Author's notes:

This chapter is half romantic comedy, half white-collar crime and stock market manipulation. Oh and there's murder in the background. We also get to go back to Baldur's Gate and see an old friend! He's suffering. Everyone is suffering except for the Emperor, who is going to get a good grade in being a student, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

Beta read by Circade and Nibenay.


Sitting at the staff table the next morning, Kronnis flipped through the numerous class schedules that professors had provided them throughout breakfast.

"We should disregard Muggle Studies, Astronomy, and Arithmancy," the Emperor suggested from his right, reaching a hand over to pull the stack of papers to his side of the table.

Kronnis hummed in agreement around the forkful of scrambled eggs occupying his mouth. Setting up a timetable of classes to attend was quickly becoming a headache, one he was all too happy to wash his hands of.

Looking up at the Gryffindor table, he saw that Harry and his friends had finally arrived, although McGonagall had yet to come around to their side of the table to hand them their own schedules.

"The first and third-year courses available today are Charms, Potions, History of Magic, and Divination. Herbology is concurrent with Potions, I have decided that we will attend the alternative session on Thursday."

"What about Defense Against the Dark Arts?" He turned back to their collection of papers, seeing that the Emperor was now scribbling a rough plan on the back of one of the discarded schedules.

"Back-to-back on Wednesday for first-years. We will attend the later session and look into Ancient Runes during the morning. That one ends about half an hour into the first Defense lesson."

A closer look at the Emperor's work showed a distinct lack of activities planned for Tuesday. "We're returning to Baldur's Gate tomorrow then?" he asked.

"Yes, any first-year classes taking place tomorrow repeat on other days as well. It seems to be the best opportunity to take a day for ourselves." The Emperor offered his completed plan for perusal. The next words settled more intimately into Kronnis' head, indicating that his partner was speaking with him privately. "Harry has his schedule now. I will see when we can arrange a meeting with him."

Looking up just in time, Kronnis saw Harry jolt in his chair before looking faintly embarrassed. His friends watched in concern when he began to stare blankly into space, brows furrowed.

"You should tell him to be a bit more subtle," Kronnis laughed in the Emperor's head, turning his attention back to the paper in his hands.

He only had time to read the first few lines before another distraction interrupted him – the screeching of birds from the rafters above. Owls of all shapes and sizes swooped into the Great Hall, evidently using passages hidden within the architecture to enter the building. They perched before students with a rustling of feathers, letters and packages clasped in their claws.

The sudden landing of an enormous winged beast in front of Kronnis' own plate was startling enough that a small burst of bright electric energy escaped his fingers. Embarrassed, he quickly dispelled the prepared casting of Shocking Grasp once he realized it was holding out a letter for him.

Menacing yellow eyes glared into his own lilac ones, giving him the sense that the owl was well aware of just how close it had come to getting fried.

Careful hands reached out to accept the letter, mistrustful of the creature's sharp talons. Elegant script in green ink addressed it to himself and the Emperor, who was now watching with interest, apparently finished with his conversation.

The envelope was opened, and Kronnis' eyes scanned the bottom of the page, which revealed the sender to be Lucius Malfoy. Suspicion waning, he rotated the letter so his partner could read with him, leaving the owl to peel apart the last sausage on his plate in a demonstrative fashion that had him instinctively crossing his legs.

The body contained a cordial invitation to join Lord Malfoy at his manor next week, postscript advising them to send a reply back with the owl and to select a time of their convenience to attend, as he was sure their schedule was 'dreadfully busy', and his own was apparently 'malleable enough to accommodate' them.

"A bit eager. When he said he'd send an invitation once we'd settled in, I didn't expect him to contact us the day the school year started." Lucius had, on paper, put himself in a weak position, allowing them to dictate the terms of their meeting.

A deliberately transparent ploy, Kronnis thought. The manipulation was expected, and on some level to be respected by the recipient – if they were capable of recognizing it for what it was.

Such an invitation would be difficult to avoid. Claiming to have too full a schedule would be equivalent to snubbing the wizard. Any sharp-minded politician would be pressured to accept with a time of their choosing, lest they make an enemy of a prominent contemporary. Securing the meeting was obviously the desired outcome – Lucius wanted them to take advantage of the position of power he offered, and was willing to risk clearing his entire week just for them.

The games of politics were complicated indeed.

Broken out of his thoughts by the Emperor's mental equivalent of grabby hands, he handed the letter over to be snatched out of his grip by deft claws. A response was quickly written on the backside in the mind flayer's best formal script, as satisfaction at a well-executed political ploy saturated the air around them.

The owl glowered one last time from the savaged remains of Kronnis' breakfast before hopping over to the Emperor's waiting hands to receive their response. His narrowed eyes followed it, a hint of irrational jealousy sparking within Kronnis at how carefully his partner tied the letter to the cooing owl.

"I assume you've filled our schedule for next Tuesday then?" he asked, watching it fly away after being treated to another piece of bacon.

The Emperor nodded. "And this Wednesday. Harry agreed to meet us at an unused classroom on the same floor as our rooms. He had another dream last night, but I sense no change in his mindscape."

