence and testimony were now often cut off in an hour or two with cutting questions that undermined cases that should never have been brought. Which was most of the legal matters involving real property in Baldur's Gate, as most were nothing but a way to bring disputes between families into the legal arena.
"Are you under the impression most magistrates are the children of patriars?"
He blinked. "All but myself and one other apprentice are children of patriars."
She laughed. A full-throated thing that irritated him more than embarrassed him.
"What are you so amused by?"
"It's finishing school for those rat bastards. It's to give them a leg up, so in the future they will know how the system works. Helps them to exploit it better. We only hire one apprentice per cohort, at most. Which you would know already, if you'd gone through the normal route to get this position."
"Well, then, would you perhaps be so kind as to inform me of anything else I missed?" He forced himself to take a pleasant tone. Modulating his expressions and emotions was something he'd learned under duress at Blingdenstone's, but he'd perfected it since starting his training in the courts.
"If you want to be considered for the position, there is a test and a series of interviews you have to pass. And you have to sign up for them. Well, had to."
He felt the blood drain from his face.
"You're lucky I like you." She laughed again. "I signed you up. Figured you wouldn't be opposed to a little forgery. Now - can we please find a real reason to pick an owner? Something based in, I don't know, the law?!?"
Sunlight streamed in through the huge window in Astarion's bedroom.
His new apartment, right near the Hissing Stones, had a beautiful view of the harbor and plenty of natural light. An improvement over the place where Vincent had stashed him. Then again, Vincent had kept their arrangement quiet. Not a secret, but also not a widely known fact.
Lydia had brought him to a family dinner (only a private one, but still).
Astarion wasn't confused by this into thinking this could be something long-lasting. Certainly, neither of them was the love of each other's lives, and Lydia was the type who would insist on marrying to secure something for the Caldwell name, anyhow. But she wasn't embarrassed to be seen on his arm, or to have their names connected, either.
Unlike his last apartment, Astarion himself had paid for this one. His stipend, while not generous compared to the allowances that his peers lived off of, was quite comfortable for most anyone else, and his schedule left little time for spending most of it.
What little time he did have, he spent with the woman currently splayed out next to him on his bed. Despite the temptation to have her once again this morning, he let the poor thing rest. Instead, he watched as the sunlight kissed her pale and freckled skin, pooling around the curve of her breasts, spilling over the expanse of her belly.
She looked fair like a nymph at the seelie court, the way her copper hair, unbound and spilling in wild corkscrew curls across the summer-sky colored sheets of silk they lay on. The golden light and pinks and oranges of the morning sky brought out all the colors that hid in her skin. Roses that bloomed under porcelain tones, the peaches of the highlights, and the purples of her shadows.
They did make a most attractive couple, of that, he was certain.
"I can feel you staring, Astarion."
He grinned, rolling over to rest his face in the curve of her chest, running his hand over her opposite hip possessively. "Good. You should know how much I adore looking at you."
A little laugh, musical, fell from her lips. So different than her public face of careful control.
He rolled over further, straddling her now, his hands threading into hers and pinning her against the multiple pillows piled behind her. She gazed up at him, eyes surprised but trusting, and he held her gaze, putting all his affection into it as he bent down. He watched as her eyelids fluttered and shut as his lips brushed hers. Tasted her breath as she sighed into his mouth, felt as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.
"We have just enough time for me to ravish you properly this morning, my sweet." He murmured it into her ear as he softly nibbled at the lobe.
"Court isn't for three full hours, Astarion." She moaned as he used his teeth gently. "I would think we have more than enough time."
"You should know by now that I do not approach important tasks with anything less than the full force of my capabilities. And in this field, I have quite the, hmmmm, shall we say breadth of talent." He worked his way down her body, trailing his tongue along the little spots that made her shiver until he stopped, pressing a kiss into the swell of a breast. "Unless, of course, you'd rather go straight to work and miss out on all that I offer."
"You are a terrible influence." Her words were a slight growl, but the smile on her lips and the arch in her back disagreed with that tone. "I swear, you enjoy making me say no to you, knowing how much I regret it, every time."
He grinned. "Guilty as charged, darling. I do so love to say I told you so. But I am not hearing a no…"
She bit her lip. "I mean, I suppose I can get dressed quickly enough."
He didn't wait for further confirmation. He'd been thinking of tasting her since his trance had ended.
Eight months of grueling work. Eight months of faking smiles and cleverly manipulating his peers and so much reading that even his sharp, young, Elven eyes felt blurry at the end of some days.
Eight months that had come to this moment.
He stared at the neat pile of papers to his left. At the multiple quills and the inkpot. At the clock so helpfully placed where all three of the potential magisters could see it.
Three. Himself, a halfling girl, and Vincent. He had no idea why Vincent was there, given that the boy's future would be set for him by his family.
Astarion wasn't even sure he wanted this. He'd only broken in and put his name on the list, really, because he couldn't tolerate the idea that someone thought he was incapable of something. Sure, there were plenty of things he was unwilling to do, but he could do them.
If he wanted.
Maybe he should sell all the lovely things he'd collected, take the coin, and join an adventure.
This felt like a trap. It was a trap. Once he got used to this life, he was going to want more of it. More luxury, more delights, more lovely young women and men to warm his bed if not his heart.
Yet he didn't want to leave. For the first time that he could remember, Astarion was genuinely, truly happy. He was good at what he was doing. He felt appreciated and wanted and properly rewarded for his efforts.
