Archive of Our Own ^beta

The basilisk gate watchhouse was bustling with activity. Your talk with the guard at the entrance made it clear - Blaze Portyr had her men under control, and if they dared step out of line, she made sure it was a one time situation. Not through fear or cruel punishments, but still strict with ones they would not forget. If her manner with civilians was as fair, this promised to be a quick and painless conversation.

You enter the courtyard where you see the Fist training. In front of the office a woman approaches you - something about her windows being broken and her shutters too. Once she realises you are not the builder, she loses interest.

"Now either you learn to fix my broken shutters, or you wag your tongue elswhere."

With these words you turn away. You are tired.

Inside, you find Lora and Blaze Portyr in a heated debate. Frustrations are high, and you decide to intervene. Something is wrong with the Blaze, her mind a mess. But nothing you can do about that. As you agree to investigate the child's disappearance you notice that Astarion has wandered off, now talking to the unshuttered woman. Bits and pieces of their energetic conversation reach your ear. They're talking about...carpentry?

You don't get much time to ponder where Astarion learned anything about any kind of manual labour, as you hear a voice from below, greeting you.

"Manema? I was hoping I hadn't missed you. The Patriars are safe, but it took longer..." - her words slowly fade in your ears as your mind wanders.

You liked Gauntlet Devella the moment you met her. She has a good heart, and a drive to see just justice done properly - to reveak the truth. And the way she dives into a subject, which she tries to a rein on, as she is fully aware that sharing too much might not be appreciated by everyone - and in the topic of the Bhaal Cult, it might even endanger her. But she can barely contain her desire to share with anyone willing - in this case, you. You think of it as "professional entusiasm", or "scientific interest". It is something you can associate with, loving a topic so much that you forget everything - be it fatigue, pain, or even mortal danger - when you find a chance to share it with someone. You could light up and talk about it while your leg is being gnawed off by a worg.

You know that feeling all too well, having felt it so often. You sigh as the memory of excitement washes over you, and a smile creeps on your face as you recall how...*NO!* you stop yourself. Your eyes go wide and you gag as you remember what your excitement used to be for. Things you wish you could forget. 

Enthusiasm is all well and good, but you are glad your old source of it now evokes only disgust in you. The Urge is gone, yet it seems that your memories, as well as the feelings they are associated with, are something different altogether. Your body aches for the endorphins such bubbling excitement brings. But not from this. Never again.

You focus again on Devella. She seems to not have noticed, or not minded about your mind drifting. She adresses you again.

"Hope you're closer to some answers, Bhaalspawn. Did you find the tribunal?" You shiver. You found out * way* more than you ever wanted to about the tribunal of Bhaal.

"The cult is disgusting. Did you know Sarevok had a child with his own daughter?" - Another shiver. *Yeuch*

"Oh, that's...oh ..." *Yeah, I couldn't agree more.*

You share a moment of awkward silence at the disgusting thought, until Devella finally breaks it. "You must have seen some troubling things to find that out. Do you know who your own mother is?"

You have thought about that. Or rather, you have actively avoided thinking about that.

"I have a gut feeling Bhaal *made* me. I don't have a mother." You feel a lump grow in your throat as you say it out loud. You do not have a mother, and your father is the god of murder. Is that all you are - *WERE*- a child of Bhaal?

"If that is true, you must be of unparalleled value to your Father." You grimace, and Devella quickly moves on, noticing your discomfort. More carefully, she continues "Have you won your freedom yet?" *That's better*

"It's all over...I faced Bhaal himself" - Why do you slump? Why do the words pull you down?

"OH! You magnificent bastard! You faced him and LIVED! You have to tell me how!" - There's that excitement again, and this time she can't hold it back. The pot has spilled over. Her joy rubs off on you, and you feel relieved, but only for a moment.

"I didn't live. Bhaal killed me. But I was resurrected, free of his curse." Bhaal killed you, unmade you by removing the parts he knew. But Withers remade you, saying that there were new parts Bhaal did not know about. Does that mean before the Nautiloid, there was only what Bhaal created? That there was no real * you* before?

"Fascinating...I mean, *ahem *, how horrible. Well done for making it out." Devella adds, reining in her excitement again, and returning to full professional manner. She knows herself. "It sounds as if his cult has crumbled, even if it took everything you had to stop it?" *Everything I was*

"I killed their leader - my own sister." You chastise your own mind. *WHY DID YOU HAVE TO THINK OF IT THAT WAY!* You didn't care for that monster Orin. She's *not* your sister...maybe niece - *SHUT UP!* You're slipping.

You rub the balls of your hands against your ears, in an attempt to drown out an increasing ring. You shake your head and try to disperse these thoughts.

"So history repeated itself...A duel between Bhaalspawn, in the *Temple of Bhaal itself*!" You suppress a chuckle. *Careful there, little one, you almost squeed there*

"What I would have given to be a witness to *that*." 

You are reminded that scientific interest sounds professional, but really is just an excuse for indulging your curiosity way more than most would consider normal.

"You're a wonder. Soon you will be sewn into the very fabric of this city as one of our legends. It is an honour to know you." *So would I...oh, shit.* You need to get a grip. 

