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ASTARION POV

Another three hours and plenty more healing sessions from both Halsin and Shadowheart later, and Amaya was beginning to look a lot more healthy. And so was Astarion. He sipped some wine that Karlach had poured him, and the rest of them planned what was next. The road to Baldur's Gate. They would officially be in the territory of the other two Netherstone holders; Gortash and Orin. Karlach seemed to have some history with the Gortash fellow, but Orin was a mystery to them all. Though something about her image had spooked Amaya, and Astarion had to wonder if that was the 'her' Amaya had always referred to during their time in the city together. Maybe. Or he was mis-remembering.

She shifted in her sleep, frowning, lips pursed tight. Her expression had been tight for some time, and he worried she was reliving something awful. Or simply conjuring some new horror in a nightmare. Or worse still, struggling to fully return from the veil? He shook his head and sipped his wine. It would be fine. She was strong, she would–

A scream.

It ripped from her lips, and suddenly she was up, standing, sunk into a defensive stance. Her eyes were wide, wild and glassy as she looked frantically around the camp. The others went quiet. And in the split second it took to register her expression, Astarion knew it was going to be a tricky couple of moments to come. Be that due to her panic, or due to that darkness within her having reared its head. She panted. Was it her or the darkness? He couldn't tell, she was too out of it. She wavered on the spot and blinked hard a few times. But when she backed up a couple paces, they all cried out. She stopped. She was about to step back into the fire. Her breathing quickened further and she flinched from the noise. She looked behind her and wavered again, stumbling forward, tripping and landing on her knees.

He got up slowly, setting his wine down. "Little one, just take a breath. We're all–"

"N-No, you stay away."

He stilled. Why was she afraid of him?

She shook her head, tears falling. It wasn't the darkness. That version had been cold, empty, not capable of those glittering droplets.

She shivered. "Where am I? How'd I get here? This… None of this makes sense."

"You're at camp. You're safe." He didn't know how else to reach her. Would their names help? Or further confuse her?

Yes, she had returned from the veil earlier on, when she took that first breath, but these were her first waking moments being back. He recalled the disorientation when he had returned after Cazador left him in his coffin, after his body had warped beneath the dirt. When he woke to the choking darkness of that coffin, and clawed his way to the top of the dirt, choking on the earth until finally breaking out into a moonlit graveyard. But even so, he had been lost. Where was he? Who was he? Time and space had slipped from his grasp when he had died and come back again as a vampire. He couldn't recall the other side, or anything profound like a light, only darkness and a sense of cold. Deeper than any winters chill. And that was without him having to relive anything, which from the haunted look in Amaya's panicked eyes, she had.

She blinked at him, more tears falling. "C-Camp? Camp. Right. I… No, I don't– I can't– My head." She clasped her hair and groaned. "Where is she? Is she hiding somewhere? T-Tell me!"

"Who?" He asked carefully.

"O-Orin." She choked tears streaming down her face, looking so utterly terrified it broke his heart. What had she been seeing? "I don't understand. Why can I hear her laughing?"

"No one is laughing, Little One. Orin is nowhere near here, she cannot get to you here." He was promising himself as much as her.

Amaya sucked in a breath, lips quivering. "Why do I know how much it hurts? It hurts. Fuck, it hurts!" She curled in on herself, shoulders juddering as she sobbed and shook her head. Astarion tried to approach, but as she flinched away, he stopped. "She'll find me like she said she would, like she swore she would, she'll fuck me up. Paint me red. It's what she said, it's what she always fucking said! Red this, red that, fucking maniac and her love of red. Shit. Shit!"

Karlach stepped forward, hands up in submission when Amaya suddenly looked to her in anger. Karlach swallowed hard and smiled uneasily. "Soldier, you're at camp, like Astarion said. You're safe. Please."

Amaya blinked, breathing heavy still. "Astarion… K-Kar… Karlach?"

