#should brush up on the tempest... much ado about nothing...

[vulpinesaint]

really winning at childcare lately (telling my elementary schoolers the plots of shakespearean tragedies)

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Theurgist

Chapter Three: A Night with the Magistrate

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary:  Astarion chuckled, pulling another blade of grass from the ground and spinning it between his fingers. There was more to the woman in front of him. From what he had gathered, she had already given more than what she was willing to share. A warlock from Baldur’s Gate with a bag full of books and smirk full of secrets. He may have found decent company  in the most unexpected of places.

Read here on Ao3.

“A temple?” Shadowheart glowered behind her. “Are you sure?”

Ferelith climbed up the debris, her hands rough and hot from touching the hot fleshy walls. She brushed off the soot and looked down at the rubble below. Flames were still rolling, sending ash and smoke through the sky, now growing darker. They would have to find somewhere to camp soon. Which shouldn’t be to difficult considering there was fresh water nearby. Now that they had crossed the remains of the crash, it would be easier to find spot.

“I’m entirely sure,” she finally answered between thoughts, waiting for them to follow her up the path. “The architecture resembled something of the sort. I can’t imagine what other structure would be placed in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like it’s a bakery.”

“The luck we would have if it was,” Astarion sighed.

“Then there must be something in there that could help. Perhaps even shelter.”

Ferelith was partial to the idea. If they made it in time. “Let’s focus on what we can, first. It doesn’t look like we’ll have much-”

Her words drifted off as she stopped on the trail. There was a slight buzzing sound, like energy activating at a source. She turned, watching something flicker across a marking on the stone wall.

“What is it?” Shadowheart inquired as she grew closer.

“That glyph,” Ferelith cocked her head to the side to study it. “Sounds like someone’s using it.”

With a loud crack, a large hole twisting with energy opened against the stone. A wayward glyph, one that could be used to travel quickly. She was familiar with such means for transportation. Shadowheart jumped back, her mace already in hand. Ferelith lifted an arm out, holding her back in case whatever came through was not hostile. Though with the luck they had that day, the likelihood of something else trying to kill her was very high. It was a bit of a relief to find a man walking through to the other side, stepping lightly into the brush next to the path. He took one disbelieving look at Ferelith and gave a warm smile.

“You’re alive,” he said as the light flashed again, dismissing the portal. “That’s unexpected.”

“I’m sorry?” Ferelith approached, inquisitive to the nature of their newly appeared friend.

“Last I saw you, you were lying in a crucible’s worth of blood, an intellect devour nibbling at your ear. Glad to see my eyes deceive me.”

Ferelith shuttered at the thought of one of those walking brains near her head, but was somewhat relaxed by his friendly tone.

“I’m Gale,” he nodded. “Well met.”

“Ferelith,” she continued to watch him carefully, observing his stance. “Well met.”

There was a time in her life she had been surrounded by magic users of excellent caliber. And she had grown used to a certain aura they emitted. It was a mix between arcane energy and arrogance, always aggravating her as it made her feel less superior. Wizards were always assuming their magic was the only the kind that mattered. She was never fond of them. But she always knew one when she saw one. And Gale held his confidence at a level where she could not mistake him as anything but. His robes were even loud.

“You were on the ship, I presume?” she shifted.

“The very same,” he replied. “A traumatizing experience, if an instructive one.”

“An interesting way to put it,” Ferelith couldn’t help but chuckle. “By trauma I’m assuming you mean the worm that was forced into my eye?”

“Yes,” he pointed at her. “The ocular penetration by an illithid tadpole which will-”

There it was. The all knowing ramblings of a man who liked to overshare his intelligence. Typical and common in nearly every wizard she had met. Though, she could think of a few who were humble enough. Mostly those in the abjuration school. They were never that much fun, though. No, Ferelith was more attentive to listen to the words of the necromancers and their theories of the dead. Now they had some interesting thoughts.

“You’re staring at me like a Rashemi at a blackboard,” he said when he realized she was hardly listening. “You’re no wizard, are you?”

“No,” she crossed her arms. “I’m a warlock.”

“There’s a gust of Weave about you, but it’s a mere breeze.” he squinted at her. “I need a tempest. It’ll have to wait. The primary need is a healer. I take it you recall the insertion of the parasite?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Quite vividly.”

“Are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation, it will turn us into mind flayers? A process known as ceremorphosis?”

“I am aware of that, yes,” she noted the intensity in his voice.

“It is to be avoided,” he said firmly, his eyes shifted from her to the other companions. “I assume you’re no accomplished healer, either? A powerful cleric maybe?”

“It seems you’re out of luck. We’re all in the same predicament as yourself.”

“Well, we’re all in a whole lot of trouble. We need help and I’m not sure where we’ll find any in this wilderness. How about we embark on the quest for a healer together?”

“We have been looking for others,” she glanced back to her other companions. “So I imagine that’s just the plan we had envisioned.”

“Most excellent!” he proclaimed, a bit more excited than she had anticipated. “Then without further ado, let’s be off. Besides, it looks like you keep some interesting company.”