"Weird, what was it about?"

"He was wandering through the Ministry, but from a peculiar perspective – almost level with the floor."

Strange, Kronnis had been under the impression that Voldemort was rather tall. He brought his voice down to a mocking whisper, regardless of the fact that there was no one within earshot to overhear. "Do you suppose You-Know-Who goes for strolls through the Ministry at night? Maybe we should just set up a stake out."

"While it could simply be a shared dream, I believe it may be related to the prophecy Voldemort is trying to get his hands on. If you recall, most of the Order members not at Hogwarts are taking shifts to protect it."

Kronnis hadn't particularly considered that operation to be relevant. Barring an extreme collapse of the Order's membership, their names were at the bottom of the list of candidates who both had the time to pull a shift skulking around in the bowels of the Ministry and weren't suspiciously recognizable. To be honest, if the situation ever became that dire then they were just as likely to simply cut their losses and return to Baldur's Gate as they were to continue the Order's quest.

But if Voldemort was just going to march down there himself… no, probably not, the risk of discovery would be too high. Without more information on how Harry's connection worked, it was possible this dream was just a bizarre manifestation of Voldemort's desires, rather than proof that he wandered the Ministry in the form of a mouse.

"I don't think that's enough information to come to any sort of conclusion. The important thing is that he's not being controlled by that mind sliver, and if anything changes we'll be the first to know."

The Emperor nodded, agreeing with his assessment. "Have you had a chance to review the schedule I completed?"

"I only got through today's plan." Kronnis frowned, picking up the discarded paper. It had gained an unfortunate grease splatter in the corner, where bits of scrambled egg had been kicked by spiteful talons. A quick survey of the Great Hall showed it to be remarkably empty, and he handed the schedule back to his partner as he stood. "I'll look it over later, we should probably find our first class."


Professor Flitwick made a good first impression. Charming, lively, and affable, he quickly offered to stay behind after lessons to explain any concepts that they had lingering questions about.

The first-years were taught a simple levitation charm, similar to telekinesis but with one major flaw – it couldn't properly levitate a human, and actually targeted clothes instead of the person. The concept sounded incredibly uncomfortable. Satisfied in his superiority, the Emperor spent some time privately critiquing its other limitations. Flitwick had mentioned that it could be cancelled by a generic counter-spell – to be taught to the students next year – meaning any mediocre wizard should be able to disrupt the levitation with ease. Its long incantation of Wingardium Leviosa also gave enemies ages to prepare for its effects while it was cast.

Smug mood turned into sour offense upon realizing that Kronnis had only lost interest in the charm due to the availability of an illithid willing to levitate whatever he requested, rather than a dismissal of wizards' inferior abilities. Kronnis refrained from commenting on the absurd flexibility taught to this plane's spellcasters, far eclipsing the Emperor's own bag of tricks. An illithid's ego needed some time to recover, first.

The theory behind spellwork was a good deal more fascinating to Kronnis, and he could see why there had been such emphasis placed on wand movements. They spent half an hour watching the students swish and flick their wands without much success. The only ones able to raise their feathers into the air were those who had been careful to closely mimic the professor's movements and pronunciation of the spell.

After Charms, they made haste to the dungeons, only frustrated by one wrong turn. The dreary atmosphere of the classroom wasn't able to curb his excitement – Potions was one of the few classes where he could actually put the teachings into practice.

Snape apparently felt the need to intimidate his students, a droll affair that Kronnis found much more entertaining than Charms class had been – no offense to Flitwick, he was certainly better suited to teaching children, but they weren't eleven-year-olds struggling with their first spell. Dramatic accounts and warnings of increasingly horrifying ways one could hurt themselves while brewing potions were simply far more captivating than watching inexperienced students flounder about with feathers.

Most of the coming weeks would focus on the theory of potions, ensuring that students had somewhat of a grasp on what not to do before they began handling dangerous ingredients. Different ways to slice, peel, crush, or otherwise prepare ingredients were discussed, along with the importance of always using the correct method.

Snape called them over as the lesson ended, handing over a new schedule once they made their way to the front, passing the curious and wide-eyed faces of departing students along the way. Dates and potions were listed – a record of advanced lessons that introduced new concepts or simple enough brews for them to try their hand at.

Kronnis thanked him, his partner distractedly nodding along as he compared the new lesson plan with the schedules they were already balancing, sheafs of paper floating before his eyes.

Occasionally, watchful lilac eyes had to mentally correct the Emperor's course on their way to History of Magic, engrossed in planning as he was. Hidden behind the flurry of notes surrounding the tall figure, several small children only narrowly avoided being run over.

The Emperor only compressed his collection of papers into an unobtrusive stack once they'd made it to the classroom, anticipation building for the first-person accounts the teacher – a ghost by the name of Professor Binns – would have to share.


"Well, that was a waste of time." Kronnis' hands crumpled the History of Magic schedule into a tight ball. Back in their rooms after the end of the lesson, the Emperor's barely contained irritation bled through the air. Professor Binns' teaching had not agreed with him.

