Chapter Text
“Something on your mind, darling?” Astarion drawled as he watched Tav and Karlach check their equipment. His eyes flicked between looking at their companions, watching the menagerie of conjured animals appearing on the ground floor and eyeing the shelves for anything not being looked after well enough. He could see why Gale had been so tremendously excited about this shop, but his interest was more in terms of ‘how much can we steal from here without being caught’.
Judging by the weight of his pack, it turned out a lot.
“Hm?” Gale blinked over at him blankly, “Oh, nothing at all. Merely pondering on the nature of… well, the proprietor of this establishment.” His eyes ticked over to the reception desk and his lips tightened. “As I mentioned before, what little I have heard of Lorroakan does not paint a picture of a very… magnanimous man.”
“You mentioned he was a bit of a cad, I remember,” Astarion said, following his gaze. Rolan, oblivious to them, brought a hand up to touch his bruised lip and Astarion felt an odd surge of… anger? Surely not.
“He’s rumoured to be the very embodiment of all the disparaging beliefs that circulate about wizards,” Gale said with a scowl. “Jealous, arrogant, egotistic… well, in his case, it must be true, if he wishes to acquire the Nightsong like she’s an offering at the market to be bartered for. But still, it’s the sort like him that give all wizards a bad name.”
“You’re oddly irate about this,” Astarion noted with a hint of surprise, and a little delight. “It actually offends you that this Lorroakan goes about bragging he’s some accomplished wizard. Hit too close to home, darling?”
“I’m sure he’s accomplished something,” Gale said, tone wholly unconvincing, “but definitely not to boast as he does.” He threw a glare at Astarion, “And I would thank you to not throw me in that same pool, thank you.”
“Really?” Astarion grinned. “You could be describing yourself, you know!” Not really, but the irritated flush it brought to Gale’s cheeks was far too adorable to stop riling him up. “Jealous, arrogant, egotistic… is Gale of Waterdeep perhaps feeling a bit threatened?”
“Is Astarion no-title-I-know-of perhaps feeling like he’s going to get a Firebolt to the face if he continues to poke the archmage?” Gale said tartly. Astarion laughed uproariously and didn’t stop until Tav and Karlach joined them, throwing them both questioning looks that they ignored for different reasons and marched towards the correct portal. As it took them up the tower, Astarion heard Gale grumble about “shoddy projections with no personality” that sent him into another fit of giggles again as they stepped out into what looked like the main quarters.
Astarion had to admit, Gale’s instinct about Lorroakan had been correct and then some, the sight of the mage forcing his assistant to act as target practise for his experiment stirring some unpleasant memories of Cazador. He made a mental note to… not apologise (Gale would assume he’d been replaced with a doppelganger and Astarion didn’t actually want a Firebolt to the face), but maybe steal him something nice. He’d seen a lovely circlet that would look good on the mage.
Lorroakan’s motivations for the Nightsong were so predictable, Astarion almost wished to stab him for being boring. What was it with wizards wanting to mess with immortality? Astarion almost wanted to suggest he visit Lord Szarr for a much easier route to eternal life, but last thing he wanted was for his enemy to gain a mage of… some power?
For all the boasting, he had expected there to be something… more to Lorroakan’s Tower. Gale spoke of his enthusiastically, stating how magic permeated every object, every stone in his home. How his piano played tunes by itself, the plants watered themselves and the curtains adjusted themselves throughout the day. Gale’s Tower seemed to embody magic and whimsy, Lorroakan’s… seemed mechanical and lifeless, like he’d just moved in and done nothing beyond constructing- was that an actual throne of books?
He raised his eyebrows as Lorroakan wailed about the loss of the Nightsong, upon nothing more than Tav’s word, who was frankly the worst liar Astarion had ever met. He exchanged an incredulous look with Gale as if to say, ‘is he actually fucking serious?’ The archmage shook his head almost imperceptibly and rolled his eyes, leaning over to whisper, “Perhaps it was wise to dissuade me from the Crown of Karsus. A jumped-up wizard drunk on promises of power is not enviable company.”
“Hm? What was that?” came Lorroakan’s simpering tone, raising Astarion’s hackles just from the whining quality of it. “I didn’t quite catch the words, but your tone was clear enough.”
