Enjoy!

AMNE POV

Within ten minutes the group returned, declaring the place clear. Even the basement had been checked. Our allies were thorough. We went inside and Gale approached the bar to make arrangements, while Astarion hung at the back of the group, a strange energy radiating from him. I put it down to his general unease. It made sense. This might as well have been Cazador's lair itself. We probably weren't far from it at all. Contextually speaking it was amazing Astarion hadn't flown into a full panic attack by that point, he was doing well to hold his nerve.

"I still think we should–" His words were cut off by a clap of thunder and then the roar of rain descending. It poured. People on the street scrambled for overhangs and a flood of folks came in through the doors. Just as Gale had said. Astarion sighed and shrugged, conceding his objections.

Gale started talking with the barman.

I leaned closer to Astarion. "It'll do. Plus I've been in worse places… I think." I chuckled at his pout, flicking an errant curl of his back behind his ear when it threatened to go into his eye. "You and your fancy ways."

He raised a brow.

I snorted. "Well it's not the risk of your siblings, it's already been cleared. So why else object, unless you're being a bit of a snob?"

He looked like wanted to object, but the words failed him.

I gestured to the attempts at finery around us. "Surely these silky drapes and fine woodwork are to your liking?"

He gently took my hand in his, lowering it, a sad look crossing his eyes for a moment. "It's not the lack of luxury that bothers me."

"Ast–"

"Just some bad memories, my dear." He nodded and let go of my hand, fixing his gaze back onto Gale, his jaw very tight all of a sudden.

"You said you wanted to talk. Is it Cazador, or–"

"Something like that." He murmured, eyes still tight as they stared ahead.

Alright. Not the time to press.

Something had him spooked. It usually took a while for him to process things, to get round to opening up, so I could give him that space. Seemed the least I could do considering his patience with my nonsense. I stepped away and looked at the paintings, a few of them familiar scenery, some far off places I had only ever read about – at least, I think that's how I knew of them.

"Alright, we have some rooms." Gale grinned as he turned, keys in hand. "I fancy a drink and some food first, but it's the first three rooms up the stairs apparently, anyone in desperate need of a nap?"

I raised a hand. "Maybe not a nap, but I could do with a damned bath at least. Might join you after."

"Very well, enjoy!" He tossed me the first key and I caught it, heading for the stairs just to the right of the bar.

I paused as I came to that corner, the stairs only revealed now. How had I known that? I rolled my eyes at myself, yet again, clearly I'd been here before at some point. Or, maybe a lot of inns were simply built the same.

Steps came alongside, Astarion's gaze firmly downward when I glanced his way. "Thought you'd prefer to stay downstairs a little longer. Keeping me company?"

"Perhaps not in the bath this time, sweet. But…" He didn't seem to want to be away from me, was it part of why he had become so tense? Maybe. Still, he didn't seem ready to voice it. "I'll just accompany you to the room and rest a while. Is that alright? Perhaps we can talk there too."

"Of course." I smiled and climbed the stairs, hand skimming the bannister, the other holding the key. Astarion just behind me, trailing a couple of steps. Whatever was on his mind, I hoped it surfaced soon, my gut had begun to churn with worry at his withdrawn nature. We were so close to Cazador's place now, to that fateful choice where Astarion would have to land on simply killing Cazador or trying to fulfil the ritual. I didn't believe that he really would. Not when it came down to it. He talked a big game, but he wasn't that callous. He wasn't…

Halfway up the stairs, my mind drifted.

A strange familiarity crept up the back of my neck.

Every hair twinged. So far in our travels this sensation, or ones like it, had helped retrace steps to my past, so as unnerving as it appeared, I allowed it. My steps slowed a little, but my heart quickened. What the hell would it be this time? What weird vision would strike? A dark corridor was ahead of us, at the top of the stairs, the mood lighting clearly intended for those stumbling up here in a stupor of one kind or another. This sort of inn was common enough. Not a place like the Sharess' Caress, but still.

And yet…

A vase of flowers sat in the corner as we reached the first floor, the golden paint shining dully in the gloom. An overpowering floral scent mae that familiarity shoot across my mind, blinding me for a moment.