"Unbelievable, I should have known that a ghost's class would be dry as dust – soap blizzard of 1378…" Muttering in contempt, the Emperor sulked his way to the sofa, repeating a phrase Kronnis had already heard said a dozen times during the most boring lecture he'd ever suffered through. "His syllabus is a travesty!" Claws began to gesture, needlessly attempting to convey the frustration already suffocating the room. "These students lack the magical background necessary to understand the new world they are in, and he begins by reciting the biographies of inconsequential wizards?"

"Cutting his class should free up time for those advanced potions lessons," Kronnis suggested, hoping to redirect the tirade by thrusting their remaining schedules back into his partner's hands. "I'm sure Madam Pince can recommend better reading anyway. We can skip to topics that are actually relevant for us."

Sharp nails threatened to tear holes into the already well-worn papers. "Yes," the Emperor's voice was dangerous, his eyes narrowing to scan the information in front of him as though to ferret out previously hidden opportunities. "Potions and Herbology. We will have to bring up additional lessons with Professor Sprout. Once we identify novel commodities, we could have a monopoly on exclusive potions and herbs," he trailed off, muttering to himself about the logistics of an extraplanar business venture.

"I'll meet you at the North Tower in an hour then? I'm going to stop by the Great Hall for lunch." A dismissive wave was all the indication Kronnis received that his words had been heard. Triumphant in giving the Emperor something to plot over, he stepped back out into the empty halls.


Lunch at Hogwarts was equally as abundant as dinner and breakfast, buffet style with foods both familiar and new. Students sporadically walked through the large doors, rushing to and from classes that overlapped with the generous time frame during which the meal was served.

He'd given himself plenty of buffer, and yet Kronnis almost ended up late to Divination – to no fault of his own.

The student body had mostly left them in peace earlier that day, but it seemed that without the intimidatingly tall figure of the Emperor at his side, Kronnis was suddenly considered approachable. Hungry eyes weighed him down during his meal, and their owners – apparently waiting for him to leave the relative safety of the staff table – trailed after him when he stepped out of the Great Hall.

A small child caught his attention first, high-pitched voice nervous but as brave as the lion roaring on her black robes. "Um, Lord Tekret, why are your ears so pointy?"

Kronnis almost physically recoiled, and decided to nip this at the bud before the mispronunciation of his last name haunted him throughout the rest of his time at Hogwarts. "Just call me Kronnis, I'm not one for formal titles." Bringing a finger up to his right ear he bent its tip, as if to prove it real. "Drow have distant fey ancestry, which probably resulted in the pointy ears. Humans in Baldur's Gate have ones just like yours."

Insistent Ravenclaws pushed forward a spokesperson next. "You can do wandless magic, right? Could you teach us some?"

"Perhaps in the future. We're still figuring out how the magic we use in Underdark developed differently from yours." Coming to an impulsive decision after seeing their disappointed expressions, Kronnis made a show of scanning the area for responsible adults before determining that the coast was clear for some light rule breaking. "I can give you a demonstration – just don't tell anyone I was doing magic in the halls." Expectant faces lit up as he flourished a hand, summoning a swarm of luminescent butterflies above their heads. Appreciative "ohhh's" and "aaah's" bolstered his ego.

A Slytherin girl, almost as tall as he was, used the distraction to ask her own question. "Have you ever played Quidditch before?"

"We don't have Quidditch, but I'm looking forward to watching the first match of the year. Early November, right?"

She confirmed the date, and then a trio of giggling Hufflepuff girls snuck their way through the crowd to stand next to him. "Is there a Mrs. Tekanret?" The question caught him off guard, as did the continued butchery of drow names. Honestly, did no one listen when Dumbledore introduced them?

He brushed them off with a curt no, quickly regretting his decision to even address the topic when one of them batted her eyelashes and started curling her hair around a finger.

The voice of another Gryffindor, an older teenager this time, rose above the subtle murmur. "So, is the Emperor like, the emperor of Baldur's Gate?" he asked, eyes sparkling with boyish wonder.

Kronnis laughed. "No. Although he is one for formal titles, he's not in charge of the city. That would be Grand Duke Ravengard."

The boy's friend piped up next, emboldened by the casual answer, and dared another question about someone unable to defend themselves. "What's the deal with his… you know." He gestured to his own face as though he had a beard, obviously referring to the Emperor's opaque veil.

The response was a deadpan joke. "Skin condition." Kronnis watched his audience's faces with amusement before clarifying. "It's mostly for protection against the sun – you have no idea how harsh natural light is on skin that's adapted to near total darkness."

Several more questions about Baldur's Gate followed, but eventually students began peeling off from the cluster that had followed him, hustling to make it to their own classes. High above, Kronnis could feel the mind of the Emperor waiting for him – a convenient beacon guiding him to the trapdoor entrance of the Divination classroom.

Red drapes, curtains, and carpets breathed life into the tower's stone construction. Shelves were pushed against the walls, occupied by glass balls and mirrors, bundles of incense and packages of cards. Today's lesson, however, was likely related to the twin cups of tea steaming on every table in the room.

