Astarion sat staring at Gortash's corpse. He hated this man…and hated himself for being happy he was gone. Not because he thought Gortash had given anything worth saving to Baldur's Gate…but because of the pain it caused Maeve was crushing for him. He was a selfish man. So selfish. Because he didn't want to let his love go for someone who couldn't have even been bothered to look for her when she went missing.

"We swore not to interfere in each other's affairs." What bullshit.

Astarion would have ripped the world asunder to find Maeve. He would paint the streets red with blood if it meant getting her back, but Maeve didn't see that at the moment. Grief was funny in that way. Everything was pulled in closer so that the big picture just faded away into the background. And he thought that was especially true for someone who had probably never grieved a person's death before.

Hearing her sob the way she had…like an animal that had to watch itself be disemboweled…her howling would haunt him for centuries. He hadn't left…he was an accomplished rogue…it was easy to tuck himself in a corner of the room…and watching his love curl up next to a dead man, begging for his return, his forgiveness…it broke Astarion.

Would that she loved him that much. Perhaps she did. He was constantly reminding himself that it wasn't her fault…that her feelings were not something to be ashamed of. But it was so fucking hard when his own heart was being shredded before his very eyes. This was his treasure now…Gortash had made his choice. He could have stayed if he had appealed to her love, and instead he chose the cowards way out. For love. For Maeve. It made him hate the man more. Such a romantic gesture that would mar her forever. And Astarion had to endure it. Had to endure her sobbing because of a broken heart that had never been fully together to begin with.

And what was worse…he couldn't even do the smart thing and distance himself. He wanted to take care of her, to protect her…and after everything they had gone through, he couldn't just forget and move on without her. He loved her. More than he ever remembered loving anyone. And perhaps that was worth the pain.

Closing his eyes, he tugged Maeve into his arms and began carrying her back to the closest portal rune. He hoped this was the last visit to Gortash's corpse, but he knew that they would never truly be free of what he had done to Maeve. Now he wished he had cut out her heart when she asked, he could do the same to himself.

Maeve didn't remember returning to the camp, but she awoke in her bed at the Elfsong Tavern. Her head was throbbing as she tried to gather her bearings. Her eyes searched the room and found that all of the beds around her had been made and were empty. It was quiet…which meant that they had probably left without her for the day.

Gathering her bearings and gear, Maeve began to get dressed. It was time for her to find Orin, to settle this matter once and for all. Her Netherstone was the last piece of the puzzle when it came to defeating the elder brain. To get the fucking emperor out of her head, to quiet the whispers that constantly encouraged her to be a disgusting murderer.

She slipped the last of her clothing on before nodding to those who had remained at the camp and slipped away. She'd be lying if she said she minded the solitude. Her companions felt differently about her knowing that part of this entire thing was her fault.

Maeve tugged the hood of her cloak up, shielding her eyes somewhat from the overbearing sun. It had been a very long time since she had wished this…but she would have given anything to be back in the Drow City. At least she was able to blend in more.

She didn't have it as bad as Lae'Zel…but it still hurt to watch parents shoo their children away if they waved or smiled at her. Perhaps it felt sharper now because she had feelings that were more than rage and hatred.

'Where are you Maeve? You shouldn't be traveling alone after killing Gortash! Stay put, we are coming to get you

A wave of disgust rolled over her. Did they think she was some helpless child? Maeve was magic incarnate. She didn't just command the weave as a sorcerer, but she was the weave.

The sending waited for her response, to which she answered in kind.

'I can handle myself. And I'd like to be alone. Don't look for me, I am more than capable of subduing idiots.'

The one thing she liked about sending was that once the person responded, the conversation was over. Unless, of course, recast. But fortunately, it was not and Maeve continued on her way to a vendor that still owed her a favor from their early adventuring days.

"Welcome to Bonecloak's Apothecary— well aren't you a site for sore eyes."

Maeve could barely bring the corners of her lips up to form a passable smile.

"Glad to see that your business is flourishing, Derryth."

"That it is…the Noblestalk you gave me has paid dividends. Enough for me to give you a good discount on anything I have in stock."

Maeve nodded, not that gold was an issue anyway. In her pouch, she had about 15,000 gold pieces.

"I wanted to ask you about that. You told me there wasn't anything it couldn't cure. I need it for memory loss…"

Derryth nodded and tugged out several bright blue blooms of the familiar mushroom.

"How many would you like?"

"All of them…"

"…they are 75 gold a piece...are you sure? One will do ya."

"My mind isn't…the average type of broken. I'll take them all."

The dwarven woman shrugged and placing 5 of the blue mushrooms into a mesh bag, handed them over to Maeve as she dug out 375 gold and handed it to her.

"Be careful…"

Maeve nodded her thanks and left through the wooden door she had just entered. This was her chance for answers…for more insight into what she was before being literally stabbed in the back…and to understand if the love she had for Enver meant anything.

She wanted to be alone while she did this…while she time-traveled through her own past…but that would be a fairly stupid thing to do. She would be too exposed, too vulnerable should anything go wrong. So shut herself in Duke Stelmate's room and locked the door.

