Magister

He made triply sure that his appearance didn’t betray his lack of sleep, and was pleased to find that, as usual, he looked spectacular. Well, except for his unmanageable hair. But that was nothing new.

Nearly an hour later, the pair of them found themselves following an imperial slave down winding marble corridors, on their way to meet the Archon himself. It had struck Halward, just for a moment, that he should very much not like the Archon to take a liking to Cicero. He had already developed a certain covetousness for the Aeluris boy’s attentions, and grew more and more sour with every step, knowing he would have to endure Cicero’s ardency, directed at the Archon and not him.

“A word of advice,” he said quickly, archly, as they approached the heavy doors leading to his antechamber. “Don’t stare at his hat, no matter how much like a sting ray it looks.” 

It was a cheap shot, meant to color the man ridiculous in Cicero’s eyes, lest he not realize, overwhelmed with his presence and his celebrity, that he was very much a bizarrely odd sort of man. Perhaps he might preclude any excessive fanaticism that way. 

The doors opened with a stentorian groan, revealing a monumental room ominously decorated in black marble and ebony, pyrophyllite and ammonite adorning the walls, in case it was not glaringly obvious that he had an affinity for the sea. Dutifully, they passed within, to find a man sitting amongst his retinue, ostentatiously dressed very much like an old god of the sea in his flowing viridian robes. “Your Grace,” Halward greeted, bowing his head slightly, touching his fingertips reverentially to his brow. “My apologies for the delay. The storm along the coast prevented us from docking, and nearly doubled our journey. Ludicrous.” 

But it was a language he understood, the delicate traipsing around carnal offerings. Cicero couldn’t exactly consider himself the pinnacle of virtue; nor could he consider himself unambitious. And if that was the language Magister Pavus preferred to speak, well. Cicero could learn fluency.

Spirited. Halward liked that. Delicati, no matter how beautiful they were, were nothing more than holes to be filled and used and wasted. Whatever effort on their part was perfunctory and ultimately dull, and Halward had grown tired of the facility of such unions. It had been a great while since he’d taken a proper lover, work and the strain of his position being the culprit, but something about Cicero had certainly inspired him to reconsider his abstention. 

“Good boy,” he said with a grin, patting Cicero’s cheek and pulling him in for a mostly-chaste kiss on the cheek. “Get some rest, then, yes? We’ll leave at dawn.”

Their journey to Minrathous had been particularly difficult, only because of a storm that had waylaid their ship in the Nocen Sea, rendering them unable to pull into port. By the time Halward and their retinue had been properly installed in their guest estate, he’d been too busy and too irritated to bother with anything but resting for the following morning.

He took a petulant drink from his glass, although he slowly lowered it from his mouth when he caught sight of Magister Pavus’ expression. It seemed prompting, expectant, although not exactly like he was waiting on an explanation. More like he was waiting for persuasion. But that couldn’t be right. Cicero wondered if his time among his over-sexed brothers and their many, many lovers was coloring his worldviews.

A tray was laid before him, a silver platter with nine fat, syrup-soaked confections, decorated beautifully with miniature flowers and ground cardamom seeds. “Dessert,” Halward proclaimed, plucking one from the artful arrangement and gently shaking off the excess syrup. “I know you are a proper young man, and you know the concept of anna dana well. But in the Pavus house, we take the sharing of foods with guests quite seriously. It is a sacred and divine communion, to share the hospitality of one’s house with guests, both honored and mendicant alike. But you are welcome to my house as more than a guest. Come. Closer.” 

There were innumerable profits to be had as Halward Pavus’ apprentice. Not least of which was the ability to meet the Archon himself whilst attending an event at Magister Pavus’ side. The Magister had promised (after Cicero asked a dozen times) to introduce him.

Cicero was, admittedly, impatient for it.

But Cicero expected he would see right through that; He hadn’t seemed the least bit appreciative of Cicero’s very gracious thank-you speech. Would it be worse to flatter and be caught out, or to be honest and risk the magister’s annoyance?

He hadn’t expected honesty. He’d hoped for it but hadn’t expected it. Not so early on, not to the man who was nearly his father’s nemesis. 

But the answer intrigued him in its candor and even more in its intent. “If only my son had the inclination for sublimation you do,” he said at last, and not without a touch of rue. “He might be making something brilliant of himself instead of ...”

His voice trailed off, unsure he was willing to divulge any more. Not to a stranger. Though he knew Dorian, and having been on the receiving end of his wrath, probably better than even Halward knew his own son. “Have a seat, my boy,” he said, gesturing to the large leather wingback chair opposite his desk. “We should get to know one another.” 

