Chapter Text
Long ago, Balduran founded a city. A small harbor town sprawled into golden prosperity, and became the home of the brave, the bold, and the adventurous.
After that, things truly went downhill.
It’s the mundane things that show what a creature is like deep down.
People think of world-defining actions: When one stands before the great enemy defeated, the Netherbrain begging for mercy, offering its power for its life, the chance to become Absolute. But plenty would follow through in destroying it, as Tav called for—anyone heroic or cautious or spiteful enough.
The Emperor initially formulated an opinion on Tav at the foot of the Adamantine Forge, amongst the smoking, split-leg ruins of its mighty construct guardian, crushed by the very hammer it protected.
Standing over his flattened foe, the first thing the elf did was adjust the collar of his hard-won prize, the armor still warm from the forge, and beg a glimpse of his reflection from his companion’s shield.
That reflection smiled at himself, eyes gleaming in the smoke, blood and ash in his hair, and said, lightly, “Well done! A brief respite and then come, on your feet. Before we leave the area, we return to that lava elemental and destroy it. It was definitely guarding treasure.”
Then, they proceeded down the cliff, showered forementioned lava elemental with arrows and spells of frost, and nearly burnt themselves all to death for the second time. And for what? Well, to fetch the gilded lockbox Tav had keenly spotted from on high—and evidently kept in his mind throughout fighting the Forge guardian and almost burning to death the first time.
It is always a lockbox. Tav has a sixth sense for boxes that are locked, perhaps a seventh and eighth as well.
Treasure, the Emperor can understand. He was once the very same way. Even when the stakes are high, adventurers will be adventurers.
But the reward from this lockbox was nothing more than some trinket, a haunted amulet that risked laughing madness in exchange for powers that would only truly benefit a monk. A smile crept on Tav’s face as he came under the giggling ghost’s influence, as he barely fought down the laughing fit to tuck the trinket underneath his collar.
Tav kept the amulet on.
Tav is not a monk.
Naturally, that’s when the Emperor decided that the future savior of Baldur’s Gate is quite mad.
I do not actually drink much wine, the Emperor says to Tav.
This does not elicit so much as a pause from the elf, who is struggling to haul the crate, jammed between the secret door that he is also struggling to hold open at the same time. The Emperor observes this for ten seconds and then moves the crate telekinetically.
“Thank you,” Tav says, catching his breath. He makes a show of wiping his hand against his brow. “Why, then, was I able to steal all those bottles when I raided this place?”
It is for guests, for the occasional but necessary rituals in forging alliances. And you were not stealing from me. I told you the location of my hideout, so that you would benefit from an additional cache of resources.
“There you go, you do have use for it. Well, we drank all of your wine and we went through all of your things. It’s only polite to repay you. A housewarming gift.”
That is unnecessary.
The Emperor has reclaimed his hideout below the Elfsong Tavern. It remains utilitarian, threadbare; the past months have been especially busy as he re-establishes contacts and territory.
“We ought to get you some plants,” Tav says, patting the crate. “But think of it this way: I am offloading a veritable excess unto you. This is way too much alcohol for me to drink. Well, I could, of course, drink it all alone, but I try to avoid such pitiful behaviors. So here we are!” Tav smiles crookedly. “I don’t think you are grasping the sheer volume I was sent home with. Perhaps you would, if you had come to the party yourself.”
I already sent a letter in my stead. Besides, your victory was well-earned and it is important for your kind to hold celebratory gatherings. There is no need to complicate things with an unwelcome visitor.
“Unwelcomed by whom?” Tav snorts. “It was a private celebration thrown in the middle of the wilderness by a skeleton who may or may not be a former god of death. Milil was there! And Gale—” Tav pauses and his smile twists. “It’s a poor excuse, anyways. You would hardly be the strangest one there.”
The Emperor seizes the chance at a different topic. What of the wizard from Waterdeep?
“He’s good.”
Is he?
“He says he is happy. He says he will change the world. He is on the cusp of greatness.”
Then it sounds like he has achieved his goal of godhood.
“Oh, yes, he most definitely has,” Tav says dryly. “Glowing eyes and all. Chains of mortality thrown down! His domain, apparently, is ambition. Considering your own goals, if you are looking for some divine patronage, some extra pizzazz in the arsenal, I would certainly recommend him—it’s arguable he owes you, after all, and now he is a god! You ought to take advantage.”