“Nothing at all, friend.” Gale said with that cheery mask Astarion could well see through now. “I was merely… admiring your ambition.”
“Ah,” Lorroakan’s tone turned smug. “I believe I recognize you… Gale of Waterdeep.” A sneer. “Mystra’s discarded lapdog, reducing to trailing after some adventurer.” He scoffed. “How you have fallen.”
Astarion’s grip on his dagger shifted from playful to business as Gale’s grip on his staff tightened, knuckles almost white. Lorroakan, oblivious, continued.
“Do you still pine for her?” the wizard taunted, voice mockingly sympathetic. “Run around trying to impress her, in the hope she’ll take you back?” His eyes ticked to Astarion and his malicious grin grew, “Or did you find your way to some lesser’s bed instead? Your true talents seem to lie in the bedroom, not the Weave.”
How dare he! Astarion had his dagger unsheathed in a split second, a red haze in his eyes as he stared that odious wizard down. He ached to rip his throat open, watch that smug face twist in terror as he bathed in his own blood, twist those long fingers until they snapped-
A purple clawed hand gripped his wrist and he snarled at Tav, who looked back at him and very subtly shook his head, gesturing with his eyes to the Myrmidons looming around the room. A difficult fight, if they were to advance on him now, but well worth it, in Astarion’s opinion. The others, unfortunately, seemed to disagree.
“I am my own man,” he said, eyes blazing, “I make my own choices. And envy is not a generous trait, Lorroakan. You would do well to remember that.”
“Do not presume you can dare to lecture me,” the wizard hissed. “I will achieve greatness, far more than you ever did as Mystra’s personal whore! My achievements will be of my own, no one else’s, certainly not the result of warming a goddess’ bed!”
Karlach joined Tav in restraining Astarion, who was now itching to bury a knife in Lorroakan’s face, both of them shuffling back towards the portal, taking him with him. Neither wizard paid them any attention.
“Your achievements?” Gale said with a dismissive chuckle. “You, who couldn’t even find the Nightsong and had to recruit others to do so? And then failed in that as well?”
“You impudent-”
“Well, we’ll leave you to your plans!” Karlach chirped, wrapping an arm around Gale’s shoulders and not-so-gently pulling him in the direction of the portal. “Sorry about the NIghtsong!”
“I will-” the rest of Lorroakan’s rant was lost in the woosh of the portal as they were deposited back where they entered.
“The nervous of that wretched little worm,” Astarion hissed once released by Tav. “Who in the hells does he think he is?”
“I know!” Gale piped up, still seething, “As expected, he falls short of any true academic standard.”
“What?!”
“Weren’t you paying attention?” Gale said, gesturing expansively. “To believe Dame Aylin dead, based on a single subjective account? It’s just… shoddy scholarship! You would never get away with that at Blackstaff!”
Astarion stared at the indignant wizard incredulously, “Are you seriously annoyed that he didn’t check his sources? Were you not paying attention to the way that bastard spoke to you?!”
“Oh, I’ve heard worse in almost every social gathering or academic exposition I attended as an adult,” Gale said, waving his hand dismissively. “But to see a self-proclaimed wizard so unknowledgeable – proudly ignorant even!- of the very basic foundation of academia… well, once we inform Dame Aylin of this unpleasant encounter, I’m sure she’ll correct him with the contempt of a thousand tenured professors.”
Astarion’s jaw was nearly at the floor as he stared at the wizard and Karlach and Tav seemed to have very wisely picked up that he was about to explode and herded them out of the shop and back to the Elfsong. Tav informed Dame Aylin of the new threat on her life and she took it as seriously as she did everything else. Tav only just convinced her to take on Lorroakan tomorrow once they’d all had a chance to rest. Astarion very quickly volunteered for that party and bullied (lovingly, or maybe not) Gale into joining as well.
Later that evening, the vampire sat and sharpened his blades, polishing them both with Wizardsbane oil and checking his Arrows of Arcane Interference. He threw both curious and contemptuous glances at Gale as the wizard studied the scrolls they had picked up from the Vault, sorting them into different piles to be assigned to their various allies, or to be scribed into Gale’s spellbook.
