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There is blood caked onto her hands.
Sometime ago, be it hours, days, eons, (time is so hard to judge when your mind is a toy for everyone but yourself) she would relish in this. She would enjoy the stickiness fading into a taught layer upon her skin, letting it stay until one of her companions snapped her back into awareness and demanded she clean up the mess.
Oh, how she delighted in the evidence of a life taken.
Yet this is the blood of the sister she can hardly recall. Orin, who cackled as she spun, and called her blood-kin. Who tore her brain near apart and left her to be some mad woman's surgical play thing. Who she dueled for the pleasure of a cruel father. Who in the end was nothing more than a puddle of gore.
It has been hours (Days? Minutes? Centuries?) and the blood is still on her hands. Flaking down her fingers, nestled under her sharp nails. Dark, deep red is clinging to her, and she wants it off , but she cannot move.
Maybe this is why she doesn't notice the approach of Astarion until he is settling down beside her. She turns her head to look at him. He, who was also once covered in life blood of one he hated and feared, is now spick-and-span. His night clothes are on, white shirt making his pale skin stand out even more by the nearby fire light. He is perfect.
A pretty corpse, she once thought.
''You're brooding again.'' He says. The smirk on his face was toothy, but she knows him well enough to spot the concern in his eyes.
''I don't brood.'' She says, fighting the sudden desire to hide her ugly hands from him. ''You brood. Shadowheart broods. I ruminate. I-I'm ruminating.''
Astarion laughs, and gods, she loves him so much. Her chest feels lighter at the very sight of him. It had started slow and creeping, something she only became aware of when she was already in too deep. Her past is still a struggle to remember, but she hopes she's never loved someone this strongly. In all her holy devotion she'd tear the world apart for him if only he asked. The now dead part of her that clings like a leech wishes he would.
Please, she wants to pray. To anyone who would listen, please not let her have loved her father with such intensity.
"Ruminating are you? I suppose that's one of putting it. Well then, do you care to talk about why you're ruminating and not partaking in the party thrown in your own honor?''
He lazily gestures behind them, but she doesn't turn her head to look. The "party" had kicked up as soon as they had returned to camp. Karlach had been in high spirits, and broke out the booze almost immediately. She can hear now, the very clear evidence of a very drunk barbarian recounting their day to the absentee party members. Unable to stop herself she flinches at Karlach's flattering description of the death of Orin, and the loud- "fuck she told Bhaal to stuff it up the ass, didn't she!''
The blood is still on her hands.
''Damn it." She whispers, and Astarion's smile turns to a frown. The dried liquid is burning now, and she scrapes at it with her nails. Be it her own desperation or just the sharpness of claws, the skin on the heel of her palm is punctured. Fresh blood oozes, gathering in it the loose flakes she had managed to free. Her own life mixing with the remains of Orin. Panicked she goes again, wanting to rip until the red is gone and there is nothing but white bone.
Slender fingers stop her, the firm hand of Astarion taking her own up. His pale skin is stained once more.
''Enough of that darling." Somehow unwavering and soft all together his voice guides her eyes away from their bloody hands and up to his face. He is alight, beautiful and glowing. Raw love and concern dripping from his tone. ''Allow me.''
One of his hands briefly flutters away, and she misses it immensely. His remaining hand is tight in its grip, but his thumb runs soft circles in her palm.
''I'm sorry.'' She says. Never, never has she felt so lost. The Urges are gone and she misses them as much as she hated them.
''Don't you dare apologize. Not for this. Besides, I like when I get to take care of you for a change.''
It comes as such an easy admittance, but it is as if his words wrap snugly around her heart. Before it would beat so strong, a steady thrum. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood, blood.
Now it sings even stronger. Him, him, him, him, him, him.
A blue light to their side catches her attention. Astarion's glowing mage hand floats close, a thick purple shirt clutched in the translucent fingers. Her eyebrows raise and the faintest of smiles flashes across her face.
''Is that Gale's night shirt?''
''Of course!'' He smiles. She can see his fangs. ''You think I'd use one of my own for this? If I went around carrying your scent I'd get nothing done. Besides, with all the enchanted boots he's eaten I think we're owed a shirt or two.''
The magical hand deposits the stolen shirt gentle in its masters grasp, then disperses in a shower of blue. Astarion holds the sleeve to her bleeding hand, and the fabric goes dark at the touch. It stings, a bit. But if the unbidden onslaught of memories is teaching her anything, it is that pain is no stranger.
The lashes from father were a blessing. A gift for his favorite child. Her blood came from father and it is his right to see it when he wishes.
She bites at her lip, and the memories rush away as quickly as they came.
