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“What are you doing up?” Gortash asks, more irritated at being woken this early in the morning than anything else. It’s still dark out, the sun hours away from sprouting up over the horizon. But Teddy had flung himself out of bed, jolting Gortash awake in the process. He heard the quick footfalls, heard the bathroom door slam.
Gortash had ignored the closed door-- it wasn’t locked, after all-- and barged right in.
Teddy is curled up in the tub, attempting to make himself as small as possible. Sometimes, Gortash thinks he does so in order to hide from Bhaal. He’s proud of his heritage, sure. He’s Bhaal’s chosen, after all, but they both know that Bhaal does not forgive, no matter how often you ask, and Teddy asks nearly every day. He asks his father to forgive him for the love they share.
Gortash knows he asks in vain. Someday this is going to ruin them both. But that’s alright. What a beautiful thing to be ruined by.
“I want to kill you,” Teddy replies. The bathroom is dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming in from the bedroom window. Unlike most eyes, Teddy’s eyes have always reflected the light back, like an animal, “I want to kill you so bad it hurts. I can barely stand up.”
“I see,” Gortash swallows, leaning against the doorframe. The figure shivering in the bathtub is such a far cry from the violent, deadly, assassin Teddy had been yesterday. Indeed, this is the same tub they’d laughed in, while Gortash had scrubbed blood out of his hair and Teddy had talked at length about his favorite execution methods, “Are you going to?”
“I want to,” Teddy says again, “But I don’t want you to die. I just want to kill you. I’d like to rip your throat out of that pretty little neck of yours.”
Obviously, Teddy’s… urges…have always been something to contend with. Gortash isn’t afraid of them-- even now, when it seems that Teddy is using all his willpower to stay seated. It’s a beautiful thing, watching Teddy maim and kill. Gortash has been threatened by him in every conceivable way. At this point, waking up with a knife to his throat is a type of foreplay.
This doesn’t feel the same as all the times before this.
Teddy seems genuinely distraught.
“Are you going to or not?” Gortash asks, “It’s the middle of the night. I want to go to sleep. If you’re going to do it, would you do it before our meeting with Thorm in the morning? If I’m dead, I won’t have to listen to his incessant chatter. That might be worth it all.”
Teddy looks at him-- really looks at him-- and Gortash notices the streak of tears down his face. How long has he been crying?
“Oh Hells,” Gortash sighs, realizing this is obviously no time for a joke. He pulls off his dressing gown, tosses it to the side, and climbs into the tub as well, “Kill me if you like. Anything is better than this. I didn’t know you were able to cry.”
“I stood over you for what felt like hours,” Teddy says. He carefully reaches one hand out, touches the collar of Gortash’s shirt, “I was going to take my knife and stick it right into your neck. I was going to carve up that face, going to flay you where you slept. I wonder what your blood would feel like, soaking through my clothes. I want to kill you.”
“But you didn’t.”
Teddy nods, “I like being around you more than I want to snap your neck. I don’t want you to die. I’m a horrible, terrible chosen son. Father, forgive me.”
“Perhaps you’re a terrible Bhaalspawn,” Gortash reasons, “But I love you Is that worth anything?.”
“It’s worth everything,” Teddy laughs, the sound half a sob, and throws himself forward, clambering into Gortash’s lap-- at least as much the bathtub will allow. For a half a second, Gortash thinks Teddy is going to make good on this urge and kill him right here. He’d let him, of course. He fully expects Teddy to kill him one day. In fact, Teddy often says that one day, it’ll just be the two of them left, and he’ll flay Gortash on a Bhaalan altar before killing himself. The thing sounds quite romantic.
“I don’t trust myself tonight,” Teddy mutters, pressed against Gortash’s chest, “I don’t trust myself not to slaughter you. I want to kill you more than I usually do.”
“I’ll stay up and watch you then,” Gortash replies, kissing the top of Teddy’s head, “And go and find you a goblin to kill to tide you over, if you like. There’s certainly enough of them about.”
*****
“I think I remember this place,” Theodore says, looking around the room. He runs a hand along the edge of the tub, trying desperately to garner a single scrap of understanding of all of this, “But I don’t know how.”
“What is it you remember?” Shadowheart asks. Gods, does he appreciate her first hand understanding of his missing memories. She hadn’t reacted negatively when he’d admitted to feeling like he’d been to Moonrise Towers before. There are a hundred reasons why he may have been here before—though most of them don’t bode very well for who he must have been. What could he have been doing with Thorm? Does Thorm remember him?
And by the Gods, who is the figure lurking on the outside of his memory? Why does thinking about them leave his heart aching?
Theodore shakes his head, tugging at the mysterious ring on his neck, “I don’t know. I just think I’ve been here before.”
“Well the decor is lovely,” Astarion says, in mock seriousness, looking around at the blood and guts strewn about the place.
Balthazar has clearly been at work here.
“Let’s go,” Teddy says, turning away from the tub before he can think about it too much longer, “We have work to do.”