You do not sound happy.
Tav’s expression is veiled; he is deciding how much to admit, or if he would rather just lie. Calculating what sort of answer the Emperor would prefer to hear.
You sound distinctly unhappy, the Emperor suggests again. It’s been proven that directly pressuring Tav causes him to immediately do the opposite of what he is told, unless the pressuring in question consists of shouting help me at him.
Tav resumes unpacking his crates. “I love it when moral decisions are easy, you know. Isobel once said something about the right side being obvious, sometimes, and it’s true when it is. For example, if your friend thinks sacrificing seven thousand souls for power is what he wants, you should tell him otherwise. You should talk him out of it. It is actually not what he wants or needs and it’s not good for anyone, and it’s a horrific, damning decision. That’s an easy one.”
I see. You think Gale should have laid down his own ambition and returned to Mystra’s side, then?
“He’s not the same now,” Tav says tightly.
Naturally. He ascended the limitations of his form. But I understand why you would find such a fundamental change perturbing. Despite my counsel, your attachment to your own form superseded the advantage of embracing your latent illithid abilities, even when doing so would have removed many unnecessary hardships.
This makes Tav smile. “Please, we destroyed the brain just fine without stuffing my head with more worms, thank you. What was truly necessary was preserving this beautiful face!”
The Emperor is unmoved. Then you risked much for your vanity. Though I suspect it is more about your stubbornness.
“Gods. I thought you would be funnier.”
What?
“With all the bawdy stories, the songs, I expected more of the roguish sailor.” He is speaking of Balduran. “If becoming illithid would’ve made me less funny, it truly is a fate worse than death.” There is a pause. Tav then says, “Sorry. That was a joke.”
It may surprise you, but I have retained my capacity to comprehend such things, the Emperor says dryly. We are speaking of your inability to accept change.
“I can accept change! With Gale, I just—I don’t know what I expected. I suppose I didn’t give the decision the attention it deserved. I got complacent, I think, resting upon my laurels after I got Shadowheart to not murder for Shar’s favor, after I smugly showed Lae’zel the truth of her god-queen. I only wanted to encourage Gale to break free as well. I was too one-note about it. Mystra asked for something awful, I won’t fold on that, but she isn’t like Shar, so perhaps…”
You think you should have convinced him otherwise, the Emperor says. You think you could have.
“Of course I could have,” Tav says matter-of-factly.
It’s not always up to you. Some minds cannot be changed.
“All minds can be changed,” the bard replies. By me, is the implication. Tav is such a typical specimen of his class sometimes.
Not even a silver tongue can turn everyone aside from their decisions. For example, I saw that you were prepared to argue with me extensively about using the Orphic Hammer. You intended to try and convince me that Orpheus once freed, would somehow refrain from killing us all or withdrawing his protection, that it would somehow be worth the end of everything we worked for. It is fortunate that you ultimately made the right decision. No words could paint such a catastrophic decision in a good light. I could not have continued my alliance with you if you had gone down that path.
“What?” Tav says. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I could not have remained with you and risked imminent death.
Tav rolls his eyes. “What, you would have turned against us? Fought us?”
His flippancy rankles. Perhaps. But at such a disadvantage, in numbers and strength, I would have been forced to flee.
“That’s absurd. Flee where? If you broke our alliance like that, then you would also have lost Orpheus’s protection. You’d be a slave again. If I’d really pushed for freeing Orpheus, you would have no choice but to go along.” There is a rising note in Tav’s voice, a warning.
You’re sorely mistaken. The only choice remaining for me in that scenario would be to return to the Netherbrain.
“What?” Tav says flatly.
Instantly, the Emperor sees that the admission is a mistake. But now he can only try to salvage it, to explain. I have survived and escaped enthrallment twice before. No matter how slim, the chance for freedom is always nonzero…unlike if I were to perish altogether.
“So your response would be to—There’s no guarantee that Orpheus would have attacked us, let alone managed to kill you right in front of me! As I said—” Tav cuts himself off. “You’re saying you would have abandoned me, over that? After everything?”