''Now," he says. "Do you want to share with the class what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
"There's a tadpole throwing a party in there.''
"Oh, ha ha. Funny." The laugh is fake, but his nose still crinkles in amusement. It hits her unexpectedly hard how cute it is. How cute he is, and how domestic this moment is. She really doesn't want it to end. Not that Astarion would be willing to put the matter aside. They aren't a couple that sugarcoats things, and the expression on his face is clear as day. He knows something is wrong, and he intends to find out what. There isn't much use in pretending with him. It doesn't surprise her that their closeness would come back to bite her in the ass.
Damn vampire can tell when she lies.
''You won't let this go?" She tries anyway.
''You know I won't.'' He sing songs, still keeping a soft pressure on her hands. The blood is blocked from her view by the shirt but she can still feel some of it dried against her palm. Her heart rattles.
Him. Him. Him. Blood. Him. Him.
"Fine. But first, can we?" Her fingers flex. An unspoken question, but she rather suspects at this point Astarion could read her mind without the tadpole.
''Of course.'' He says. They rise to their feet together and he doesn't once release his grip on her hands. Their other companions give a few hoot and hollers as they shuffle off to privacy, and Astarion shoots them all his cheekiest grin. She is lead off behind the trees, to the creek they all use for bathing. It reminds her with a jolt of the first night Astarion sauntered her away like this. Only, now she isn't a means to an end, and he isn't a cold distraction from her darken thoughts.
They sit, her crossed legged and him with his knees tucked neatly under himself. The water is chilly as he dunks their hands in the stream. She watches, almost transfixed as Astarion tenderly dabs at her palms. Bloody flakes lift from her skin and float away. Her own wound gives way to whispy red strands in the water, and it is only a moment before she sees nothing but her own magenta skin.
"There we are." Astarion lifts her hand to his lips, and they brush softly against her wet knuckles. "Good as new."
She blushes. The absence of her Urges seems to have been replaced with a school girl shyness. How else could the same man she's seen stark naked in the moonlight cause her to be so coy with just a simple kiss?
"Tempting as you look darling, you won't be talking yourself out of this oh so easily."
''You sure?'' She grins, and it is so natural to fall into the banter. To avoid the heavy topics that could send him running and leave her so utterly alone. "There are better things to be doing now that we're alone.''
''Etti.'' Astarion says, and a shock at the appearance of her name travels down her spine. The name she chose for herself upon waking in the Mind Flayer Ship. Her dark father never bothered to deign her with one. There had never been a need, not when she were nothing but the moving blood of a loathsome god. It feels like ages had past since she last heard it said.
"Say my name again." She holds his hands tighter, bringing them to her chest. Her voice is desperate, loud.
"What?" Astarion's eyelashes flutter. "Darling, I-"
" Please. Astarion, say my name."
There is still confusion clear on his face, but he goes on without further hesitation. He says it soft, with reverence. Then again. And again. Her name is whispered like a sacred oath, one to be uttered in a venerated tomb.
She- Etti, falls forward, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Never has she been so grateful for her broken horns (another thing Orin took from her) otherwise she could never press herself so close to him. Her cheek is warm against his skin, and she can feel the pockmark like scars of his bite rub into her. One of his arms snakes up, and he is holding her tight.
"You." He stops himself, and she can hear him struggle to find the words. "I won't tell you that you're alright. I know you aren't. But you are safe. Right here, right now. I have you, my Etti."
It's too hard to look at him, so she speaks into his cold neck. "Love you." She says. "Love you so much it scares me."
"Hm?" Etti can feel him reposition himself so she can find more comfort. "Isn't that sweet. I'm much in the same boat. Loving you and all, that is. And the fear. But I understand. After my own two hundred years of pure shit, anything like this is terrifying. I'd imagine that goes twice for you, after that fun family reunion."
"S'different." Etti insists. Still, she does not move from the safety of him. "You were a slave. You were forced to do all those horrible things. I-I wanted to."
"Oh?"
That's a tone from Astarion that she can't read. His arm creeps up towards her neck, and suddenly-
She straddles a corpse. Her knees are sharp against a chest that no longer rises. She herself struggles to catch breath. Glassy eyes stare at nothing, and hers are bright with joy. Her fingers ache from the tight grip she had round his neck.
It is her first kill and father will be proud. The man is youthful and plump, plenty of flesh to rend as sacrifice for her most beloved god. She is young, and learning, and the glowing red eyes of her father wash over her.
The first of many, his voice sings. Pride swells within her. She is the act of his Dark Urge, and rivers of blood will run from her fingertips.
"Etti!''