I staggered against the wall, hand grappling at the fine wooden panelling.

The air, so stagnant and perfumed by cheap finery was suddenly suffocating. So familiar. I knew this space. I knew the air, the gaudy decorations and dim lighting. And as I turned to Astarion, to ask for help, as he stepped towards me, I found myself lurching back. My knees turned to water. Recognition. Solid. Undeniable. Like a stone wedging between my ribs. His white hair shone in the dim light of the nearby lanterns, his red eyes shadowed by the gloom, his pale complexion stark against the dark wood; I knew him in this space. Not in those clothes, not with that awful apologetic look on his fine features, but yes… I had seen him here before. And he knew I would, that was what that look said, wasn't it? He didn't look worried. He looked apologetic.

I… No, wait… Yes…

Shit.

He looked sorry. So gods be damned sorry. Guilt. It was on every inch of his face.

My bones ached with the truth.

I knew Astarion.

Before all of this happened. Before being taken by the Illithid. Before the parasite. Before all of that. In my life before waking on the ground, surrounded by wreckage. I had known Astarion. And most damningly, he had known me, and yet he hadn't said a word. Nothing. He let me think we were strangers, and that I was alone in this confusing world, lost to my lack of recollection. Sh-Shit… I pushed that aside for now and tried to focus on the specific memory.

Somehow, I had been in this tavern so close to Cazador's palace before. And I had been here with Astarion. No… I looked down at my hands, shaking and clasping for something to steady me with. Astarion had taken me here, or… lured? Maybe up the stairs at least. Possibly. Damn it, focus. I recalled in sickening clarity how he had held my hand as we walked up these stairs, the touch so gentle, so calming and assuring. Safe? His smile had been so inviting, a warmth that had nothing to do with drink pooling in my veins at the sight of it, knowing it was just for me. His beautiful eyes half-lidded with suggestion, my own seeking him gladly. A little too much red wine having passed my lips and his alike before he led me here.

I have a room, he said.

Won't you accompany me, darling? He soothed.

His hands skimming my waist, fingers trailing along my hips, drawing me closer, delving into another intoxicating kiss as he threaded his touch into my hair, his silvered tongue caressing mine, the taste so sweet with wine and want. The wood at my back as he pressed me there so eagerly, moans burning in my throat, the clack of keys in a lock, our keen laughter as clothes fluttered to the ground. Soft sheets. Hard caresses. Keening chants of each others names. And then bliss. More wine poured into glasses, the clink of cheers, the cool air of perching on a balcony, his hand skimming along my now partially redressed self, caressing closer as his eyes burned for me and me alone. Finally someone had accepted me, someone cared for me for more than my sick talents… Someone cared…

And then…

Coldness.

A strange numbing sensation, panicked cries, and a pod grappling me into place before a parasite was raised to my eye. The darkness. The loss. The forgetting… Had I literally just blocked it out? A sharpness was there also. Hinting at something else. Something like a point, a razor. A flash of a smile, not his, toothier, bloodied. O-Orin. She had made me forget somehow.

But I had been here that night, with Astarion, when I was taken onto the Nautiloid.

And I had been here, with Astarion, when he was trying to lure me back to Cazador.

Just another victim, waiting to be flung into hungry arms, drained and flung aside.

Astarion, in the present, continued to watch me with pitying eyes. His brows lifted in the middle, lips slightly ajar like he was unsure of what to say. Of which lie to land on next? It can't have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like the silence had lingered an age. How many times had I spoken to him of my lost life? Of those missing memories? And yet…

"You knew."

Again that look of guilt.

"You knew." I repeated, backed to the wall by those stinking flowers, knees still quivering.

His lips trembled before he took a deep breath. "Sweet, listen to me, I–"

"You fucking knew who I was since you saw me on the ground outside the nautiloid. You called me Little One… I… I know that name, don't I? You used it here. In this place, when we met…"

He looked down, his hands clasping and unclasping. "It isn't that simple."

"Fuck you." I snapped, breathing hard as my heart hammered against my ribs. "It's perfectly simple. You knew me, my name, all that shit, and you just let me swim in this… this soup of my mind the whole time? The whole time?"