He stuffed down the apprehensive feelings and flipped over the first sheet of paper.
During the construction of the Tumbledown Chasm Bridge in 1125 dr, the bridge’s designer, Thisobald Cooper, received a Sending from the foreman that the suspended span being built out from the bridge’s cantilever was deflecting downward by a fraction - roughly .12 sph. Before he could get a wizard to Send a message back to freeze the project, the whole cantilever arm broke off and plunged, along with seven dozen workers, into the the canyon and tumbled off into the Chionthar. It was the worst bridge construction disaster in the known history of the Sword Coast. As a direct result of the inquiry that followed, the engineering “rules of thumb” by which thousands of bridges had been built around Faerun were understood to be a far too cavalier approach. Twelfth-century bridge engineers would thereafter depend on far more rigorous applications of mathematical analysis.
Provide at least five statements that can be inferred from this passage, and explain with detailed support how they can be inferred.
He rolled his eyes as he started. It was like they weren't even trying to challenge him.
Despite the fact that only three of the cohort had chosen to sit for the exam, all of them, as well as most of the mentors, and a large group of various clerks and other bureaucrats gathered in the Grand Hall to await the posting of the results.
This was because betting on the outcome was one of the gambling events of the year at High Hall. Last he'd heard, Iliana, the halfling girl, was favored to come out on top with a score exceeding 1900 of 2000 possible points. Astarion was expected to place second, with a score between 1700 and 1850, and Vincent was expected to receive no more than 1400 points.
He wondered if Vincent knew what the odds had been set at. Then he saw him scowling in the corner, which answered that question.
Everyone was excited talking, about what they planned to do with their winnings, about their strategy, and who they had bet on.
There was a strange nervousness in Astarion's gut (fear). He'd never really cared about the outcome of something he'd done before. There'd always been a way around it. A person to charm, a way to cheat. Or he'd simply move on, not really caring in the first place.
But, for once, it mattered.
It mattered to him that he show these bastards up. That they knew that Astarion Ancunin could outwit all of them. That they were lucky he wasn't set on worming his way into the elite for the sole purpose of taking over this city. Because he could, should he so choose (he'd never want to do that much work, though).
Lydia came in, her public face on. Serious to the point of dour, her features pinched by the expression. When he looked over at her, she softened, ever so slightly, just long enough for him to notice. It really was too bad was going to leave him for the arranged marriage her father was planning, but he'd known what was coming the entire time they'd been together. He made a note to himself not to grow so attached in the future. His parents had warned him oft enough about it. A dalliance with a human was fine, but to attach one's self to such a short-lived being with radically different needs - that way lay madness.
Sophie, the elderly dwarf who managed the archives, marched into the room, a single piece of paper in her hand, folded in half to carefully conceal the contents. The crowd parted, opening a path straight to the wall where last year's results still stood. Whether that paper contained his greatest shame or his greatest achievement, it would be displayed here until the sun rounded its orbit once more. He took in a deep breath, trying to use the meditation technique that had been drilled into him as a child to keep his heart steady.
Sophie removed the last paper, tearing it down unceremoniously. Then, she pressed the folded paper flat against the wall, shielding the information from the crowd with her body whilst she carefully slid it into the frame that would hold it proudly. As she took a step back, the crowd surged forward as everyone tried to be the first to see.
Astarion held back, leaning against the wall, not wanting to press through the crowd. It wouldn't change anything.
"By Tyr's hand!" "How in the Hells!" "By the nine!" "Mystra's frigid tits!" "Impossible!"
The shouts rose in a collective gasp, and quickly the eyes that had seen that paper turned to focus on him, sharply.
"Ancunin! That's impossible. He's nobody. He was a waiter!" Vincent shrieked, tearing through the crowd to accost him.
Astarion almost flinched, but he held himself with perfect posture, even as his ex-lover grabbed his doublet hard enough to pull him away from the wall.
"How did you do it?" Vincent growled, anger burning in his blue eyes.
Astarion forced a laugh. "Do what, my dear?"
"Cheat on the bloody test!"
"Cheat? Why would I cheat?" He scoffed.
Vincent looked at him with the eyes of someone surprised by someone's audacity, but said nothing, merely continuing to grip his doublet.
"What?" Astarion tilted his head.
"Your perfect fucking score, that's what." Vincent growled, shaking. "How did you manage it?!?"
Astarion stared at the man that eight months ago he'd thought he might be in love with, suddenly glad that he'd seen this weak bastard's true colors before those feelings solidified.
"What? Like it's hard?" He shook his head. "Really, darling, I can understand why someone with your level of intellect might find it difficult to understand, but it isn't inexplicable. In this arena, and most, really, I outshine you. Haven't you learned that lesson yet?"
Gently, Astarion reached up and unhooked Vincent's fingers from his garment, staring at the man's disbelieving eyes. "Now, this behavior is most unbecoming for a future leader of this city. Perhaps you should walk it off? Hmmmmm?"
Two of Vincent's friends finally reached him, pulling him away gently, telling him it wasn't worth it to start a fight. When they'd finally gotten him out of the hall, Astarion let a huge grin (smirk) spread across his face.
He'd won. And now, his life, at least for the next several decades, was set to be one of indulgence, both for his mind and his body. What doors wouldn't open to Magistrate Ancunin? He was already mentally planning the trips he would take, the wines he would drink, and the clothes he would wear.
The world was truly his to explore, his to taste, his to enjoy. And no one was going to stop him.