"Your hope spurred me on" It's not even a lie. She kept you afloat too, gave you courage to face your fear, your fate. Someone else who cared for you, no matter who you are. *Yes, that's better.*

"Oh. Ah. Thank you. I didn't do much, though. No matter what you are - what you *were* - you are the best of the Baldurians now." Did she read your mind? *"The best of the Baldurians", that's...something? I guess? Yes.* Hold on to that.

Devella goes on, yet you only wish to go and find some sleep. If only your ears didn't ring so much, and these thoughts would stop intruding. 

"I'd say you should join the Fist - we need detectives like you..."

You do not hear the rest. Try as you might, you can't drop the line of thought. As Devella's voice is drowned out by the ringing, it grips your mind in a chokehold, and you spiral into the abyss. A feeling of despair sets in, and you are alone in your mind. *WHO* are you? Was there ever a "you" of your own? You don't even know who you were before the crash. It was fine thinking you had simply forgotten, but was there anything before Bhaal? Did you have a childhood, however bloody it likely was in the temple? Or were you created, a fully formed adult, with a mind set only to serve foul Bhaal.

You almost miss your butler. *The wretched thing.* At least he seemed to care for you. You realise that back then, the simple fact he knew who you were, kept you afloat, even as you despised what he egged you on to do. Keeping at bay the Kraken of thoughts that want to pull you under. *Krakens are terrifying* Just like the emptiness of your mind. You pity him, because you know he was created just like you, but then it seems he died doing what he loved. You hate him, for what he was, but mostly for the fact that he knew *himself*. 

And you also died...and then lived, achieving what you desired the most. Freedom from the Urge. And yet, you feel hollow. Not just for the lack of purpose, but because you don't know if there ever was more than purpose that defined who you were. The purpose of pleasing Bhaal. The purpose of surviving. The purpose of fighting the Absolute. The purpose of defying your Urge, and eventually, being freed of it. You still have purpose, the Absolute is not yet gone. But you know you can not live for a purpose forever, and it can't be the only thing that defines you. But can't you simply be? *I don't know how*

You shiver, or rather shake yet again. For pitying such a despicable thing, but mostly at your lack of identity, and the the feeling of emptiness it brings.

Being a bard, you are familiar with wearing masks of all kinds. But now you see that the image you saw in a mirror was a mask too...and it dissolved the moment you died. No past, no purpose. No self? 

You are ready to scream, when you hear the faint sound of hurried footsteps approaching you.

"Manema? Nami!" a familiar, concerned voice breaks through the barrier of your mind, gentle arms pulling you closer to cradle you in a strong hug. "My sweet, are you alright?" The welcome pressure helps calm the tempest of your thoughts. You realise you're curled up in a ball, hands held protectively above your neck. Shielding you from the world. You are on a cushioned bench to the side of the room, a blanket half covering to keep out prying eyes - someone must have moved you there, as you can't remember walking. You turn around to see your love, Astarion, looking down at you with worried eyes.

He must have finished his conversation about woodwork...only to find you in your sorry state. 

"Talk to me, love." His eyes are full of care, his voice pleading. 

That's one thing you are. Astarion's love. The knot in your stomach loosens a bit, but you are still not quite there. This is not part of a mask, this is one part of you that is true. *This one is precious.*

You try to speak, but your mouth is too dry. Instead you lean into his embrace and release a breath you didn't know you were holding. He relaxes too, and kisses your ear. 

Drinking in his smell, you savour the closeness. After a moment of silence, he whispers softly. "Devella fetched me when you didn't respond. You had that look again. Like you were lost." You let out a short laugh. *Very smooth, not even mentioning the foetal position.* 

His mouth lifts up in a soft smile, though he is clearly still worried. He has learned to read you like a book. Even your best bardic performance wouldn't fool him, so you don't even try hiding it.

"I...I think I was. And still am a bit," you finally manage to croak more than say.

"Anything I can do to help?", he asks as he places soft kisses along your neck.

You blush. The tips of your ears must rival his eyes by now.

"You already are." You smile. "Although..."

"Hmm?"

"I think I need a hobby. To distract me." To find yourself. *To define my own me.*

His eyes light up, and you know he understands what you are thinking. Both concerning the topic, and the deeper reason.

You continue. "I think I'd like to try my hand at carpentry."

He chuckles. Not the nervous chuckle he does to mask discomfort, but a genuine sweet laugh.

"Oh, Carpentry? How perfectly...random." he moves his hand under his chin, his other hand supporting his elbow - feigning surprise. He knows where this is going, and that you love his boisterous manner. A mischievous smile grows on his face, "But I think that is an excellent idea. You know, I do enjoy carpentry myself. Not the practice, obviously - I could never ruin these perfect hands. But I appreciate the craft itself. You'll love it!" He found the perfect partner in crime for his passion. Not just to listen to it, but actually share it.

As you make your way back to the Elfsong, he tells you about things like different types of wood, the advantages of different treatments, sealants, dovetails, what glue to use and how to properly dry wood. You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. You begin to gradually feel whole again. No matter who you were or were not. You are someone else now. Who cares for the past, if the future holds such joy. You are Manema - Nami. Drow bard, blessed with love, supporting friends, hope...and now a hobby. The thoughts fill you with warmth and you finally realise, you are you, and no one will take that away from you. You magnificent bastard.