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ASTARION POV

The way she had looked at him. Like any other victim from those dark days on Cazador's leash, backed into a corner, hands trembling, eyes seeking an escape but only finding more ways for him to hurt them. And this time it had nothing to do with his old master. Not really. So as he sat in the other room, Gale having thankfully not asked beyond a raised brow at Astarion's sudden reappearance to get another key, Astarion perched on one of the beds and stared out into the darkening night sky beyond. This was his own doing. Her pain, splintering across her face like a mirror smashed, was his fault. And it hurt to see. It burned something within him he hadn't thought was really still there, not under everything else, all the masking, the smarmy charm, the alluring nature and winning smiles. The torment. The anger. He figured all of that had smothered anything genuine a long time ago, a very long time ago, and yet there he was, feeling the cold ache of regret, and the loss of something potentially true.

He hunched over, a small noise of discomfort escaping as the possibility hung in the air, his mind reeling at the fact he had so foolishly tarnished things. Why didn't he just say it back then? The shame. Yes. And the fear. He looked at his hands, perfectly clean really, but now suddenly looking utterly filthy. He hung his head. She had spoken to him in confidence, whispered words of uncertainty to someone she thought she could trust, and it had been a hard road to get there. And all he had given in return was falsehoods.

At least, that was how she would be seeing it.

He wondered if she would even still be with them by the morning, perhaps having her bath and fleeing into the night. Running into the shadows where her memories continued to evade her. It wouldn't be safe. Orin was still hunting her, the Absolutists wouldn't be far behind either, and they still had a laundry list of things to figure out before they could proceed. But it wasn't his call. It never had been really, but even less so as he stood in the wake of that horrible moment.

As soon as they had entered the Inn, he had a sinking feeling in his gut. They could have chosen anywhere at all, but no, they went back to that place. Gale had no idea, it wasn't his fault. But even so, Astarion had itched all over to simply escape the four walls from his past. So many victims had sat in those chairs, sipped from those glasses and had their judgement dulled by those drinks. Endless hordes of them, one after another, night after night, hunt after hunt. And then there had been her.

She caught him so off guard, intrigued him in a fundamental way no other prey had.

And then of course, she wasn't prey. For night after night he would sit and talk to her, get to know her, learn from her, and then find some other random person at the last second to drag back for his quota. For Cazador's hunger.

So many had been thrown into that dark place. Looking back with confusion in those last moments, hurt breaking in their expressions, betrayal shining in their lost eyes. He knew he wouldn't be able to stomach such a look from her, from those bright hazel gems.

Only now he had.

Astarion swallowed hard, eyes flickering to the wall separating their rooms. That moment would linger for a long time – and for him that meant a very long time. As they ascended the stairs, his mind whirring with the past, wondering if she would recall anything, desperately and selfishly hoping she wouldn't, he had felt the air around her change. Much like it had several times on their road together already. The moments when the past clawed at her mind and dragged some new realisation into the forefront. Only this time, the thickening of the air also set his hairs on end.

She knew.

And he could do absolutely nothing about it. The chance to bring it up before was officially gone. The ability to explain without her second-guessing his intent at every turn, had vanished. He had been too scared to do anything but let things fall where they will, and now that cowardice had paved his path to that look of haunting in her beautiful eyes.

As she turned to him, uncertain as her mind ached with a new memory, as she sought his help with the bubbling memories, the uncertainty was ripped away to recollection. And he knew it was over. Everything they had built since the crash, crumbled in those few moments, didn't it? The conversations by the fire, the dark laughter as they cleaned their gear after another brawl, the small leaning touches as she sought something or even someone to be near to in a moment of vulnerability. He ruined it all with his silence. Her lips fell open, wobbling in confused terror as she saw him in that place, knew his face in those dim lights, no doubt recalled them both stumbling up those stairs, drunk on the moment and wine alike. How her breaths had gasped out into wanton giggles, her back pressed to the dark panelling, her leg hitched onto his hip, his hands gripping her so firm. And then how they were taken. And then… how he lied.

The anger he had expected, but her pain had caught him off guard. The sheer tearing agony in her voice as she demanded her name, as her tears flowed. And it hurt to see. It was like sunlight before the tadpole rendered it moot. Burning, flaying, searing. That look of her being lost, of grasping for the steady hand she had known and finding it false. It would haunt him.

"Swear all you like." She had laughed so bitterly, cornered as he stood over her, selfishly trying to make her see his side. "Doesn't mean a damn thing, does it? A-Any of it."

Any of it.

Their nights together since the crash, the conversations, the trust, the moonlit nights when they had finally come back together in that new life of possibilities. When he held her close. When he hitched her onto his waist and kissed her so eagerly, the past seeming to meet up with the present.

And it was being ripped out of his hands, by himself, by how own foolish fears. And so he was open in his desperation, he set aside the pride and pleaded with her. He had to make her know the truth. To see how much he truly cared. No more masks, no more falsehoods, no more–

"Stop." She begged, her beautiful tears falling thick and fast. "Please."