Don’t look at me like that. You would have been the one throwing everything away. We are speaking of betrayal, had you followed through.
“Betrayal?” Tav says indignantly. “Me? After everything I did for—after all the times I’ve defended you in front of the others. Betrayal!”
The nearby bookshelves tremble. There is an echo of power in the bard’s tone, so great is his anger. The Emperor is mildly taken aback.
When the Emperor’s nature as a mind flayer first came to light, Tav had put his hands on his hips and smugly proclaimed he had suspected this twist all along, like a pompous literary critic. Whether this was true or not, he did not so much as raise his voice at the revelation, even while his companions exhibited tired and predictable shock, disgust, horror.
Too good to be true? Perhaps. Sometimes, the Emperor caught less charitable thoughts from Tav, but the only words voiced were kind ones, and the only gestures given were startlingly friendly. Hugs. And later, kisses. A chance seized, that night of love to consummate war. Many sweet things were said.
But it must be remembered that Tav, who has deceived other True Souls probing his very mind for loyalty to the Absolute, is something of an excellent liar.
All of this is immaterial, the Emperor says, watching the jars on his table shake. Hypothetical. It didn’t happen. You remained loyal to me. In the important moments, you made the correct decision.
The jars still. Tav wears a bright smile once again. “You’re right. All’s well that ends not as bad as it could have, right?”
During those months of traveling together, the Emperor’s attention had always been exhausted and split at last threefold: Between fighting Orpheus’s forces, channeling the prince’s power against the Absolute’s voice, and keeping an eye on the adventurers. Despite what his reluctant allies feared, the Emperor did not spend a great deal of time monitoring their every thought.
Testing a theory, the Emperor floats forward, advances the equivalent of two paces. And he sees Tav flinch. Barely visible, and yet, it’s a deep, visceral thing. It’s much more mental than physical, and the only reason the Emperor notices is because he now has the capacity to look into Tav’s surface thoughts and emotions as much as he wants.
Though doing so remains risky, and it hardly tells him everything. After all, Tav has managed to hide his flinches until now.
You should go, the Emperor says.
“What? Why?” Tav replies with convincing bewilderment. He has unfrozen, very quickly, with a sheepish air.
There is much for me to do. Even with a great crisis averted, many important matters still occupy me. He makes sure to add, I appreciate the visit. You are an important and competent ally, and I hope we are still able to work together in the future.
Tav pauses and then shrugs graciously. He bows with both elegance and flippancy. He is charming and likeable and there is no hint of confrontation whatsoever.
“I meant to come by earlier, but the months got away from me. I’ve missed you,” he says pleasantly.
It’s easy to respond, I have missed you, too.
The Emperor allots an hour to analyze the interaction.
It should not come as great surprise that Tav is terrified of him, after all. With the crisis over, fronts become harder to maintain, as much as they become less necessary. Even the Emperor cannot keep his forever. Tav’s beautiful dream guardian would never have risked any ugly admissions. Just as, it seems, that Tav had been so extraordinarily cordial—always suggesting it is a simple thing to get along with a mind flayer, just like anybody else, if only you try hard enough.
During their tryst, Tav displayed nothing but adventurous enthusiasm from a playful and confident lover. If there was any deep-set terror, it seems necessity had drowned it beyond detection. In this, the Emperor and Tav must have come to the same conclusion: They required each other’s favor and had therefore mirrored one another to the endpoint of demonstrative trust.
It is strange that Tav has come by at all. Sentiment, perhaps, overriding sense, the tying of loose ends, after recently returning from a gathering of his old friends.
With this out of the way, it may be unlikely to expect a repeat visit. Tav is frightened by the mind flayer, and it’s reasonable. The old matter of incompatible natures, that of the flesh-eater and the flesh-bearer. A mouse does not continue to associate with the cat. If not even Ansur could do it…
The Emperor puts away that line of thought alongside the remainder of the wine. Later, when he catches a straggler of the Bhaal cult, he first forces the man to pop a bottle and taste it and show the experience of the drink through his thoughts. It is a deep red, which pairs elegantly with meaty dishes.
In that gauzy previous life, Balduran was more of a beer-drinker, sailor as he was.
All of the wines Tav has gifted are reds.
