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It turned out, that some things would never change. While parts of the city were still in reconstruction and the Blushing Mermaid was for certain reasons now under new management, it was still around and the people would still go here to get drunk. The city had changed during those last eight months. It had. But these things were always the same.
Even now it was still just a bit frightening to be among so many other people, among so many potential dangers. But someone had to make sure that Astarion’s silly bard did not get himself into more problems than usual. Which was the only reason that Astarion had come along – not the fact that Tav had once again insisted, saying it would be good for Astarion.
Right now Tav was on the stage of the tavern, of course. Together with Aarton and Kantei. At least the tabaxi was quite drunk by now, and Astarion knew quite well that before the end of the night, Tav would be as well.
It was a pity. Astarion could try as he might, but the alcohol did not touch him. He did not remember what it was like to be drunk, but according to Tav it brought a certain lightness – which sounded like something Astarion could use from time to time.
“Any wishes?” Kantei yelled at their audience, once they had finished one of the songs. Instantly their audience erupted into a plethora of wishes indeed.
“The Elf at Sea,” someone screamed.
“Siren Song,” someone else shouted.
“Kethren’s Polka,” an already drunk dwarf exclaimed.
In the end it was “The Elf at Sea” that was chosen. A rather rude shanty, that never the less got the audience to clap along.
Astarion sighed. Even now the memory of coming to places like this in a pinch to get some victim for Cazador was still quite present. Of course, as much as he hated to admit it, Tav had been right. Spending more times outside, spending more times with other people actually doing things had made a big difference. The whispers were just a bit more distant, and the nightmares just a bit less horrific. Both were still there, but it was easier to deal with them.
He went over to the bar to get himself another cup of wine. While he could not get drunk, he still would appreciate the taste of a sweet red wine. It almost looked like blood.
He was at the same time trying to not pay too much attention to the other patrons and yet too aware of them, as he made his way through the crowd. Still, he had not really paid any mind to the dark-skinned elven woman, who was suddenly staring at him.
“Astarion?” she asked. “Astarion Ancunin?”
Hearing his name from this stranger made him jerk around and look at her. Dark-skin, about the same tone as Wyll. Her black hair was in a braid. Those eyes were in a deep purple. Her age was hard to guess given the slow aging of elves. But he did not recognize her. “Do I know you?”
His mind was so quickly going through the many people he had met over the centuries. Maybe a mark? Or rather a mark he had given up on? Someone he had been forced to work with at some point?
“You were dead,” the woman muttered, her eyes wide indeed as if she was seeing a ghost. “You were dead. I… I was there when they buried you.”
This out of all things he had not seen coming. There when he was buried? That would mean she was from his old life. From before Cazador had found him on that street. But that wasn’t possible, right? Because his family had left and…
But the truth was that he barely remembered anything from back then. Anything that had happened before Cazador was barely more than a shadow in his memory. He remembered single places. Some glimpses. But not more. He knew what he had been before Cazador found him – but the person? The person indeed had died on the street that night.
The woman was frowning now. “It is you, isn’t it? It is you? What… What has happened to you?”
What was he supposed to answer? A part of him wanted to deny it. A part wanted to just run away. But another part… There was just a bit of hope. A bit of hope for the connection that had been lost so long ago.
Fear sent a shiver down his spine. “I…” There was no good reason. No good explanation. “I was found that day I was killed. By a vampire.” His breath was tense as he looked at her. “I spent the last two hundred years in his service.” He tried to order his thoughts. “And I am afraid… I am afraid I do not remember you.”
The woman was silent at this, staring at him still with the same expression. “Oh.” That was the first noise that escaped her. “Eloen. I am Eloen Finneth. I… I was a maid in your family’s household. You always called me Elly, when you were small.”
Small. He had been small once, hadn’t he? He had been a child. At some point he had been a child. And he had had a family. People to bury him. People to put a proper gravestone upon his grave. “What happened to my family?” The question had haunted him for so long. Ever since he had returned to that grave and found that nobody had taken care of it for so long.
“You gonna order or not?” the burly man behind the bar grunted. “Because there are other costumers here.”
Astarion had almost forgotten where he was. That he was at the tavern. That he had come here with Tav. He caught himself. “I am sorry, good sear. I just wanted another cup of wine.”
Almost he was afraid the woman would have gone when he finally turned back to her – gone like a specter – but she wasn’t. She was still standing there, watching him.
“If you want,” she said, “I think there are many things we can talk about.” She nodded towards the stairs, following him up just a moment later. They found a little corner where there was still a free table.
