Author's Note: Okay, I really feel the need to say this: I am exceptionally proud of the line "voice smooth as black marble" in the last chapter. So much so that I can't even put it to words. I'm not even sure why, I just adore it and feel the need to give myself a pat on the back. That being said, here is the second chapter of "From Want to Need", and again I'll say that this story is updated every Tuesday and Friday! Think you can't wait? You're not alone, because neither than I. It's not even an hour into Tuesday, and I'm already submitting it! O, how I loathe the waiting game. Happy New Years, everyone, and cheers to not being hungover!

"Bloodway"

Ashe was not sure how long it had been until she found the strength to speak. Her voice was hoarse and she felt like vomiting from the stagnant flavor of blood coating her tongue. "Basch?" she called.

She heard a groan not far from her and, despite her shrieking muscles, pushed herself onto her forearms. Her head felt heavy, her cheek cold from resting against the waterway's floor. Heaving herself up, she slowly turned around to see the former captain lying on his back, a wide crimson gash spreading from one shoulder to the other. Blood seeped and oozed from the wound, staining his clothes and pooling around his body. His face was contorted in anguish.

Mouth open in a silent scream, Ashe managed to crawl towards him, occasionally hunching over to cough up blood. Collapsing on top of him with her head on his abdomen, she reached gentle fingers to test the depth of his wound. His body convulsed as a reaction, and she came to the conclusion that it was not as bad as it looked. It would be painful, to be sure, but it would take hours before he would lose enough blood to die. She supposed that had been Vayne's intent: a slow, agonizing death. She felt sickened, and not by the aroma of blood.

"Lady Ashe?" his voice interrupted her thoughts, grating her ears.

Leaning over him, she smiled despite the dreadfulness of the realization that had just dawned upon her. "They won't expect us back for several hours," she told him.

Knowing they'd both be long dead by then, him from blood loss and her from internal bleeding, he nodded grimly. "This is it then."

Blinking back frustrated tears, she said nothing but lay her head against his chest, ignoring the blood. She knew they both had a few hours, but they would probably be unconscious long before that. Knowing she had little chance of escaping the situation alive, she put panic out of her mind and instead concentrated on his heartbeat. It was a steady, heavy drumming that helped beat back the paranoia desperately clinging to her own heart.

For some reason, she was suddenly reminded of her childhood. She remembered being introduced to Basch for the first time when she was six-years-old. He had been twenty-three at the time, and quite handsome. Of course, she supposed that hadn't changed, even with age. She remembered meeting him again multiple times when she went to the training grounds when she was eleven, and then twelve, thirteen, and so on. If it wouldn't have invoked such pain, she would have chuckled at the memory; Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg had been her very first crush.

She remembered the early days of her teens. Despite her no-nonsense personality and regard for rules, she indulged idling away the many boring hours at court with fantasies of wedding the captain. She had imagined the many ways he'd proclaim his love for her, a generous amount of the daydreams being melodramatic damsel-in-distress situations. It was ridiculous, she knew, but at least she had that sense of teenaged normalcy. When she was fifteen, her engagement to Rasler was announced. She never realized it at the time, but with the wedding looming ever closer, she gradually pushed Basch out of her mind, and thus farther away from her. When Rasler did not return from Nalbina, all her girlish fantasies turned to enflamed hatred.

But what did she think of him now? Glancing up at the captain, she could sense his breathing was heavy and strained. Still, despite the blood speckling his lips and the scar stretching languorously across his forehead, even in the dim lighting he had that sense of carved beauty. His features were sharp and stern, but ageless.

She could not hate him anymore. She thought he had killed Rasler, but in reality, Basch had saved him. He had brought his body back to Rabanastre, where he could receive a proper burial and wake attended by all those he loved. If nothing else, Basch allowed her late husband those final anecdotes of respect and affection. In the afterlife, Rasler could at least look on happily, knowing he had been in the presence of those who adored him and whom he in turn adored.

No, she couldn't hate Basch. Not when she was lying on top of him, dying with him. He who had tried to save her husband and failed. He who had tried to save her father and failed. And now, he had who had tried to save her and failed. She suddenly realized that she had no small inkling of what it might feel to be Basch fon Rosenburg, who held duty in such high regard, but whose charges met only death. She knew solely that she did not want him to die a guilty man.

Hesitantly, she raised a hand to his jaw. It was stubbly and sharp, but dulled by the dried blood that presently caked it. Jerking away in surprise, he glanced down to see it was she who had touched him. "Lady Ashe?"

"I forgive you," she told him. "And I thank you."

Basch's eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing and merely nodded. All at once, from the mere look of relief in his eyes, Ashe felt her long dead crush seep its way into her mind, demanding the attention it was deprived in her gawky teenaged years. It was an odd feeling, but she couldn't help it. Strangely, nor did she want to – if she was going to die there on this night with this man, she would leave no regrets. Had she a more awakened sense of self, she would have questioned if her motives were born out of real emotion or merely the desperation of a death looming yet nearer.

Agonizingly but with resolve, she pulled herself up and further onto him until her chest rested against his and her eyes could meet his own. His look was now one of curiosity and puzzlement. She did not take time to revel in it, but lowered herself until her lips rested against his. Her eyes fluttered closed, while his widened dramatically. Her tongue begged entrance, and she knew she probably tasted like blood but dismissed it.

To her chagrin, he gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. "Your Highness!"

Ignoring him, she trailed kisses from his jaw down to the nape of his neck, enjoying his scent that slipped through the heady stench of blood. Since her nose was clogged with the odor, she could almost disregard it completely. Instead she sought his aroma desperately, and clung to it as her lips continued to make a light path to his collarbone. "Your Highness!" he repeated, sounding scandalized. She was forced to stop when he grasped her shoulders again, despite his pain, and pushed her back gently.

"What?" she asked, irate.

"Please, you aren't well," he told her, voice clouded with empathy.

She suddenly felt like exploding. "Pardon me?"

"You've lost a lot of blood," he informed her, as if she didn't know. "It might affect your judgment."

Aback, Ashe no longer felt as if she was in the Garamsythe Waterway, internal organs betraying her as they slowly seeped away her life force. Rather, she felt like she was a little girl being scolded in court directly in front of everyone attending. "Are you serious?" was all she managed to ask.

Basch said nothing, and in the darkness she could see his cheeks were beet-red. She thought it would have been endearing if she weren't so angry. "Oh, so you assume I'm doing this because I've lost so much blood that it's affecting my mind?" He nodded slowly, and she shoved herself off him in a huff. "Or perhaps I'm just not allowed to have desires of my own?"

"My lady…" he began, but was seized by a spasm of pain. She watched with helpless concern as he brought a hand to his chest, clasping desperately, until all motion stopped but the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

"Basch? Basch!" Ashe called, and motioned to wake him up. Her actions were halted abruptly as she too was claimed by a fit of coughing. Covering her mouth with her hands, she pulled them back to see blood dotting her fingers. She stared in wonderment a moment until the hacking resumed, this time much more violent as blood ran from her mouth and down her chin, staining her clothes and dripping to the ground. She collapsed beside Basch, convulsing with the motion until her head became too clouded to even notice the heavy taste of blood.

The world turned from blue to red to black as Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca faced her greatest fear: a death filled with regrets.