Made To Be

Baldur’s Gate’s annual Midsummer Festival was just the occasion to sate his ever-gluttonous appetite. Raucous celebrations rang out from every corner. Even the outskirts of Rivington had something to offer. They held two jousting tournaments, one in the early afternoon and another in the evening. As the sun set and Astarion could safely walk the city streets without fear of burning, he and Leviathala made a beeline for the sign-ups.

It’d taken a lot of willpower to ignore the rest of the city’s revelries to head here first. Magnificent games and tournaments of all kinds, merchant booths full of handmade wares and trinkets, and food stalls selling fresh-baked treats wrapped in wax paper went on for blocks in the Lower City and beyond.

Leviathala’s tail swung happily behind her as they fell in line. He sidestepped yet another unintentional swish at his thigh. “Excited, love?”

“I never made it past the first couple rounds in the years prior. I wonder if I’ve gotten any better since then.”

“Oh, surely killing the Dead Three’s Chosen and destroying a Nether Brain has to count for something.”

The sign-up line was crowded with drunks and the untrained. The organizers selected the few true jousters, Leviathala among them. Her participation stirred a flutter of whispers around the crowd. A lifetime of being treated as devilkin instinctively raised her hackles. It would not be the first time others booed her performance and cut her down before she had the chance to prove herself.

“‘Scuse me, but you’re the Saviours of Baldur’s Gate, right?” one of the participants asked. He was a young, well-strapped half-elf at least half a head taller than her. Dark brown eyes glittered against even darker skin, a charming, if starstruck smile tugging at his lips.

“Guilty as charged.” Astarion spread his arms out wide, but the half-elf was staring right at Leviathala.

“Sorry to bother you. Name’s Borealis. Borealis Stormseeker, ma’am. Castor’s gonna be so happy to watch this match. That’s my partner, they’re a tiefling, too. They’re a huge fan of yours, Miss Leviathala. Really wants to tell your tale someday. Bard-in-training, they are,” he went on.

Even through the navy blue of Leviathala’s skin, Astarion could spot the sudden flush rushing to her cheeks. “Oh, um, I’m glad I could inspire them. I could speak with them a little after the match, if they’d like. Get the story from the source.”

“Oh, they’d love that! I’d really appreciate it. Almost makes me feel bad for trying to knock you off your horse.”

At this, she let out an uproarious laugh. “Don’t hold back now, Borealis. Give it all you’ve got.”

“Aye, ma’am, I will. Thank you so much.”

The organizers set Astarion up in one of the VIP box suites built atop the bleachers. He swept the sawdust off the wooden bench as best he could before the games began.

Leviathala and Borealis were queued for the second round, so he busied himself stealing from the drunken patriar next to him in the meantime. Once the winner of the first round revealed himself, the crowd went wild. He was a grizzled human with a bushy black beard and a long scar running down past his right eye to the curve of his jaw. Apparently, he was a regular winner at these annual tournaments.

Astarion scoffed as he pocketed the patriar’s coin purse. Tough competition to be sure, but nothing their party hadn’t handled before.

Finally, his girlfriend strolled out on a brown-and-white horse alongside that half-elf fan of hers. The staff had graciously poked holes through the top of her helmet to let her teal horns curl up and through.

Astarion gripped the railing and cheered for her at the top of his lungs, lobbing exaggerated (if a tad gory) wishes for her opponent’s swift demise.

“Presenting Borealis Stormseeker, a newcomer to the tournament. Versus! Leviathala Taelis, one of the Saviours of Baldur’s Gate!”

Astarion preened as the crowd cheered even louder than before. That human who won the first round might be impressive locally, but saving the entire world from a mindflayer invasion boasted far more longevity. Legends only grew bigger every time they were retold, after all.

The horses thundered forth. As the two closed in, they lowered their lances. It happened in a split second. The moment their lances slammed into each other’s thick shoulder plates, they both cracked into pieces. Leviathala leaned back from the blow but stayed atop her horse. Borealis tipped violently to the left then quickly righted himself as his horse sped off to the edge of the field.

Astarion grit his teeth when she hunched over, clutching her shoulder. The referees rushed over to each competitor with a healing potion in hand. They both took a moment to drink then test that their shoulders were good to go. Two thumbs-up from each side made the crowd cheer.

They readied themselves for another go. And then…time slowed. Each hoofbeat drummed against his ears as though his own heart had resurrected. He leaned as far off the banister as he dared, unblinking.

In the next moment, Borealis was knocked right off his horse. The crowd roared as Leviathala rose a victorious fist in the air. Astarion was louder than all the rest.

More matches went on, with Leviathala winning all of hers until the very last round. Her opponent was that same grizzled human from the first match. Astarion leaned back in his seat, smirking. The poor man didn’t stand a chance.