His gaze fell back onto Shadowheart, biting the corner of her lip with a menacing glare.

“A woman with shadows for eyes- deep as the Darklake. A pleasure, madam.”

“Is it, indeed?” she tilted her head with a mocking tone. “We’ll see.”

Astarion snicked, remaining hidden behind the two women. Ferelith looked back to cast a look of disappointment, but it hardly phased him. She turned back to Gale, the wizard with the optimistic grin. He would be useful. And if anything other than, he would at least bring some positive musings to their solemn thoughts. Even if those musings were just the truth spoken in a happy manner.

“We were just headed up the hill to the ruins,” she motioned. “We were looking to see if perhaps there were supplies we could scavenge.”

“The ruins?” he looked in the direction she was pointing. “The old temple, yes.”

Ferelith took another look behind as if her eyes would tell the others that she had been right on her earlier assumption.

“I took a peak during my rounds. Looks like the place is covered with bandits.”

“Which means there’s supplies,” Shadowheart stepped closer.

Ferelith turned to her at her left shoulder. “We’ll have to prepare for a fight.”

“Prepare for a fight? You’re going to raid the bandit camp?” Gale looked at them with surprise.

“It’s them or us,” Shadowheart shrugged.

“We can try to ask nicely, I suppose,” Ferelith smirked. “But something tells me they won’t be willing to share.”

“This is going to interesting,” Astarion smirked, his enthusiasm rising in the two women whom he it seems he had not judged fairly.

“Let’s just assess the situation when we get there,” Gale raised his hands, clearly not anticipating a battle ready party so soon.

“He’s right,” Ferelith came to reason. “We should make camp, first. Somewhere close to the water? I’d like to wash this soot from my face.”

“We should head back, then,” Shadowheart agreed.

“Yes, I think I saw a nice bank to camp on from the cliff side. Shall we?”

With the sun setting and weary bodies, the party had agreed to settle on a flat surface near the river. There was enough sand to make the ground soft. And enough dead wood to create a fire. Gale was gracious enough to provide flames while everyone helped collect wood. There was little they had salvaged from the wreckage, but Ferelith and Shadowheart managed to pull together a few bedrolls from the fishermen they had looted earlier that day. They all pooled their findings together to create a meal of bread, cheese, and two apples. Ferelith was even pleased to find she had a few leaves left in her apron to make tea. If only she had a kettle. Feeling around her waste for her belt, she found the component bag which had remained empty. She placed the leaves inside, deciding there would be another time she would need it.

"So," a voice approaching from behind. "We're resting here? Turning in for the night?"

She stood up to face Astarion who seemed a bit uncomfortable if not distraught. He not only seemed worried, but he was shifting as he stood in front of her. As if he were too embarrassed to say what was honestly on his mind.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, trying to catch his veering glances.

“No, not at all,” he smiled, appearing grateful, but unconvincing.

“It’s nothing what you’re used to in Baldur’s Gate, I’m sure. But it’s a lovely spot.”

Ferelith looked about. It had been a long time since she camped in the wilderness. Truth be told, she would consider it one of the best campsites she had rested in. There may not have been beds or tents, but the sound of the river nearby was calming. There was a waterfall close. A ruin to other side. And a group of rocks and logs to provide seating and shelter.

"I suppose," he said politely, noticing her admiring looks around the scenery. "I'm not sure what I expected, really. This is all a little new."

She couldn't help but feel some satisfaction from his suffering. A noble forced to sleep on the ground. It was nice to have some sort of entertainment for the evening. Still, he appeared not to be completely broken about it. She imagined if he was truly upset about the matter, he would be demanding more bedrolls. And for that, she was somewhat impressed by his humility.

"You mentioned you were from the city as well,” he went on. “The night for us normally means bustling streets... bursting taverns..."

His eyes narrowed a bit, searching her face for a sudden realization. But... there was none. Ferelith had not recalled their run in whatsoever. The illithid must have cleared the memory of his face when he mind controlled her. It made having to explain himself nonexistent. And it made smoothing her over all the more obtainable.

"Curling up in the dirt and resting is... a little novel," he went on with a sigh.

"You're being terribly polite for not having much a choice," she crossed her arms.

Again, he saw the hint of tease in her nature. She was going to be fun. A challenge... but fun... He smiled.

"You expected me to be rude?" he questioned, impersonating someone who was hurt. "No, I won't complain. Not while everything remains unsettled."

"Agreed. Not that I want to hear your complaints. But we should get some rest so we can catch up on that unsettled business in the morning."

"I'm in no place to rest yet," he raised his brow. "Today has been... a lot. I need some time to think things through. To process this. You rest. I'll keep watch."

There was something ominous about the idea of resting in the midst of three complete strangers. Her perception had not failed her yet, but it seemed odd to put her life in the hands of someone who had tried to stab her just hours before.

“I’m afraid I won’t be needing much rest,” she stated. “Besides, I’m not so eager to completely trust any of you just yet.”