"Yeah, Soldier. That's us. And you're Amne. Our brilliant Amne."

She looked down at herself and shivered. "Amne…"

"Just take a breath, yeah? You had a plan, remember? You saved Astarion. You gave your life to save him, and now we brought you back, just like you told us to."

She stared at the Tiefling for a long moment, maybe twenty seconds of silence as the tears continued to tumble down that confused face. Karlach stayed still. They all did. And finally something shone behind Amaya's eyes and the glassiness fell away, giving into a tired shine, but at least a true one. Was she back?

She sniffed. "Where're these memories comin' from Karlach? I… My head…"

"Shh, it's alright. We all got a past, eh?" Karlach stepped forward. "We'll help you figure this out. Just calm yourself, alright? We need to check you're okay. That's all we want here, Soldier, to make sure you're okay."

Amaya's expression softened, brows lifting as she looked to Astarion. "You're… Okay?"

He smiled softly. "Thanks to your quick thinking, my dear. Yes."

"Shit… And Ketheric's really dead? We won?"

"Yes."

"So… S-So I did something right?"

Karlach laughed, a couple tears falling from her eyes. "You do a lot right, you twit."

And Amne put her head down against the dirt, relaxing and just breathing. They all sighed in relief and gathered in closer. Time to look after her. Astarion went to collect some blankets and Halsin started in earnest on the food he had been preparing. Their little family got to work.

AMNE POV

Karlach bundled me in a blanket, Halsin brought me some food, Astarion offered me some wine, Shadowheart offered something sweet, Lae'zel complimented my fast manoeuvres straight out of my deep slumber, and Gale reassured me with a couple of boundary spells around the camp. They were all there. All present. All caring. Damn… I'd chosen my company well, hadn't I?

I had woken in such a frenzy. Everything had been so vibrant, visceral and smothering. I had barely been able to take a breath without it tasting of smoke, without that need to run ringing in my mind. But they were there. All of them. Staring at me with concern, worry, and of course unease. And that need to run dissipated. So quickly. Like snow in the sunshine, it melted away and the peace flowed back in instead. And now my friends were simply here with me, being near.

My plan had really worked. It was a bit of a blur once me and Astarion were encased within that spell I used the scroll for. The rubble adjusting all around, settling in on itself. And me, sat there, pleading with Astarion to drink my blood. To heal himself. And still he had resisted. He wanted anything but to hurt me again. It was as sweet as it had been maddening at the time, his life almost wasted on that moral grounding. But thankfully he had listened. He had healed, and my plan had worked. And my wrist was even healed in the meantime. A hair-brained scheme, perhaps, but hey, it had worked!

I sipped my wine after I'd finished my food and leaned back against the logs set by the fire. We had done well. Ketheric was dead, our mission was complete in this part of the land, and now the road to Baldur's Gate was open. New allies. New problems. New paths. And for me… A new life. Fucking hell this was one hell of a journey.

My body was still aching all over, like I'd drunk three barrels of wine the night before. Shadowheart said it was just a side-effect of the scroll. Of coming back from the veil. I had been dead. Truly dead. That felt very strange to say, to know even, to have felt. It was probably something to eventually discuss with Astarion, after all, having become a Spawn I suppose at some point he had died. Another piece of common ground appeared beneath our boots.

But before I spoke to him about any of that, I would need to talk to him about something else. The guilt had already started brewing. Yes, he had agreed in the end, but it still felt like I might have forced the decision on him. He hadn't wanted to drink. I hadn't left much room for argument. And I knew how much consent mattered to him, for so many things, but no doubt his vampirism was up there.

So as the others had their food and settled, I found my opportunity.

He sat by me and topped up my wine. "Now then, how're you really feeling, my dear?"

"Sore. But also sorry…"

"Whatever for?" He quirked a brow and sipped his own drink. "You didn't do anything wrong, simply woke in a bit of a panic, that's all. No one blames you for–"

"No, I meant for what happened after Ketheric died. When you had been stabbed."

