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Spider is nothing but a creature of blood and anger. She knows this.
Her head is a war zone. Her mind is nothing but a ragged, gaping hole. Each night when she closes her eyes, she sees blood and gore. She wakes bathed in it. The red of it doesn’t wash away from her hair or the beds of her nails, no matter how long she soaks it, no matter the soap she uses, no matter how many prestidigitation cantrips she wheedles out of Gale. The inside of her mouth always tastes metallic and strange. Her daemon snarls more than he speaks. They crave the hunt, the give of flesh beneath their teeth.
She knows she was once a creature who hunted for sport as much as hunger. She knows this shows on her face, and in her daemons form. She knows the two of them together look like something out of a horror story, something whispered in the darkest corners of alleys of the Lower City. Worse than the kind parents tell their children to keep them from wandering too far.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t bother her as much as it perhaps should. Perhaps the threat of the Absolute and her missing mind are distractions enough, or perhaps there’s just something more wrong with Spider than the Urge. People mostly leave her alone because of it, which she’s grateful for. She has enough taking up the space in her mind that isn’t a gaping wound that it makes things easier, not having to navigate social situations too. Wyll and Gale mostly take the lead in those situations (much to Astarions annoyance and constant protests at the amount of do-gooding they do), and Spider is able to loom silently in the background.
(Gale once told her that her daemon projected an aura of unease.
“I can’t put my finger on it,” he’d confessed one night while they were searching the mountain pass for the creche. “He just makes me uneasy. Seeing the two of you together sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, makes me jump.” Then, he’d laughed and clapped Spider on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re on our side, my friend. I can’t imagine facing you on the opposite side of a battlefield!”)
Her silence and her daemons appearance aren’t enough to keep her new companions and their daemons away from them. Karlach and Felix easily pushed past Spider and her demon's silence, filling the silence in conversations easily. They never make it seem like they’re simply talking at Spider and her daemon, and over time Spider finds herself responding. Wyll turns to her with his plans to lead the group and they construct strategies together. He and Carolena are too earnest and idealistic on their own, but with Spider and her daemon countering with efficient brutality, they always manage to come to an even middle ground. She and Lae’zel spar silently, with a brutality that none of their other companions can keep up with. Shadowheart and Cynthia are slowly warming to sitting on the same side of the fire as Spider and her wolf, and Neoma has taken to shifting into a wolf to play wrestle or groom Spider’s daemon while Halsin and Spider sit together and Halsin teaches Spider to whittle. Her hands can do more than kill these days. Jaheria and Blair often silently sit watch with Spider and her wolf, the panther often sitting shoulder to shoulder with the wolf. Never pressed together, but close enough to touch.
And then there is Astarion.
And Dawn.
Dawn had warmed to Spider’s wolf more quickly than the other daemons. The small bird had almost instantly taken to flying circles around the wolf, singing at him sweetly while the other daemons had shied away from him. Slowly she grew bolder, and began to fly around Spider's head while they trekked around the Risen Road and Blighted Village, singing at her and darting away when Astarion tried to wave her off. It seemed to embarrass the pale elf, that his daemon was such an open book when he couldn’t open his mouth without lying.
Eventually the coy flirting (because that’s what it really was) and manipulation gave way to genuine affection. Spider would be lying if she said she wasn’t the one who gave first; Astarion kept his true feelings closely guarded but his actions spoke when he could not. Nights pressed together in the same bedroll in his tent, walking side by side during their adventures, small gifts tucked into her pack or the small pouches on her belt. Pieces of jewelry pilfered from corpses, potions, books. Once, a hair ribbon in a sweet pale blue, like the early morning sky. Dawn began to perch on Spider's shoulder or carefully on her gloved fingers.
Spider and her wolf never pushed them, never tried to give more than Astarion and Dawn could take. But she’d be lying if she said they didn’t love them. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t love all of them, in the only way she could know how. It seemed a wild and impossible thing, to claim she loved them when her head was a gaping hole, and all she caused others was pain and suffering.