It was still empty but the blood had finally been cleaned off the floors and other surfaces. She took a seat on one of the armchairs that had been put upright again and with a deep breath, shoved the mushroom into her mouth.

Cazador Szarr
 Winter Solstice Ball 1489
 Invitation Required for Entry

Maeve loved attending parties with large crowds, it made her job that much easier. So distracted by this and that, no one ever paid her any mind as a drop of nightshade fell into a champagne glass. The joys of watching from afar as the person choked and gasped for air. Tonight was different though. She only had one target in mind. The marks name was Enver Gortash…Orin had challenged her to see who could kill him first. Her lack of subtlety was apparent as she sends ham-fisted assassins to do her dirty work for her. Maeve always preferred the personal touch…that was why she was her father's favorite.

She had to purchase a new gown for the whole affair…but the Bahlspawn thought she cleaned up nicely. The lack of blood on her was a rare sight, but not an unwelcome one. Her eyes fell upon herself as she walked with several other dignitaries inside the overdone castle. She had allowed her long hair to curl down her back. The dress she had chosen was form fitting and the darkest red she could find. Cuffs of lace spidered up her arms, and the ensemble was brought together with a gemed spider hairpin that she had looted from another Drow she had killed. She had excellent taste in accessories.

Her eyes scanned the crowd for her target. Admittedly, she didn't know what Gortash looked like. She had a general description of him…but no paintings had been erected with his face anywhere she lurked. So she was essentially going in blind. Oh well…what fun was the game without a little hunt?

She strode past towards where drinks were being served. She contented herself with a glass of something rich and red and honed her hearing on those around for anyone talking about her mark.

"Not much for balls are you?"

Her head snapped to attention when she realized someone had addressed her. Taking a sip from her wine she glanced at the pissant that had interrupted her work.

"Quite the contrary…I love a good party."

The man stood considerably taller than Maeve, not that that was much of a feat. The Bahlspawn stood proud at 5 foot 2. But as she taught many of her father's lesser children…poison comes in small packages.

"Were this only a good party."

Maeve smirked.

"You turned quite a few heads as you walked in."

"Oh, yours included?"

The man was handsome, and with the number of women turning to stare at him; Maeve could tell she wasn't the only one who thought so. He also wore a sort of foreign regalia. She didn't recognize the crest. Granted, she couldn't show her own family's crest in public, so crests mattered little to her.

"You had my attention the moment you stepped over the threshold."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"Well, I hate to break it to you...but I'm here for someone else, unfortunately."

Maeve didn't have time for these types of distractions. She needed to find Gortash, perhaps she could kill him quickly enough to find this man again. She couldn't remember the last time she got to enjoy carnal pleasures.

"Perhaps I can help you with that…Maeve."

Her eye twitched and she felt something sharp press into the center of her back. She smiled tightly a growl escaping her throat.

"You have until 3 to release me before I gut you like a bloody pig."

"Now now now…I'm not here to kill you, merely… introduce myself. I heard you were looking for me."

"And now that I have found you…you know your fucking life is forfeit," Maeve said a bit too loudly.

"This blade is pressed against your spinal column, one good thrust and you are paralyzed. I imagine someone could heal you, but by that time you will be in irons."

Maeve laughed bitterly. She was going to rip his eyes out and use them as garnishes for her next drink.

"Or. You could come outside with me…and hear the proposition I have for you…"

It wasn't like she could refuse.…and once they were outside Maeve could end him. She just needed to be patient. Gortash smiled and latched an arm with her, his hand gently resting on the small of her back...the dagger hidden from wandering eyes.

Once outside on the ramparts of the castle, she glares as he kept the blade positioned to cripple her.

"Now. You could kill me…or…you could join me on an endeavor that will change this world forever."

"You are fucking-

"—Consider this…imagine delivering this world to your father. Your REAL father. Your number of followers continues to dwindle…but with my political influence...you could recruit more."

Maeve paused and watched him.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"For the greater good of course. You and I could be worshipped as living Gods…and all it would take is for you to let one mark survive."

She was silent for a while. Maeve had never let a mark disappear before. None of her targets lived, and if they did they begged for death anyway. Still. Expanding her father's influence had always been the goal…and as much she hated to admit it…her becoming a political figure was not in the cards. She operated better in the background.

"…where would we start?"

Maeve's eyes swam back into focus as the ceiling of the Elfsong Tavern faced her. With a retch, she turned onto her side and threw up. Tears spilled down her face as disgust for herself tore her insides to shreds.

"…I'm a monster…"

Wiping her mouth clean, and then using a cantrip to clean her vomit, she released a shaky breath and leaned against the wall of the now dimly lit room. She must have been passed out for hours.

Her legs wobbled as she grabbed her pack and left the room to return to where her companions would be settling in for the evening. Her lips trembled as she saw them…they were here because of her…all of them. And yet they hadn't gutted her. Hadn't abandoned her.

She went and sat on her bed and pulled her knees into her chest. She didn't belong here. And no matter how much she fought the urge, she would always be that monster. Her victims' blood was woven into the fabric of who she was…and it felt like she was being undone. Perhaps that was poetic justice.

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