"Ah."

"Making you choose that… Feels like I forced it on you. And I said I would never do that." I sipped the wine but it was hard to swallow, my throat suddenly thickened by the truth of those words. "I… I feel like I forced you. So I'm sor–"

"You didn't." He shook his head, and from anyone else I might have suspected them making excuses for me. But not him. If anything, he almost seemed annoyed at the insinuation. But then he softened and smiled oh-so-gently. "It was an impossible situation, and if I hadn't drank from you, I'd definitely be dead. We can't know how that magic would or would not work on me. You thought quickly. You saved me. I truly don't think of it as being forced. Really."

And he meant it. No jibes, no sneers, just a sincere acknowledgement of my worry and quashing it. Damn. We were making real progress weren't we? Towards what I couldn't be sure. But progress all the same.

He then sipped his wine and sighed. "So with that out of the way… What did you see?"

"Memories, I think." I sniffed and hugged myself tightly. "Of being in a temple of Bhaal with Orin…"

"Bhaal? So that's confirmed. My god. I suppose that makes sense with the mania of it all but… Damn. And wait, with her?" He slowly lowered his cup. "As in, you knew her? Not only being tormented?"

"Mm. Seems we were raised together. I… I kept trying to find another way, to get out of it but she refused to let me. Beat me. Forced me to do it like her, to be the… Shit what was it she said… 'be the blade that cuts'."

A shudder ran through me at the memory of it. Of the venom in her voice. The anger of her strikes. I looked around the rest of the camp at the others, would they understand any of this? Or would it make them wary of me? My heart picked up. They might hate me. I had heard stories of Bhaalspawn, hadn't I? The word itself made me want to vomit. What would my allies think? This past I had oh-so-conveniently forgotten was so damning.

Astarion put a hand on my shoulder, jolting me from my worrisome reverie. I looked at him meekly. He smiled softly. "I do believe they would hear you out. But I also understand not feeling ready to discuss it. But do calm down dear, I don't think being so panicked straight after revival is a good idea. That heart only just started beating again."

"Right…" I laughed breathlessly, leaning into that hold on my shoulder slightly. "Thank you."

"Of course." He gave a gentle squeeze. "I am sorry she was so cruel though, that she drove you to those things. It uh… Well it is reminiscent of my own dalliance with the darkness as you can imagine."

"Cazador made you do things?"

Astarion looked to the side, his hold my shoulder a little too tight for a moment before he let go and sipped his wine again. "Indeed. He didn't exactly hunt for himself, you could say."

"Oh."

Of course. Astarion and his fellow spawn must have been sent out to hunt for Cazador, to bring back victims for their master's hunger. Too lazy to do it himself. Too self important. I looked down at my own hands and they itched with blood long since scrubbed clean. I'd killed for Orin hadn't I? Or at least, under her orders, following her lead. To please them. To stay good with those maniacs.

My head hurt.

Pain bubbled behind my eyes and I wavered.

Astarion draped another blanket around my shoulders. "Perhaps it isn't a good idea to push for more information right now, Little One. After all, this memory loss of yours might not simply be due to the Nautiloids trauma."

I peered at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well… If this Orin truly wished for you to suffer, could she have altered your memory in some way? To punish you or something?"

The pain speared to the back of my skull and I winced. "Mm… Yeah, maybe. Seems entirely possible."

"Sadistic bitch." He wrinkled his nose. It was strange, he had always had that edge of disapproval, that air of aloofness, and yet now that I stood beside him, with that outrage being on my behalf, I couldn't deny it felt good. He was loyal, wasn't he? Very much so. He shook his head. "Well she's had her fun, and we won't let her have you again, will we?"

My heart swelled as he looked to me, and despite the sour expression, I felt utterly safe. That disdain of his was aimed at the world. At Orin. And he would help me find a way to be truly free of her. I trusted that entirely. Yes. I trust Astarion.

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