This felt unreal. After everything this felt unreal. Someone who knew him? Someone who had known him, when he had been alive?
“My family,” he said again. “What…?”
Eloan sighed. It was a long and said sigh. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes, very much so,” Astarion replied. He did not like this evasiveness. If anything he had a right to know.
“Your mother… Your mother did not handle your death very well. She… She fell very ill after you died.”
His mother. He did not remember her. Not at all. No matter how much he tried. He thought he remembered a gentle embrace and a soft voice. But no face. Nothing at all. “Did she die?”
“No. Last I heard she was living in Ethurel. She… When I last spoke her – and mind you, it has been more than a hundred years – she said she could no longer stand the city.” Eloen shook her head.
“And my father? I had a father, right?”
The elf frowned. “You really don’t remember?”
“I don’t. Not really,” he said. “I… Let’s just say the many, many years since my death have been less than pleasant until very, very recently.” He looked over to the stage where the three bards were still putting on their show.
Eloen noticed, following his gaze. “You know them?”
He sighed. “The man in the middle. He… He is my partner. And he is also the man who freed me from Cazador.”
This got the woman to frown once more. “Cazador Szarr?”
“Yes. Cazador Szarr.” His voice was still bitter when he spoke that name. He took a sip from the wine. “Cazador Szarr…”
“He vanished.”
“No. No. He died,” Astarion growled. “He is dead for good.”
If anything, this woman was not good at taking a clue. “But… why?”
“Because he was a miserable pile of shit who actually deserved so worse than death – not that it matters anymore. He is dead. He will not come back. Never again.”
“But he was always… He did a lot of good things for the city and…”
“Anything he did, he did to further his own agenda,” Astarion hissed. “Believe me, over the centuries I got to know him quite well. He was a cruel, despicable man. A man the city – no, the whole world – is better off with dead.”
There was a long pause between them, until the woman sighed. “Alright. I… I did not want to upset you.”
“Well, upset me you did.”
Eloen was silent for several seconds. In the end she seemed to realize it was better to change the subject. “Your father and your sister…”
“I had a sister?”
“Yes… You… Cass. Cassiopeia. She was your younger sister. Younger by twelve years.”
“So she was… Twenty-seven when I…”
“Yes.”
He really did not remember. He did not remember having a sister. Not at all. No matter how much he searched his mind for it, there was no memory. No face. Even the name meant nothing to him.
“She and your father got into a lot of arguments, you know? He… He blamed the city for what happened. While your sister… She found her salvation in religion.”
Astarion coughed. “Of course. Religion.” The same fucking gods who had abandoned him, no doubt.
“She ended up following Chauntea. But… your father got rather angry with her about it. Said could as well return to the forests and… Well, in the end she did, of course. I don’t think they spoke ever again.”
“And my father?”
“He ended up moving north. To Neverwinter. That is the last I heard of him.”
“So he and my mother…”
“They never officially divorced, no. But I don’t think they speak much these days.”
Alive. So they were alive after all. All of them. The family he had once had. The family he did not remember. Alive. He had thought they were dead. And yet… He was not sure what to think. There was this part of him – that angry part – that wanted to blame them for never looking for him. But of course they had not. They had buried him. And he had not looked for them, too afraid they might recognize him, too afraid of what Cazador might do to them.
Maybe this woman was not even speaking the truth. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe this was all a lie made by… something. But maybe she was. And then…
“Astarion?” Tav’s voice broke through the confusion, making him look up.
“Tav…”
The bard smile as he came over, hesitation as there were only two chairs at the table. “Who is this woman?”
Astarion took a shaky breath. “Eloen. She… She once worked as a maid in my family’s household.”
For a long moment Tav just looked at the woman. “Oh.” The information clearly took a while to actually seep in. “Ooooh!” Then he turned back to Astarion. “Is your family… Are they…”
“Apparently they are till alive, yeah,” Astarion said, though it still felt untrue. “They just have moved away a long while ago.”
This brought a smile onto the bard’s face. “Then we can go visit them!”
“Don’t get hasty, my sweet,” Astarion said. “Maybe one day, but…” He looked over to Eloen, wondering why he really did not remember a thing. “I don’t think I am ready yet.” He sighed, before pushing his chair back far enough that the bard could sit on his lap. Once again he found refuge in the man’s warmth. In that familiar smell. He kept his eyes on Eloen, though. “Thank you for telling me, though. I… I really thought I had no one left from that life.”