He found his partner sitting in a corner, having claimed an out of the way table at the top of the auditorium-style seating the room was arranged in. Stacks of padded pillows replaced traditional chairs, and Kronnis noticed that the Emperor was lounging on a collection of four, whereas only two remained for himself.

"Almost late." The comment brushed softly across his mind, a brow ridge raising in question. Masterful illithid prodding plied recent experiences from his mind as soon as the words were said.

"Got ambushed." Kronnis' whispered response was unnecessary, seeing as amusement was already leaking across their connection as the Emperor scrutinized his memories.

"Do you need my protection to move about unmolested?"

Kronnis snorted in offense. "I did just fine. I've had worse in Baldur's Gate."

"I recall, and what is this about-" The Emperor cut himself off upon closer inspection of Kronnis' memories. The following question was critical. "Are you trying to gain the approval of children?"

"No," he denied, "they just looked like they could do with a demonstration of otherworldly magic."

"You are now on a first name basis with them." The accusation was audacious, considering that Kronnis hadn't caught any of the students' names.

"You heard that kid say my last name," Kronnis said, pushing that specific memory through their link again to enforce his point. "I can't live here if I'm going to have to correct children all the time."

Humming, clearly unconvinced, the Emperor moved on to other memories. "Why, Mr. Teken'rret," he began, voice carefully pronouncing the syllables of his name in a suggestive tone. "I had no idea you were single."

"That's not what I said!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a breathy voice projected from the front of the classroom. "Welcome, my children. In this room we shall explore the noble art of Divination." A frazzled looking woman that Kronnis recognized as Professor Trelawny addressed the class, quieting down the conversational din of gathered third-years.

After going on about developing the students' 'sight' and casting them into the future, she instructed them on the proper method of reading tea leaves, a practice supposedly called Tasseography.

Kronnis followed along curiously, drinking the bitter liquid until only half a spoonful was left in the cup and then turning it upside down to drain the remaining moisture into the saucer.

The Emperor was already flipping through the textbook that had been provided for them, locating several pages that depicted a series of well-catalogued ink stains. Kronnis handed over his cup, letting his partner analyze it.

"This one is certainly a cross," a claw pointed to a conjoined pair of lines in the tea debris, "And there is some sort of four-legged animal here." The digit shifted to point at what Kronnis would personally define as a rickety house with two chimneys.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Trelawney wandering the room, absently looking at cups and divulging the secrets contained within to confused-looking students.

"And what does that mean?" He turned his attention back to the book the Emperor was poring over, eyes searching for the shapes he had identified.

"If it is a pig, it could mean a mix of good and bad luck…" he trailed off, thumbing to the next page and spending some time looking for other options. "Or perhaps it is a dog?"

Approaching footsteps warned that Trelawney had made her way over to them, raising the Emperor's attention from the textbook. "Let me see, dear." She smiled as she plucked the cup from the table, peering inside through thick glasses.

"Oh my, oh my…" Her eyebrows rose. "A mix of fortune for you. This apple and horse at the bottom indicate a long life and commercial desires fulfilled by a prosperous journey. And then here, flowers –showing success and a happy marriage. But, next to the flowers, this unicorn represents a scandal."

Her airy voice carried through the room, students quieting down to hear her most dramatic reading yet. Kronnis could hear a familiar giggling, recognizing the trio of Hufflepuff girls that had pestered him earlier.

Large eyes, magnified behind the distortion of glass, briefly gazed into his own before dropping back to the cup with apprehension. "These symbols, clustered close by the handle, show what awaits you in the near future. A comet, for misfortune and trouble. A flag, danger from wounds inflicted by an enemy." Her voice lowered, until it became a dramatically slow hiss of a whisper that somehow still managed to carry through the entire room. "And the cross – trouble, delay, and death."

The faint giggling and murmurs stopped.

In the silence, Kronnis hesitantly leaned forward to look into the cup again. Half of the shapes she'd mentioned didn't seem to exist. "How often are these predictions accurate?"

"My dear, my predictions are always accurate." She sounded very sure of herself.

"I'll give you the cross, but where's the flag?" Rotating the cup in his hands revealed no answers. "Any one of these lines could be interpreted as a comet, if you squint hard enough. And I think that unicorn is just as close to the handle as that other bunch, wouldn't that mean the scandal is also something to expect in the near future?"

Trelawney's eyes narrowed, and she looked down her nose at where he was seated. "It seems you do not possess the sight. I have nothing to teach you. If you wish to ignore my warnings, then so be it." Their conversation was dramatically cut short as she whirled around and marched away from their table.

Kronnis sheepishly set down the cup as an unimpressed look settled on him. "Very diplomatic of you."

"You can't honestly believe that this is accurate," he whispered hotly, jabbing at the cup.

"It likely is not. Such broad interpretations leave too much room for self-fulfilling prophecies." The book was closed and placed on the table. "The remaining practices are just as vague. I doubt anything of use will be taught here."

The dismissal settled Kronnis. One less class to attend meant they would have more time to pursue other matters. Frankly, Trelawney unnerved him, and he was glad to avoid subsequent prophecies. He was sure today's prediction would be circulating around the entirety of Hogwarts by the end of the day.