(Alfira and her clever little robin. Smiling in the light of their campfire. Singing sweetly in the grove. Gutted in the middle of their camp .Hot blood, sweet and metallic, licked from between her fingers. The bones of that sweet little bird, crushed under her wolf's teeth.)
All Spider and her wolf are capable of creating is nothing but sorrow and strife, but her companions seem blind to it.
Mostly.
It should make her skin crawl. It should make her recoil and rage, lash out and rip everything to shreds. It should make her wolf snarl and foam at the mouth, rabid and angry. Spider knows that’s what they were built for; they weren’t built to love or be loved. They aren't meant to be gentle or kind.
But it’s all over now. They couldn’t keep it going forever, she knows. But it still aches, hurts worse than anything they’ve ever felt.
(Spider had to ignore the small sparks of hurt and pride that ignited in her stomach at Gale’s words and warred for dominance in the pit of her stomach. They don't want to be a monster. They don't want to be ugly and grotesque. But if this is who she is, who they are, she will give every part of herself she has to help her friends. She will give and give, until there’s nothing left of her, just so she can claim she did one good thing. Deep down all she wants is to be good.)
When Spider jerks back to consciousness she knows she’s coming back to herself after she’s done something horrible. Waking after giving into the Urge isn’t like waking after meditation or sleep– it's rude and violent. It leaves her exhausted and aching, like she’s just taken on a thousand of their enemies single handed and lost.
She can feel her wolf. Their bond is stretched, pulled to its very limits. They haven’t been able to stray more than a few feet apart since waking on the nataloid, and now he’s separated as far from her as he can. When they wake, she feels him begin to thrash and rage.
It comes back to her slowly, in pieces. The Butler. His disappointment she hadn’t murdered Isobel.
Astarion.
Spider peels her eyes open slowly. She’s laying on her back, staring at the red velvet roof of Astarions tent. Her arms are numb, bound behind her back and pinned under her own weight. Astarion is nowhere in Spider’s immediate vision and neither is her wolf; her breath stutters despite herself, mind swirling with images of blood on her hands and Astarions pale throat crushed under her palms, his skin giving way under her teeth. Her breath comes sharp and fast as she presses her eyes shut against the images, trying desperately to push past the rolling sickness in her stomach and remember the night before. No matter how hard she tries, all she can remember is a black void of nothingness.
The tent flap rustles, then bursts open, letting weak morning light flood the tent for a moment. A solid weight collides with her side and Spider’s eyes fly open against her will. Her vision is filled with dark gray fur as her wolf drapes himself over top of her, wiggling like an over excited puppy. Spider’s breath is forced from her body under his weight. Her wolf whines and begins to lick her cheeks frantically, nosing at her jaw to make sure she’s alright. After a few moments he stops, and slides off of her, and she finds Astarion leaning over her, filling her vision looking miraculously unharmed. He even has the audacity to offer her a disgruntled frown. Spider feels the little breath she’d managed to draw into her lungs leave her in a rush. It catches in her throat and she wheezes painfully. Her head swims.
Astarions face leaps from disgruntled to panicked in a moment. He gently (she’s never known him to be so gentle before), wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her upright, against his torso. Spider’s head falls limply against his neck and she shudders. The rope disappears a moment later and then Astarion tucks her against his body more firmly, pulling Spider in until she’s practically sitting in his lap.
Spider realizes she is shaking like a small child.
Distantly, she can hear soft chirping and trilling and she realizes Dawn is singing. Dawn never sings.
Spider presses herself closer to him and fists her hands in the back of Astarion’s shirt. He smells like rosemary, underlaid with something faintly spicey. His skin is cool and smooth under her cheek, and he seems blessedly unharmed. The thought makes her sob, and Astarion shushes her. He rubs a brisk line down her spine.
“Love, I appreciate this, but if you don’t start breathing normally I’m going to have to go get Shadowheart. Deep breaths, come on. ”
He inhales exaggeratedly and Spider does her best to copy him, her chest flailing.
“No,” she gasps, hands twisting in the back of his shirt. The thought of anyone seeing her like this, knowing what she tried to do last night, makes her panic harder. Astarion shushes her again and Spider tries to slow her breathing. Eventually she succeeds. All the panic and fear drains away, leaving her head fuzzy and empty. Spider slumps, letting Astarion support most of her weight. He doesn’t pull away or try to get her to sit up on her own. He simply sits and strokes her hair.