His hands folded, he leaned forward, eyeing the young man with rapt attention. “So we are to be in cohorts together. Tell me, how can I help you? What would you like to get out of this?”

Before Cicero could answer, one of Halwards maids entered, head bowed deferentially, to let them know dinner preperations were beginning. “Thank you,” he said not unkindly, without looking at her, his eyes still trained on Cicero. 

Pleasing-looking young man. Not that it mattered.

“The one where he was four years older than me and broke my arm, do you mean?” Cicero asked blithely, as though there was another expulsion he could be asking about. Admittedly, Cicero had been mostly responsible for instigating the conflict, as he so often was, and Pavus, even then, had several more inches and more years experience on his side. “Of course. Minrathous, sir. Rest assured, I learned my lesson and I am the picture of contrition. I was terribly impudent and needed to be punished in a language I could understand, and I can promise that my days of starting schoolyard brawls are over.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Halward said dismissively, replacing his quill in his well and tossing a handful of sand on the parchment. “You’ve come all this way, why would I turn you away for such a thing? I might have declined months ago if I’d really been that fussed over it. Whatever your part was in that altercation, it was my son’s fault in full for his own expulsion. However, I do find this to be a fortuitous opportunity for our houses to mend together, don’t you agree? But separate from that, what, may I ask, are your expectations?”

Cicero’s mother had forced him into something presentable for his first day with his new mentor, the man that would shape Cicero’s future prospects and, likely, his only chance to make it into the Magisterium. As his father had explained so many times, a seventh son was about as useful and attractive as a seventh nose on someone’s face. Even if his father might have been pleased that Cicero had managed to procure such a prestigious mentor (he wouldn’t have, of course,) any possible praise he might have garnered was quashed when it was revealed that Halward Pavus had accepted the task.

Cicero’s father and mother had gotten into one of their famously noisy shouting matches as Cicero sat on the loveseat with his eyes directed listlessly at the ceiling. Finally, his mother managed to talk a modicum of sense into him, although he slammed the door spectacularly as he stormed out.

That had been weeks ago. On this day, after Cicero’s mother had hand picked his outfit (like he was six years old!) and watched like a hawk as he was dressed and combed and forced into some sleek and polished appearance that felt foreign and frankly uncomfotable. The whole time, his mother harped on manners and propriety and not doing that thing you do where you turn everything into a joke, Cicero. He’d parroted the dutiful (and many) Yes, Mother’s until she finally pushed him out the door and left him to his own devices.

The Pavus estate was different from his own home; less dark and dreary, for one. More elegant. And not crawling with his brothers and their ilk, which was always a plus, as far as he was concerned.

He was led to Magister Pavus’ study and then left alone outside the door, although he wasted little time in opening it. It wasn’t like he had anything to be nervous about. Although his mother had given explicit instructions to leave out the whole ‘blood magic’ thing, which was fine, considering he could talk about literally anything else.

Not a boy. A young man. Still firmly withing his track of study, which was more than he could say for his own son. 

There hadn’t been many kind things Halward had heard of him. Clever, he’d been told. Not brilliant, not like Dorian, but few were. But clever by Tevinter standards was praise to take heed of, not to be ignored. A trait many admired. Envied, even. Seventh son though he was, a child with ambitions was not something Halward believed would be unwise to have in his pocket. 

He did, however, come recommended to him by Caelum Cygnus, of all people. The boy was evidently son to his wife’s sister, and had Cygnus not been the sort of man who would abide by nepotism, he did consider Lady Janus’s offer of apprenticeship more seriously because of it.

And now the boy was en route to his estate, set to be his newest apprentice. He hadn’t had one in years, having anticipated playing mentor to his own son. But Dorian was off with Alexius, safely within Asariel, and how could Halward object to that? Or in strengthening his bond with the Cygnus household, and establishing goodwill between the Pavus and Aeluris houses as well? The stood to become a near-irrefragable triumvirate of power the like Tevinter had never and would never see again. It was a benefit Halward would be fool not to take advantage of. But he would not — could not — without establishing a little dominance. 

He dd not look up from his correspondence when Cicero arrived, not even when he began his pithy introduction. He let the silence hang between them, the nib of his quill scratching unceasingly against the parchment. As the boy spoke, pompous and grandiose as one would expect from an Aeluris, his quill only scratched harder at the sound of him. 

Writing a few more lines for effect, just to let the quiet inquiet him for a moment longer, Halward finally finished off his letter with a flourish and sat back with a discerning frown.