Sighing, he squinted into the cup again for lack of anything better to do while the class continued. The now-clear image of an apple caught his eye. "Do you think 'long life, and commercial desires fulfilled by a prosperous journey' is just a coincidence? How old are you again?" A goading smirk grew on his face.

"Oh, stop it." Mentally swatting him for lack of an available tentacle to do so physically, the Emperor looked at him in that insufferable way he always did when he didn't want to admit to being amused. "You are likely older than Dumbledore yourself."

"I'm just saying, maybe I need to take a second look. This can't all be nonsense if it's actually being taught here."

Kronnis propped open the abandoned textbook. Disregarding the actual lesson being taught in the front of the room, their corner filled with subtle conversation. He spent his time pointing out interesting passages and snippets to the Emperor, And then thought himself quite clever when he discovered a chapter on Palmistry, successfully suggesting a practice bout.


Magic whirled through their rooms, compressing around a steel fork clutched in a tangle of their fingers. They were gone in a blink, reappearing in the familiar Knights of the Shield Headquarters – renovated to better suit habitation. The steel fork the Emperor had used to channel Plane Shift was immediately tucked away for safekeeping. They didn't have a spare, and attuning a new one would leave them stranded for some time.

Though it was early morning, an old friend was present in their home, wide-eyed at their arrival.

"Thank the Gods!" Wyll's exclamation rang through the room as he jolted out of his seat, strewing papers about.

Kronnis thought that overall, the new mess barely made the current situation any worse than it already was. He eyed the chaotic mess of documents filling the large table in the middle of the room – one of the only pieces of furniture or original stonework that had survived replacement and repair. The Emperor had been attached.

"When you said to manage your investments, I didn't realize you had your fingers in half the businesses in Baldur's Gate!" Rather flattering of Wyll to exaggerate so. They had, at most, investments in about eighteen percent of commerce in the city. And other measures of influence in an additional twenty percent – according to the Emperor's latest financial report. And by 'they', he meant the Emperor.

"Yes? Has a problem come up?" The illithid's words were filled with hesitance and dread.

"How do you manage this? The Chromatic Scale is asking for additional funding of one thousand gold to expand to their storefront, Facemaker's Boutique doesn't want to import the latest fashion from Amn – something about inferior thread count – and don't even get me started on what the Elfsong asked you to do about that new bar down the road."

It was suddenly clear that Wyll had been up all night trying to make sense of various developments. Dark bags under his eyes implied that this was not the first time, either.

The Emperor nodded in understanding, levitating over to the table. "Do not concern yourself with petty matters. Simply sign off on anything that appears normal and leave me a report on the holdings. I trust our collaborators can manage their enterprises without my assistance for a time."

Assistance in this context meaning heavy-handed suggestions. Mostly attended by Kronnis, but sometimes by the Emperor himself, if a proprietor was being particularly stubborn about market decisions.

Kronnis remembered one promising bookstore owner who had refused to expand his stock to include anything printed by the wizards of Waterdeep. A personal visit from the Emperor himself hadn't changed his mind, and the bookstore quickly ceased to exist, liquidating overnight. Not that it would have lasted much longer anyway, with competitors offering a greater variety of literature to clientele. The ex-proprietor was still wandering the back alleys of Heapside, mind addled from the harsh memory wipe he'd been subjected to.

Hopefully Figaro could be convinced with a short missive. Facemaker's Boutique was too important to their portfolio to kneecap as a demonstration, and Kronnis quite enjoyed the easy conversation he shared with the dwarf whenever he visited to be fitted for new fashions.

"If you are concerned about any petitions, inform them that they will be advised on their requests within seven to ten business days. I will look into the Elfsong matter myself."

Papers flew through the air with a rustle, purple eyes quickly sorting them into cleaner stacks. "More importantly, have any decisions been made on the revised import tariff on Bonecap?"

"No, not yet." Wyll picked out some official-looking notices, summarizing them. "The Parliament is reconvening two days from now to discuss it again. It was stricken from last session's agenda due to the emergency addition of a judicial hearing for some Upper City businessman." He turned to look back at the Emperor. "My father called you in for that – I told him he'd have to wait until you returned. The suspect has witnesses claiming that he was playing cards with them the evening of the murder, but everyone who works for him says he had it out for his ex-wife, the woman that was murdered. As far as the Watch can tell she didn't have any other enemies, and it's clear that the killer wasn't in her home to rob her."

Anticipation rose in the Emperor, fueled by the simmering hunger Kronnis had been able to sense for the past couple of days. If Duke Ravengard requested the services of a mind flayer, it was likely that the case was both serious enough to warrant a potential execution, and that the investigation had hit a dead end that couldn't be solved without a dubiously-performed interrogation. "I will make my way to Wyrm's Rock to settle the matter," the Emperor assured Wyll, his mind planning an unannounced visit that was unlikely to be well-received by the duke.

Kronnis cleared his throat, pulling them away from the next stack of no doubt incredibly important legislative updates. "I can handle the visit with Lady Whitburn while I'm out shopping. How about you take some extra time to properly go over our mercantile operations before seeing Duke Ravengard? I know we left in a bit of a rush." He flashed an apologetic smile at his clearly overwhelmed friend, well acquainted with how complicated his partner's work was.