They hadn’t spoken since their hasty retreat from the store and Astarion… wasn’t quite sure how to approach him. Sure, he mocked Gale constantly about everything from his looks, to his personality, to his magic, but he’d never meant anything malicious by it (well, not anymore), but something about Lorroakan’s spiteful utterances rubbed him the wrong way, even if Gale seemed wholly unaffected by them.
Finally, he could hold it back no longer. He approached the mage, who continued to stare at his scrolls like they could ever hope to compete to the blessing that was his presence. Clearly Gale needed some help, so Astarion promptly plucked his spellbook from his lap and, ignoring Gale’s indignant sputtering, directed his mage hand to drop it on his bed.
“That was exceptionally rude, you know,” Gale said with a baleful glare. “Touching a wizard’s spellbook could be considered an act of war.”
“Yes, I’m sure wizards wage plenty of wars without their precious book,” Astarion snorted. “What are you going to do, pummel me with your darling fists?”
“Though it would be well deserved, apparently we still have need of you,” Gale sniffed. “Now may I ask what prompted this delightful exchange? Shouldn’t you be preparing for tomorrow?”
“Oh please, you and I both know that that poor excuse for a wizard won’t be a challenge for us at all,” Astarion scoffed. “Which brings me to my actual question: why on earth did you allow him to talk to you like that?”
“Like… what?” Gale blinked at him. Astarion stared at him incredulously, but Gale’s expression didn’t betray anything besides confusion and mild irritation (likely due to his spellbook: he could be annoyingly touchy about that). “Are you still thinking about that silly exchange before?”
“Silly?” Astarion said, indignant. “Were you listening to the same conversation? He basically implied you achieved all you did because you were bedding Mystra! How are you not more incensed about that?”
“Well, words like that don’t sting when the speaker is a wizard of ill acclaim and even poorer ability,” Gale said with a raised eyebrow. “Also, as I mentioned before, he is not the first, nor will he be the last, to imply that I curried favour with Mystra through… disreputable means. It was a very common point of discourse as I was advancing in my career. One I had hoped to have put to rest over the years, but I can imagine that once word came out of my… accident, the naysayers were emboldened, especially as my magic ability dwindled.”
Gale looked down at his hands, conjuring an image of a cat. “There was a time when I could have created any image you could dream of, and some you wouldn’t. As talented as I am with Evocation and Abjuration, and every other school to be frank, Illusion is where my true passion lied, at least when I had time to myself and no mission to carry out. I could create images seen and unseen by mortal eyes, manipulate the very fabric of reality to my desire, make you see, hear and feel anything I wanted… I haven’t been able to do that for some time now.”
The cat meowed and hopped down to sniff at Astarion’s boot. The rogue raised an eyebrow and bent down to examine it further. The cat purred and rubbed it’s face against his hand, feeling soft and warm.
“It’s coming back, little by little,” Gale said with a small smile, watching Astarion scratch the illusion under its chin. “Not as… not what I could do, but definitely more than I’ve been capable of in months.” A grimace. “Definitely better than that charlatan could ever hope to do.”
“Did you see that book throne of his?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Or rather, remind me tomorrow, I’ll make sure to express my pertinent feelings on the matter with extreme prejudice.”
Astarion chuckled. The cat meowed and vanished with a flick of its tail, purple motes fading into the air. The silence that followed was comfortable, but anticipatory. Finally, Astarion sat down on the cushion next to him, looking down at his folded hands.
“Don’t ever let anyone tear you down like that,” he said finally, voice uncharacteristically serious, a tone saved for moments of sharing memories and secrets. “No matter how indifferent you think you are, or how insignificant they are, the moment you allow someone to speak ill of you, you’ve opened the door for others to do the same. If you won’t put in the effort to defend yourself, no one else will either.”
Gale looked at him with an unreadable expression, but damnably soft eyes and Astarion rose up before he could say anything, going back to his corner to finish sharpening his blades. It wasn’t much of a distance considering they bunked right next to each other, but Gale, for once, seemed to pick up that the conversation was over. Instead, he plucked his spellbook from his bed and got back to his scrolls, scribing them with impeccable penmanship.
One of them looked like Sunbeam.