There was a pause as the two elves stared at one another, as if two predators had spotted each other from across an empty field. It created a tension that could crack the moment it was disturbed. Or could wither away with a simple word. Astarion plotted his next statement carefully, as he knew if he went about it the wrong way, she would never learn to trust him at all.

"You know,” he leaned forward, “if you wanted to spend time with me, you only have to say so."

The drop in his tone during the last few words caused Ferelith's expression to drop. In most occasions, she did very well to conceal her emotions. But the audacity of this man was enough to change that. The familiar flutter in her chest had returned. And she was not so willing to bury it this time. Her jaw had nearly dropped open, but the long pause gave her away.

"But suit yourself," Astarion said smugly. "I'm sure we'll drift off at some point."

"Yes, well," she closed her mouth and shook her head, looking down into her book. "I've got work to do... with this..."

"Good evening, then," he gave a slight nod before he sauntered back across the fire.

As she rummaged through notes she had written that day and the small black leather book she clung to tightly, she couldn't help but feel she was circling back to an unanswered question. There was still no word from her patron. She was lucky she could even still feel him. And as the night grew quieter, she could hear the feint whispers in the back of her head. They were only causing more distractions. As if the occasional on looking eyes were not enough. Looking up from her book, she glanced to Astarion, picking grass and throwing it to the fire. They really were the only ones awake. Then again, they were the only ones who did not need to sleep.

"Is there something you need?" he asked, catching her staring.

"No," she replied, looking back down to her book.

“You look like you need a break,” he suggested, crossing his legs.

Ferelith sat up, stretching her lower back as she pushed her chest out. “What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?”

Astarion chuckled, pulling another blade of grass from the ground and spinning it between his fingers. There was more to the woman in front of him. From what he had gathered, she had already given more than what she was willing to share. A warlock from Baldur’s Gate with a bag full of books and smirk full of secrets. He may have found decent company in the most unexpected of places.

“If that’s the case, you and I have a long night ahead of us.”

“Long nights never bothered me,” she placed her hands on her lap. “What about you? What were your long nights like back in Baldur’s Gate? Other than those bursting taverns.”

He felt a tightening in his chest at there may have been a hint of recognition. “There were nights spent outside of taverns.”

“I see,” she nodded at his quick dismissal. “Likely filled with entertainers and wine, then.”

“Not always,” he shrugged, picking the grass apart just as he did the one before. “Some nights were spent studying. Much like yourself.”

“A scholar,” she shook her head in jest.

“A magistrate,” he corrected. “It was all rather tedious.”

“Oh,” she brought a hand to her chest. “Excuse me, then. I must apologize. I didn’t realize I was in the company of someone so formal.”

Astarion sneered from across the fire, remembering that she had been in the upper district when they crossed paths. “You know,” he inhaled, holding his breath for a moment while he contemplated her remark. “Something tells me you’re not so humble, yourself.”

“I’m quite proud of my work,” she blinked. “And I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You carry yourself with a strange sense of power,” he glared at her now, as if he were searching beyond what her face would show. “Something greater than pride. You wouldn’t happen to be familiar with the nobility of Baldur’s Gate, would you?”

Her heart sunk as her mind began to search her memories for his face. There were none. She was certain she had never met this man before. But his in-sinuous tone told her otherwise. If he was asking, it only meant he was unsure of himself. And if she gave him the answer he desired, it would mean she was admitting to something she was not certain she was guilty of. Whatever the case, she remained firm in her decision to remain as unapproachable as possible.

“I can’t say that I am,” she lied.

“That’s disappointing,” he threw the rest of what was left in his hand into the flames. “You seem like someone I would have acquainted myself with.”

A commendation cloaking the questions of an obvious interrogator. She knew the tactic and dismissed it, taking it only as a backhanded compliment. Turning her attention back to work to ignore his presence, she began to scratch more useless notes across the paper. Anything to keep her from talking to him further. Her heart began to pound against her chest. And again, she tried to recall the memories of Baldur’s Gate. Even as far back as her time in Neverwinter. But not a thought was found for a handsome white haired magistrate. She was sure she would have noticed.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said softly when she had been quiet for a few minutes. “These are strange times and I find myself in need of… a friend.”

Ferelith couldn’t help but feel he was looking in the wrong the direction. Still, she looked up with interest to find he had rose to his feet, towering over the flames and looking down at her.

“Those are not so easily acquired,” she retorted.

“Weeeell,” there was a shift in his brow, “if you ever warm up to the idea, I’ll be here. For now, I think I’ll take my leave to admire the night. I’m growing ever more anxious for the sun to rise.”

Ferelith said not a word as he strode off toward the ruin. She watched as he hesitated crossing the log, but found his footing to be rather graceful as he strut across it. He was being very careful. Not just about the river, but about how he was speaking to her. There were too many blank spaces that she could fill detailing what he could be hiding from her. That, of course, was also due to her the charade of what she was keeping to herself. And with that distracting her from any more work, she shut her book with the conclusion that she needed rest more than she needed answers. She was anxious now, as well.