"Lady Whitburn? Isn't she one of the swing votes?" A dark eyebrow rose as suspicion and faint disapproval entered Wyll's tone. "I doubt father will be happy to hear about meddling in Parliament."

"Please," Kronnis scoffed, "have you seen half the members? Martina Vanthampur is infamous for selling her votes to the highest bidder."

"Reminding politicians of their alliances is hardly the same as threatening or enthralling them." The Emperor looked up from the papers he had continued sorting. "I am sure Duke Ravengard is well aware of collusion between members of Parliament and outside forces. He has yet to speak out against our actions."

Years of silence had truly spoken volumes. So long as they refrained from endangering or unbalancing the city, the duke turned a blind eye. There was much more serious corruption to be investigated, anyhow. No matter how many cabals against the city's seat of power were foiled or privately dragged into the Grand Duke's office for a harshly-worded warning, there would always be another problem that demanded more attention than the shady dealings of tentative allies.

With a grimace, Wyll dropped the subject. "I wouldn't mind some pointers on the current administrative environment. A lot has changed since… my youth."

The Emperor focused intently on Wyll. "Has your father not taken the time to educate you?"

Oh boy. Kronnis quickly made his excuses and fled the room, being intimately familiar with the lecture his friend was about to receive. The Emperor rarely had a captive audience to impress with his encyclopedic knowledge of Baldur's Gate's political sphere.

Sneaking his way out of the Elfsong Tavern's kitchens, he could only hope that his partner's hunger would eventually drive him to complete his half of the errands.


Bonecloak's Apothecary was Kronnis' first stop. Catching up with Derryth, the dwarf filled him in on the latest gossip. Rumors were flying about that murder in the Upper City. Wyll had undersold the situation a bit – accusations of a Bhaalist resurgence haunted the streets, although the Flaming Fist were cracking down on anyone they caught spreading that particular story.

Personally, he thought the past five years may have just been a little too peaceful. The population was thirsty for excitement, and a conveniently mysterious murder was ripe for speculation.

Floating the idea of expanding Derryth's inventory with unique stock, he asked her to look into market trends, promising to return with samples in the future. He then emptied out a good quarter of her current alchemical ingredients, leaving them both with smiles on their faces by the time he departed.

In the Upper City, Lady Whitburn – a chronically divorced elf of some renown – received him in her parlor.

"I hear rumor that the savior of Baldur's Gate disappeared a tenday ago. Pray tell, I simply must know what caught your attention." Fluttering her lashes, she leaned closer across the coffee table separating them.

An easy smile graced his face, cocked just so to charm any recipient. "I admit, it's rather secret at the moment. Negotiations may take a while yet, so I shan't spoil too much." Knowing she would take this straight to her peers, he seized the opportunity to generate interest and anticipation at the prospect of new and exotic imports. "Your daughter, she recently opened a business providing specialized antidotes, correct?" At her intrigued nod, curious about the change of topic, he continued. "A respectable pursuit. I believe she could have much to gain in the future. I may pay her establishment a visit to further discuss my travels."

Understanding flashed through her thoughts. She took a second to think, making a show of uncrossing and recrossing elegant legs. "A generous offer. I would be honored to show our appreciation, on behalf of House Whitburn." The purr in her voice left little doubt as to her intentions, and Kronnis' subtle grasp on the periphery of her mind showed him several ways she was hoping to do so. One of which involved the very table between them.

"No need, this is simply a friendly house call after all." He quickly pivoted to the true reason for his visit. "I was wondering, however, about the state of the import tariff revision the Parliament is currently discussing. Bonecap, was it? A common ingredient in poisons."

Lady Whitburn narrowed her eyes, the mild disappointment that followed his dismissal shifting once more to intrigue. "I see you're well-informed on Parliament matters. Lord Cackairn has been making a push to increase various import tariffs." Her voice took on a conspiratory tone. "Most of the goods he's targeting seem random, but I heard that he recently had a falling out with the heiress of a prominent mercantile family in Amn. They made their fortune with alchemical exports, and their ownership of the fertile land where the Battle of Three Faiths took place makes them the Sword Coast's primary exporter of Bonecap."

How amusing. The city was being dragged into a petty disagreement between squabbling nobles. If Baldur's Gate had any significant local sources for Bonecap he'd have been tempted to let this play out for his own entertainment. "That could be inconvenient for your daughter. The value of antidotes depends on the availability of poisons, does it not?"

"I see. I suppose you make a good point." Shrewd eyes sized him up. "I may have to bring up Lord Cackairn's indiscretions with the rest of Parliament. We can hardly let such a personal matter dictate legislation in Baldur's Gate."

Kronnis nodded, satisfied. "I'm glad we're in agreement on the matter."

They made further small talk for a spell, catching up on other drama plaguing the nobility, before he excused himself to locate the address she'd given him. Lady Whitburn's daughter, a half-elf by the name of Layla, opened the door. By the look on her face, she was clearly surprised by his presence.