And he did stop. His words died in his throat as he looked her over, seeing how she was curled away from hin, afraid. Defeat. Loss. Grief. They choked him as he stepped back, hands falling by his side, unable to clasp at anything at all. She saw him as she was always meant to – Cazador's little mutt, a vampire, a loathsome leech sent out to collect souls and be thrown away afterwards. He was only useful to Cazador. He was only as good as his looks, which as soon as you got past the surface… were nothing but rot.

But only as she curled away from him, afraid and unsure, did he realise how much he had come to want her trust. Like he wanted freedom. Like he had wanted power at one point, believing it to be the only road to freedom. But no. She had shown him otherwise, she had helped him feel free without any of that. By simply being. And he wanted more of it. He wanted to cherish her smiles, to be surrounded by her trust, to be so happy with her company, to love her… That was it, wasn't it? He loved her.

"Damned fool." He muttered to himself, flopping back on the small bed, wishing he could go to her and explain it all. But really, it wasn't an explanation, it was just his version of things. It didn't change what he had done. Or rather, not done. He hadn't told her the truth.

"I'm so sorry Amne… Amaya…" He gritted his teeth as tears formed and rolled down. "D-Dammit."

And then, from next door, he heard a crash… and a scream.

AMAYA POV

I sunk beneath the surface and let myself settle on the bottom of the tub. The world fell away and I concentrated on the thump of my own heart, the one I had gone and let fall for the likes of bloody Astarion. Idiot wasn't a good enough word. But despite my decent vocabulary, I was coming up without a fitting alternative. No doubt he was feeling pleased with himself. I internally sighed. No. That was unfair. Even with his betrayal revealed and everything else currently making my heart ache, he had been truly spooked in that corridor. Now that my initial anger had calmed a little, I could accept that really I had an okay read on him most of the time. He had just been an idiot as well. Overthought. Got himself into a corner over things. And likely assumed I wouldn't understand the fact he was acting under Cazador's will. But I did. I fully appreciated a powerful will trying and succeeding at bending your own. None of this made it okay, what Astarion had done. He had lied and kept me in the dark. But he had said he was sorry, and I think I believed him.

Thud.

Something very lightly landed nearby the tub and my eyes sprung open, staring up through the murky water, I saw a shape leaning into view. A pale shape with dark ringed eyes, red clothes and hair pulled back. O-Orin? Shit. Oh good, she also had her knife out. Great. She raised her arm, intending to stab me in the water and be done with it? Or at least to maim me somehow. Now or never. I kicked out, dousing her in bath water before I lunged clear of the tub and grabbed my blades from the side, stood on the cold wooden boards, ready to go. Naked, but armed. She shook the water from her eyes and grinned, sinking down low. I mirrored, very aware of the chilled air drying my skin, droplets still rolling down my naked form. Oh well.

She tilted her head. "And here was me thinking I might be stealing one of your companions! But this is even better, oh yes. Now I can take you and make them squirm. Or will they not miss you, do you think? Will they celebrate being freed from you instead?"

"Take me where?" I demanded, matching her approaches with my own retreat. "What's the point of all this Orin?"

"Father wishes to punish you, of course, but I wish to get you and your little band in line. Bargaining, get it, slaughter kin?"

I gritted my teeth, the way 'father' and 'kin' slithered over her tongue made me want to vomit. Mainly because it sounded right. But I was going to be more than a mad Bhaalspawn, damn it, I knew that. I wanted more than that.

"Get the fuck out of here and–"

She flicked her wrist and I tried to dodge, but wasn't quite fast enough. The slice glanced along my rib, and had I been wearing armour, or anything at all really, it wouldn't have mattered. As it was, a small cut broke the skin and a numbing sensation took over immediately. Shit. No time to run, had to warn someone. Astarion was next door, right? Maybe. He said he wanted to rest and I told him to get another key, that didn't mean he had. Still, only chance.

I lunged at her, screaming at the top of my lungs to catch someone's attention, and as our blades clashed, she laughed loudly. My shortsword caught along her arm, splashing her blood against the room divider, but as I landed that hit, she caught me along my stomach with another poisoned strike. Coldness. I wavered, trying to move. Another slice. And another.

It swamped me and my knees gave out, falling over her waiting arm, dribbling my own blood all over the flooring. "N-No… I won't… I won't go…"

She tutted. "Goodness, what a mess I've got to make of you already." She laughed, running the knife along my back as she said it, chuckling as I gave a halfhearted screech, my lips and tongue paralysed like the rest of me now. The edges of my vision began to darken. I mumbled helplessly.

The door to the room was kicked open, Astarion's voice bellowing into the space. "Amaya?!"

"We're going to have such fun!" Orin giggled before I was transported away.

The vague shout of 'NO!' echoed in my mind as I hurtled through the darkness and landed on a stone plinth. I lay there, helpless, staring ahead at my blood spackled hands in front of me. The dim light from torches was all around, and the crackling of their flames was all I could hear. Until there were footsteps. And then there were faces. They peered, leered and grinned. Bhaal worshippers, if those deranged looks were any indication, and I was entirely at their mercy.

Not that they knew the meaning of the word…

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