Tears blurred my vision as his eyes went wide, his expression nothing short of pleading in that moment. It sickened me, made me want to slap him, made those awful impulses rise like fire given fresh oxygen. Just throw him down the stairs. Yes. Watch crimson spill over that white hair and matt it to the same burgundy as his eyes. And for once, I didn't push the hateful images away. They helped. A fire burned in my chest, helping to thaw the otherwise chilling recollections of having almost been just another victim. Another notch on his littered belt. Of being lied to for so long.

"Sweet, please you must listen, I only–"

"What's my name?" I demanded, voice choked as I tried to edge along the wall, to get at least a few more inches between me and this bastard who had lied. Who I had thought I was getting to know. Who I had fought beside, confided in, trusted. Damn it. I had trusted him. And there was no denying that ridiculousness. I'd been fooled, wholly and completely. What an idiot. "Or didn't you know? While you were luring another piece of meat back to your Lord-and-fucking-master?"

He winced. "You know I had no choice, you kno–"

"Alright, fine that wasn't on you, but you chose not to tell me afterwards."

His mouth closed. No arguments.

I shivered. "You chose to leave me scrambling in this nothingness of amnesia. I confided in you for fuck's sake. About how much it hurt to not know anything, to be adrift with nothing. Shit. You bastard. What's my name? Do you know it?"

"Yes. I-I do." He swallowed hard, hands forward as he took a step closer, me matching it with a retreat. "I didn't intend to lie. But at the same time, I didn't know how to–"

"WHAT'S MY NAME?" I bellowed, baring my teeth as a sob broke free.

He stopped approaching, his hands lowered. Then he drew a deep breath and straightened, shoulders rigid, meeting my eye solemnly, but with that mask clipped back into place. Like he had any right to look anything but ashamed right now. Bastard. Bastard,

He dipped his head. "Amaya. You told me your name was Amaya."

So I'd settled for something damn close with Amne, I suppose. Yet he suggested Hazel when I asked about my eyes. "Why not bring it up when I was figuring out a damn name?"

He blinked, the mask slipping a little again as that confusion fell into place. That uncertainty. Perhaps made of genuine concern, of a genuine want to help but not knowing how. Or – and right now seemed far more likely – that look was born of not knowing how to get me back under the spell. Under his well-manicured thumb. "I… Well, I suppose I…"

"You couldn't just say, 'hey, this is ridiculous, I know you and you know me.' Easy. Simple. But no, you left me to wander around clueless, lost…" I swallowed hard and gripped the key tight, the metal biting my palm, grounding me. "So I was dependent on you. Just how it suited you. Right. Makes sense."

"No!" Mask forgotten Astarion stepped forward again, a look of pleading, a look I could no longer trust. He came so close, hands bracing on the wall behind me, caging me in those arms I'd so willingly been held by before. From the moment he set eyes on me, he said. How little I had known. Fool that I am. He shook his head. "I'm sorry it got this far, truly. But can't you see that I was just–I was… it was–"

"What?" I demanded, baring my teeth. "Convenient? Easier? You were just a damn manipulative piece of–"

"I was ashamed, gods be damned!"

"Ashamed?" I repeated, breaths thin as the trembling sunk into my frame. "So because you were ashamed, you left me in the dark for all these weeks? You… Y-You sick bastard. You selfish shit." I blinked hard, the tears falling thick and fast. "What else haven't you told me? Do you know who I am? Where I'm from? Do you know–"

"I swear I never intended to fool you or–"

"Swear all you like." I laughed bitterly, leaning back against the wall, cold all over. "Doesn't mean a damn thing, does it? A-Any of it."

He winced, wide eyes searching me in what could be read as desperation but I could only see as manipulation. "No, please don't think that. Anything but that. When we were here, very well, by all means write that off as a manipulation if you must. It wasn't. It was so much more than that, but if you can't hear that then fine, I was Cazador's mutt at that point. Nothing more, nothing less. But not since. Not since I felt that freedom from Cazador and his sick orders. Shit, no. I can't let you think it, not even back when I was on the hunt. No. Please. I kept buying us time, kept finding others to take instead. I couldn't bear to take you to him, it was why we ended up spending so much time together, my darling. I–"

"Stop." I pleaded, tears still falling. "Please."