Kronnis extended an offer similar to the one he'd mentioned to Derryth. This time, with the additional proposal of an investment in her start-up. Layla spent some time looking around the inside of her cramped store before hesitantly agreeing to further negotiations, should he return with compelling enough samples.

He concluded his business in the Upper City by picking up some rings of Comprehend Languages in the markets of The Wide – a suitable gift for any diplomatic occasion that might require one – and opted to take the scenic route back to the Elfsong Tavern.


Bloomridge Park's most recent expansion stood proud as he walked by. Completed just before the first anniversary of the Netherbrain's defeat, it encompassed an area to the north that had been destroyed by a fallen nautiloid. A dramatic statue of himself and his companions dominated the space, just within view of the older depiction of Balduran that resided by the southern entrance. He'd actually donated about half the funds that paid for its commission, the city's coffers strained by other emergencies.

Kronnis remembered the day the new section had been opened to the public. With a larger-than-life version of himself at his back he'd given a speech about unity and the resilience of the city, drawing the admiration of every Baldurian present. Eager faces had lapped up the words flowing from his silver tongue. Basking in the reverence and respect of the crowds as he addressed them, he'd felt truly alive. The young male drow from Menzoberranzan that still resided somewhere in his mind had finally been content.

Following the more public event in the park, an extravagant afterparty had been held at the Ducal Palace – politicians guzzling wine and other spirits hand over fist in a lavishly decorated hall. Kronnis, philanthropically winning the hearts of citizens and aristocracy alike during the city's repairs, and being the only member of his party that had remained local and in the public eye, had been in high demand. Half the attendees had demanded a dance, drunken nobles trying their best to talk his ear off with whatever propositions they had for him. Badly thought-out business negotiations, offers to hire him on retainer as a mercenary, political marriage proposals, endless compliments on his flawless footwork – he'd heard it all.

Karlach, Halsin, and Lae'zel hadn't been able to make it, disappointing as that was. He would've loved to see them navigate the festivities. Wyll had taken the time to make a short trip out of Avernus, updating Kronnis on Karlach's progress in finding a forge to fix her heart. He'd made for an excellent dance partner, a welcome distraction whenever the more unsavory attendees looked to be trying their luck again.

A brief appearance had been made by Astarion, the vampire spawn only arriving after dusk. Gale made the journey from Waterdeep to chatter endlessly about his new position as professor of illusion at Blackstaff Academy, and Shadowheart paused her travels to return to the city, regaling them with stories of adventure that turned Kronnis' insides green with envy.

Another speech had concluded the night, Ulder Ravengard standing tall and only slightly tipsy upon a raised platform. Words of thanks spread through the room, including the Fists, the Harpers – even the Guild. Dark eyes had met Kronnis' own as the Grand Duke uttered words of appreciation for those who could not make it to the event. The crowd took this to refer to Karlach, Lae'zel and Halsin, among others, but Kronnis knew that Ravengard was including the Emperor as well.

When he'd made it back to their home late that evening, sharing his memories with his partner, the mind flayer had been touched by the subtle acknowledgement of the role he'd played in saving his beloved city.

Breaking out of his musings and opening the door to his home in real time, Kronnis saw that the large meeting room was currently empty of his partner. Wyll's tired face was the only one greeting him.

"You really should take a nap," Kronnis observed, blunt as a friend commenting on the lettuce stuck between one's teeth. "I'm glad you're still here though, I was hoping you could get this to Gale for us." Pulling out a sealed letter, he slid it across the table, where it bumped into the now much more organized stacks of papers sitting before his friend.

"What's this?" Fingers turned the envelope around.

"Difficult to explain, really. We were hoping he could do some research for us and give an opinion on something." He walked to the back, opening the entrance to the hidden bedchambers. "Give me one second."

The Emperor may have been fine living among crumbling stone and rotting beams of wood, but Kronnis was more refined. Repairs to the Elfsong above had been prioritized, but once completed, an overhaul of the secret basement had occupied much of his time.

Stone brick was torn out and replaced by shining marble. The hole in the ceiling above the east wall was patched, as was the one by the north wall, where rusty cages littered with bone shards had once rested. Wooden framework was carefully taken out to be substituted with stained elm from the Cloak Wood, matching the new shelves and cupboards that divided the once open room into smaller sections.

The entrance had a warm carpet leading to a cozy sitting area and small kitchenette – the bar at the end having hosted several friendly gatherings whenever old companions stopped by for a visit. The right side opened to a more private study and library, and the left contained sleeping accommodations, where an actual bed had been added.

Walking though the double doors that led to their storage room – the trapdoor to the city's depths heavily barred and enchanted – Kronnis crouched to examine the wine rack in the corner. An old vintage of Deepwine was pulled from the shelf and impatient fingers ran over the rest of the selection, eventually settling on an expensive flavor of Midnight Star. On his way out, he grabbed a handful of healing potions. One could never have enough.

He carefully packed the bottles with the rest of his purchases, and then set the Midnight Star on the table in front of his friend. "Take a day off, have a chat with your father."

Wyll's ink-stained hands inspected the gift. "This must be worth fifty gold."

