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"Do you remember waking up?" Azrael asked, sitting down at the fire across from Isobel and Dame Aylin. The two women unofficially joined the party a few days ago. Their love made camp feel a little brighter, combined with the first glimpses of sunlight after leaving the shadow cursed lands. Between that and the Underdark… it was beginning to weigh heavily on everyone. But they were out now, thank the Gods, and headed towards the city. Back home.
Azrael had been waiting to ask Isobel this question since he learned who, what, she was. Raised from the dead. Against her will. Waking up into a world filled with darkness and chaos and no idea what had happened in the interim to get her there.
Isobel looks up at him with her wide, light eyes. "I'm sorry?" She asked, with a tone of lightness, clearly shocked at what he had asked but unwilling to be upset with the man who helped her and her love.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to pry. I just…thought you would understand. Cause I… well me too, you know?" Azrael was many things, and good with words wasn't one of them. He pulled his collar up a little, to cover that scar across his neck. Nothing could be done for the dead look of his skin, his lips. Astarion always said he looked least terrifying by the firelight though. A warm glow did wonders for making him look less horrific. Sometimes you couldn't even tell how pallid his skin was if he wasn't standing next to a living person. Astarion made a great companion for that.
"Of course. I figured you as well. I suppose I did promise we could sit down and talk about our pasts once the curse was behind us." She looked over to Aylin, whether for reassurance or permission Azrael did not know.
"I don't remember much from being dead. Mostly just… darkness. Cold. Fear. And then I was awake. I felt like I had been suffocating, I couldn't get enough air. Every muscle was spasming, my heart pumping too hard trying to get blood flowing again. It was agony. I'm sorry if you have felt that too." Dame Aylin was now clutching Isobel to her chest as they both gazed right into the heart of the fire, minds clearly somewhere else.
Aylin looked up at Azrael now, with her soul piercing gaze. "I, too, have experienced such suffering many times over, my brave friend. Coming back after each cursed Sharran ripped me from this realm. The pain of the body, yes, but also the knowledge that you will one day feel the pain of death again. That the worst thing you ever felt will happen once more. Does it plague you, hero?" Aylin looked deeply at Azrael and into his cool eyes.
"I… don't remember waking up from death actually. There's nothing between my slit throat and waking up on the Nautiloid." Azrael carefully chose not to address Aylin's point.
Of course it fucking haunted him. That was the whole point of this. He knew what it was like to die though, and he refused to do it again. Refused to be a puppet again. It's the reason he killed Ketheric. It's the reason he slaughtered Balthazar with such… well. Balthazar was dead now. That was what mattered. Azrael did not even think Balthazar had been his master, in those years that were missing from his head.
There were, truthfully, a few scattered memories of those four years as a walking corpse. They have come back slowly since the Nautiloid. Being kept in a cage. Strapped to the table. Killing, ice flowing through his veins. Being begged for mercy, and his master's voice coming out of his body and denying it. Between that, nothing. Void, and darkness. Azrael would rather stop remembering any more of it.
Isobel smiled a bit too sweetly at Azrael. "Take it as a blessing then, not remembering."
Aylin inclined her head across camp. "The spawn, your lover, was he not also dead once? Does he not remember?"
Azrael turned to look at Astarion, lounging back and reading something lazily outside his tent. "He hasn't told me anything about it, and I don't think he would if I asked." Azrael chewed the inside of his cheek as he turned back toward the campfire.
"Perhaps one day you will both be ready to share what you're hiding then," said Isobel.
Azrael felt an itch in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn't have asked either of them about this.
"Yeah. Maybe one day." Azrael said as he stood up and left the conversation quickly.
Looking at Isobel too long, he couldn't stop seeing Ketheric's face. Hearing Ketheric's voice. Ketheric threatening to slay him and raise him again.
His feet brought him to Astarion's tent automatically. "Feed on me tonight." It came out too forceful, too demanding. Too desperate. He shouldn't be here right now.
Astarion's eyebrows raised and knitted together. His gaze quickly assessing Azrael. His deadly hands gripping his book a fraction tighter. "Hello to you too. And no, I don't think I will. I don't like sour wine, darling."
Fucking Astarion. He thought they understood each other now. Astarion needed to eat. "Don't tell me you're starving tomorrow then." Azrael blurted out. Still too angry, too coarse. Fuck. He spun around to walk towards his own bed. Best leave it at that for tonight. There would be time for apologies tomorrow. Certainly, Astarion had to understand how close he's been to falling apart. Better not to snap at someone he loves. Better to keep him from how bad it is. Tomorrow then.