He stopped, lips still ajar as his words finally ground to a halt, but still looming over me as I curled away from him towards the wall. He stepped back, hands falling by his side, eyes raking over me – the one cowering here, looking every bit like a victim waiting to be carried away by the terrible vampire. His role, right? His purpose. How was I meant to see anything else with this newfound knowledge sticking into my chest like a damn stake?

"There's no way to make it right now, is there?" He breathed thickly.

I straightened up and he had the decency to retreat another step. "Do me a favour and forget the details I told you. The ones I managed to scrape back from my muddled head, it…"

"No, I–"

"Please." The key nipped my palm "It wasn't something to be shared so foolishly. I apologise for burdening you with it."

He looked down. "You didn't. The last thing you are is a bur–"

"I need a bath." I turned and unlocked the door. "If you're still needing to rest, I'd rather you asked Gale for one of the other keys."

"... Very well." I paused before opening the door, as if I could sense him reaching for me before his steps headed back towards the stairs. "Good… Good night."

I gritted my teeth, more tears brewing behind my eyes as I got the lock open and got myself into the room, slamming the door and leaning back against it. My knees gave and I slid down, landing in a heap, my head in my hands. I wept. It poured out of me; anger at having trusted so wholly, shame at having been caught out so entirely, embarrassment at him knowing so much already, grief at the connection I thought I'd made now lying dead at my feet.

And beneath it all, the crimson want to hurt bubbled. It had been there since the first sting of betrayal was realised. Go on, hurt him. Make him bleed, make those pretty eyes weep with red and those lying lips gurgle in his own lifeforce. Beautiful. Ruby. Justice. But I kept it down, like trying to stop myself from vomiting, it churned in my chest, slowly sinking deeper to broil in my belly. I didn't want to be that person, whoever they had been. The instinct was there, but so was the revulsion. Those impulses were true, but I hated them just as truthfully. Astarion had wronged me, in so many fundamental ways, but I didn't truly want to kill him.

Unless of course… He still intended to take me to Cazador?

I shook my head at myself as the tears slowed to only salted tracks along my cheeks. He wasn't under the compulsion anymore. It wasn't his fault that those had been his orders, that wasn't where the blame lied, it wasn't why it hurt to breathe in that moment. No. It hurt that he had seen me on those sands, accused me of being part of some ploy to capture him, and then never revealed to me that he knew me prior. That he knew my name.

Scraping myself off the floor, numbness deep in my veins, I went to the bathroom and got the water running, watching the steam rise and caress along the cold glass of the small window. In the midst of our argument he had mentioned knowing me longer than one night, hadn't he? Something about buying us time. Not wanting to hand me over. If it was true. I perched on the edge of the bath and sprinkled bath salts into the water, the perfume pleasant against my aching mind. If it was true, then I should ask for more details. Surely he wouldn't withhold anything now? I winced. That might simply be me still clinging to a connection I'd been fooled about.

It was hard to know what to trust…

Who to trust…

How to trust…

I removed my gear and set my blades near the bath just in case, sinking myself into the water once the tub was filled and the room pleasantly steamed. Sinking in, I sighed. Heat. It smothered my aches, my pains, and a little of my confusion. Just be there in the water, breathe the soaped air, allow the days to wash off bit by bit. I hung my head back against the tub and stared at the beamed ceiling. Alongside everything else, if I was really honest with myself, this had hurt far more than I would have expected. The betrayal hurting made sense, yes. But that sharp sting that remained in my chest, the way my eyes itched to shed more tears, my lungs burning with a want to draw a deep breath for a righteous scream. All that tended to indicate something far more worrying. My caring for Astarion, my trusting of him, my connection to him… It had gone a lot further than I realised. More than a stress relief on the road, deeper than a comradery shared over campfires, truer (or so I thought) that a smirk between sips of wine.

Another tear rolled down my cheek as I considered the truth of it, making that pain in my chest build from a sting to a sear.

I loved Astarion.

Thanks for reading!

Sweelise: I hope you enjoyed the confession! It's actually basically the first scene that came to me when I thought of writing this story!