"You're doing us a huge favor. I know the Emperor is paying you to deal with all this in our absence," Kronnis gestured to the papers, pulling up a chair next to Wyll, "but it's a tough job to figure out. I've all but given up on making heads or tails of some of the dividends and compounding interests myself."

"He explained how the accounting ledgers are supposed to be filled out, so I think I'll manage a bit better now. Although, I'm starting to suspect that the new general store down by the docks is trying to short their payments." Wyll shook his head, disgustedly pushing away the papers he had started flipping through again. "My father's been… busy. He was excited when Karlach and I came back from Avernus – wanted to show me the administrative workings of the city so I could work with him. It's been a couple of months but I still feel lost. Everything's changed from what I knew as a boy."

Kronnis nodded. "It's been over a decade for you, and with the Netherbrain Crisis escalating things, the political landscape changed very quickly."

"It's like I don't know anyone anymore. Sure, my reputation garners respect, but the dukes, the lords and ladies I was familiar with, most are gone now. I have to figure out where I stand with these new faces, preferably somewhere not in my father's shadow." A sad smile ghosted over familiar lips.

Kronnis could have kissed those lips, once. A shared dance in the shadows could have been something more. He knew that he would've been slowly breaking his friend's heart if he did, aware that the spark they had wasn't anything more than brief infatuation. And so, he had been selfless – tender, even – words tearing a shallow wound in that heart to save it from a worse fate. Kronnis wasn't meant for the kindness of man.

And besides, he'd seen the not-so-subtle glances a certain tiefling shot Wyll's way whenever she thought no one was looking.

"I think he actually approves of this though," Wyll continued, gesturing to the papers and oblivious to Kronnis' brief moment of introspection. "I had no idea what sorts of deals are made on the commercial side of things. It's helping me realize how important the flow of money is, and how it influences everything in the city."

"With enough connections you can throw quite a lot of weight around," Kronnis agreed, smirk playing over his face. "What does Karlach think of your new job?"

Wyll laughed. "She thinks it sounds boring; said she'd rather eat dirt than do it herself."

"I thought she wanted a bit of a quiet vacation, now that she's fixed her heart and gotten her fill of revenge. Can't think of anything quieter than working in here," he joked, knowing full well that Karlach would likely tear her hair out trying to make sense of the Emperor's commercial operations. Wyll looked like he was already on the brink himself.

"Sure, if you want half of these documents to go up in flames. Her idea of a quiet vacation is a bit closer to jumping into the Chionthar for fun, or trying to start an eating contest at the Returning Day feast last month."

"Oh, I remember that!"

Wyll's grin matched his own. "Father wasn't too happy about that one, but it was worth it to see the look on lady Nelwin's face."

Laughing, they shared memories of the event for several minutes.

Once their chuckles abated, it was clear that something else weighed on Wyll's mind. "I'm happy staying in Baldur's Gate, but I think she's getting restless again. I've suggested joining the Flaming Fist or City Watch, but she said it would feel too similar to what she did for Gortash."

Kronnis hummed in agreement. "I can imagine she wants to leave the soldier life behind, too many bad memories. How about opening a business? Trust me when I say it'll keep her occupied. You'd just have to help her figure out what she's interested in."

"A business?" Wyll mused. "Well, I can certainly suggest it. I don't think we've floated that idea yet."

"If she needs advice or start-up funds you know we'd be more than happy to cut a favorable deal. And," he snatched the topmost papers off of a stack, shuffling them to present an accounting ledger heavy with annotations in a script that he knew wasn't his partner's, "with all the work you're doing here you'll be able to support her with set up and management yourself."

They were interrupted by the return of the Emperor, freshly glistening skin indicating that he'd been successful in sourcing a meal.

"Guilty?" Kronnis asked, quickly re-sorting the papers in his hands before neatly placing them back on the stack they'd come from.

"Indeed." Satisfaction bled through their connection. "His alibi was faked. His card-playing friends are accomplices and are now being investigated. I am unsure if the Watch will be able to find enough evidence to sentence all of them, but some pointed questions should poke enough holes in their story to take them in for questioning. I had to wait until they could confirm the location of the murder weapon in his house. Sensible enough, but frustrating."

"Perfect, looks like we've settled everything then." Kronnis stood and gathered his day's acquisitions. "Sorry to cut this short Wyll, we'll talk again soon."

His friend brushed him off. "I think it's about time I take that nap anyway."

Joining the Emperor, Kronnis couldn't resist leaving without one last remark. "Don't wait too long to pop the question!"

Wyll's sputtering face was the last thing he saw before they disappeared, leaving his friend with stacks of accounting ledgers, a letter to an old friend, and a bottle of wine to connect with his father over.


"What did you do with the new bar the Elfsong had concerns about?"

"They seem to have suddenly found themselves without a bartender, given that the only one currently employed has abruptly decided to elope with her beloved in Neverwinter."


Notes:

Not them holding hands in the corner of a classroom right after a prediction of a romantic scandal. Guys, come on, find a better excuse.

Don't ask me how to pronounce Kronnis' last name, I don't know, I made it up as I was writing the first chapter. Assume some weird drow dialect.