Astarion has pushed her forward, one hand firm against her chest and the other tamely cupping her cheek. No longer is she in the bloody domain of her father, but crouched in wet earth with a pounding heart.
"Etti, look at me. You must not for one moment think that I judge you for what you've done."
"But-but," her voice pitches, and she fights the wont to claw at his grip. "Astarion I loved my father. I wanted nothing but to kill for him. I was ready to end the world for him."
Now, Astarion does not respond. His lips are pulled tightly into a frown, and oh how she can see the next few seconds playing out. He will rip her throat open, let her die like the blood mess she is. Although she does not deserve it, she hopes he will stay by her side until the life leaves her. She does not want to die alone.
"My love." He says instead. Fingers do not go for her, skin is not torn asunder. She remains whole, a trembling thing in his arms. "You truly scared me, you know. Back in that bloody temple I could really feel what you were thinking. You were eager for the death Bhaal granted you upon refusal."
"Well, well yes!" Etti nods. "I cannot remember what I have done in the past as a whole, but I know I butchered. I lead others to do the same. Death is my only atonement."
"Oh, come off it! You don't deserve to die for anything you did back then!"
"Why?!" She demands. Anger coils around her like an old friend. The growing frustration and sorrow in Astarion's words are something she simply cannot understand.
"Because!" Astarion all but shouts. "Because it was not you! That, version of you only knew what Bhaal breed you to do. And the moment you were away from his influence you were better. You wanted to be better!"
"The-the Urges Astarion. I killed Alfira!"
"Yet you didn't kill me." His head tilts at her, questioning. "Didn't you?"
"No." She admits, almost feeling chastised at her lack of murdering her love. "But I tried to."
"But you didn't. You resisted the Urges time and time again. And you won. They're gone. Oh, darling please listen to me."
Struggling, Etti meets his eyes. She is surprised to see how wide they are, how desperately they shine. Now, she notices how his hands shake where they grip her. Even his voice is different from what she is used to. A low pained edge drags at every syllable.
"Etti." He says. "I am not afraid of you. You are not what he made you to be. You are free of his clutches and get to be only who you want."
"I don't even know who I am." She whispers. "How can I know what I want to be."
"I'll help!" Astarion shifts again, and she does not fight it as he moves to press against her side. One hand still holds tightly to her, and the other gesture flamboyantly into the distance. "You are Etti. You are a Monk, and perhaps the fastest person I have ever met. You are the third best cook in the group, and the second best dresser."
"Astarion!" Despite herself, she smiles.
"Don't argue with the truth my dear! You are also stubborn, I'll give you that. You dislike strangers who waste your time, and have a soft spot for sticky children and stinking animals. You pilfer Gale's books when he isn't looking and read late at night when you really should be on watch."
"Well, he should share more."
"Hmm, yes he should! You are also the person who saved his life. And the life of everyone else in this haphazard crew of ours. Especially me." She blinks, and a single hot tear streams down her face. Astarion brushes it away but does not stop in his onslaught. "You are beautiful, and wonderful. You are funny, and deadly, and you protect your own. You've become irreplaceable in the family we've built here."
Now she chokes past a sob. Heat is building and rumbling in her chest, threatening to explode. Etti knows at this moment, in all her hellish life, she has never cried like this before. Tears did not a Bhaalspawn make.
"But mostly,'' Astarion says, touching her cheeks. He leans forward so their foreheads press together. "Mostly you are the one I love beyond anything. You are the person I would gladly spend eternity with. Who I would give up the sun for. You are so worthy of all the love people want to pile onto you. And I will spend every day of my eternal life reminding you of that if you need."
She cannot speak. It is her first true wail in all of her existence, and she can do nothing but hold him. Time passes, as it does, and once more she can not tell how long it has been.
"I am broken." Etti says minutes (hours, days) later. Her voice is scratchy and raw. "I do not know how to forgive myself. You'd really wait for me to learn?''
Astarion looks at her. He is so bright with love despite her disheveled appearance. The white of his fangs gleam in a wide smile.
"You have always done the same for me. You still do. And however long it takes for us to recover, I will gladly endure it."
"Will you-" Etii pauses, weights the words on her tongue. "You will stay even when I remember more of who I used to be? Even with all my horrors?"
"Without question, my love."
Her eyes close. Etti sinks into him, and he melts against her. Time will pass, this she knows. More pain will come that he will have to bare because of her.
No . She thinks. With her .
Her brain is still crackled, full of holes she can hardly bare to think of. The fear it brings towers over her. Like an echo, her old self clings. But for the first time Etti thinks that one day her Father's Daughter will be put to rest for good. And when the time comes she knows she will not be alone.
Under the moon, Astarion holds her hands.