Leviathala was nearly knocked off her horse the very first round. His easygoing smile fell. It wasn’t the first scare he’d had watching the tournament, but she bested all her opponents thus far.

“Go for the throat, darling! Knock him down!” he shouted as the horses trotted to their marks. A couple onlookers eyed him warily. He ignored them.

The referees signaled for them to go again. They shot down the path, lances lowered at the last possible second and—

Leviathala flew off her horse. Her opponent’s lance hit her in the dead center of her shoulder armor, knocking her prone. Her own lance grazed the top of his armor before falling unceremoniously to the ground.

The stunned hush of the crowd swelled.

“Winner for the tenth year in a row: Fabian Hazermourn!” the referee cried out.

Astarion collapsed in his seat, stricken with grief as the quiet bubble burst at last and everyone cheered for Lev’s downfall. It took him a moment to scrape himself out of his seat.

He found Leviathala chatting with Fabian, Borealis, and another tiefling casting Cure Wounds on Lev’s shoulder. The half-elf bent to plant a kiss on the other tiefling’s head.

Ah. His bard partner. Probably busy memorizing every detail they could to add to Leviathala’s song. It would be better than that blasted book Volo wrote about them at any rate.

“Next time yer in the Gate, swing by this field again. I’ll teach ya a thing or two about jousting. Might even win next year’s tournament, if yer lucky,” Fabian said, touting his trophy under an arm.

Leviathala’s radiant smile almost made up for the loss. Almost. “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Hazermourn. Thank you.”

“Ol’ Fabian’s a sweetheart. Taught me the jousting ropes about a year ago now. I owe him a lot,” Borealis piped up. 

Fabian grunted once then stalked off. The very tips of his ears were red.

Leviathala seemed more chipper than before she’d entered the tournament. Astarion couldn’t fathom why considering the result, but she was happy, so what was the harm?

He’d make it up to her in his own way. The carnival booths scattered about the Lower City would have to do. As she marveled at the larger plush toy prizes on display, he vowed to win them all. Not through legitimate means, obviously. What kind of rogue would he be if he didn’t cheat a little?

He let her spend a few fruitless coins on unsuccessful attempts before he stepped up to try his hand. The fish bowl toss, bean bag throw, and skee ball he won with relative ease thanks to his invisible Mage Hand. Each win offered a new, ridiculously large prize: plenty of gold, a beautiful decorative longsword, and a plush dog that looked an awful lot like Scratch.

By the time they reached the ring toss, Leviathala caught on to his scheme. He expected her to scold him for swindling the petty Guild thieves in charge of these so-called games. Instead, she hid her laugh behind a hand as he directed his poorly-thrown rings onto the bottles to win her an enormous owlbear plush. She squished the plush in her arms, kissing it once on the head before tucking it away in her Bag of Holding.

The fireworks show was set to begin close to midnight, a tradition that had been around since before even he was born. Before Leviathala wandered off to join everyone else, he pulled her down a shadowy alley to the base of a clock tower in the Wide.

“Astarion, we’ll miss the fireworks,” she said as he picked the lock. “What are we doing here?”

The door creaked on its unoiled hinges, revealing a dark stairway. “You want to watch them in that dingy crowd? Or would you rather we have our own view of the show?”

Without waiting for an answer, he melted into the shadows and ascended the steps. A massive bell loomed at the top. The slightly chill air here was a welcome change of pace from the warm hum of bodies below.

“You’re right. This is a better spot,” Leviathala sighed, leaning against the railing. Her tail swung to and fro behind her. “Thank you. Today was a lot of fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you thought so. Mage Hand took a lot out of me,” he teased. “I’m still a little sour that brute won the tournament, but I’ll get over it.”

The first fireworks soared into the sky and burst right in front of their faces. Astarion swore violently as he dodged firework after firework. Lev clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing as they danced away from the sparks hissing at their heels.

He vowed revenge on whoever had set up these fireworks. A major oversight on the organizers’ part to not think two lovebirds would sneak off to the highest clock tower in the Gate to watch the show from afar.

After huddling under the pewter bell for a few minutes, it seemed someone thought to course-correct the show at last. The next batch of fireworks were shot out over the bay.

Leviathala pinched out a tiny flame at the end of his hair. “Are you okay, darling?”

“Of course not! Whichever bastard set this up is going to pay.”

“You say that as though it was an intentional hit on our lives.”

“Maybe it was! Who’s to say it wasn’t some leftover Bhaal cultists?”

Her laugh was cut out by the fireworks finale roaring overhead. Taking him gently by the hand, she led him back out into a flurry of lights. Blue and red and green and white floated across the sky. It was a cacophony of crashes and chaos, a stark contrast to her much quieter smile as she leaned against him.

A soft smile graced his own lips as he turned his gaze upwards. For now, he could forego parties and revelry and even the spare bit of adoration if it meant staying here with her. He was happy just like this, and really, what more could he ask for?