Finally Spider pulls back. She’s left a wet patch of tears on Astarions shoulder. She cannot remember the last time she cried.
Astarion doesn’t let her get far. He pulls his sleeve over his palm and wipes her cheeks dry, clicking his tongue like a displeased matron. It almost makes Spider smile. He can be such a mother hen when he wants to be, and ridiculously fussy. Dawn stops singing and alights on Astarions shoulder. She trills a final bright note, high and sweet, which does bring a smile to Spider's lips. Her wolf huffs and thrusts his head into Spider’s lap, forcing her to make space between her torso and Astarions. She winds her fingers into his fur and keeps her gaze firmly fixed on her lap.
“Sorry about your shirt,” Spider rasps, voice hoarse with tears. Astarion huffs.
“Yes, well. As flattering as your tears are, if you’re going to cry everytime I leave the tent we may have a problem.” Spider scowls down at her wolf, but he simply snorts and closes his eyes. It seems that for now, he deems the crisis averted. Spider doesn’t know if she agrees with her soul.
Astarion rises to his feet and Dawn flies to perch on the top of Astarion’s bow where it’s leaning against the wall by the entrance to the tent.
Astarion shucks his shirt, turning to their packs to find another. “Don’t pout dearest,” he drawls without turning around. “You were fine when I stepped out. I only knew you were awake because this beastie,” he nudges the toe of his shoe in the direction of Spider’s wolf, “woke up and started to cause a racket.”
Said beastie simply flicks an ear and makes a low grumbling noise. Astarions lips curl into an amused smirk and he pulls a fresh shirt over his head. The green collar gapes open at his throat, unlaced and exposing pale skin. He doesn’t look any different than he usually does in the mornings. Maybe a little more tired, but nothing drastic, nothing life altering. He just looks like Astarion.
“That’s my shirt,” Spider realizes. Astarion ignores her and turns back to their packs, pulling out the small hairbrush he’d stolen for her and a length of simple black ribbon. He’d stolen both of them for her, fairly early on in their journey. He sits in front of her on their shared bedroll again and waves his hand, indicating she should turn. Spiders wolf dutifully moves his massive head off her lap and spreads out beside her, closing his eyes.
Spider turns. She pulls her knees to her chest and waits. She still jolts when Astarion begins to brush her hair, his motions achingly gentle. He sections it and winds it into a braid, neatly tying it off with the ribbon. Astarion pats her shoulder easily and stands again.
“You should dress, love.” He leans down and flicks the tip of her ear, making it flick. Dawn lands on his shoulder and ruffles her feathers. They both stare at Spider expectantly. Neither of them have a trace of disgust or fear on their faces.
“How can you look at me like that when I tried to murder you in your sleep last night?”
Astarions face doesn’t change.
“I’m not looking at you like anything, darling.”
“Well, you should be! You should run from me! I’m nothing but a monster, I cannot be trusted.” Spider’s wolf whines softly. Astarion sighs, and sits again, folding his legs under himself. They sit on opposite ends of the bedroll now, despite the way they touched moments ago.
Astarion looks at her, trying to catch her gaze, and reaches out to nudge the side of Spider's foot with the toe of his shoe when she won't look at him.
“Stop staring at me like a kicked puppy,” He drawls. Spider tries unsuccessfully to suppress the rising tide of hot anger in her chest.
“I could have killed you! I wanted to kill you!”
Astarion sniffs, haughty as a spoiled housecat.
“Oh, please. You spent all night tied up on my bedroll, writhing like an animal caught in a trap. You were remarkably well behaved for a creature driven by bloodlust and rage, you only tried to bite me once.” His voice is almost fond, and definitely teasing. Spider glares at him and he sobers, drawing his face into an expression that only slightly makes Spider feel like she’s being laughed at.
“I’m a monster,” Spider shoots back. “You should put me down like a dog.” Astarion frowns back at her.
“Do you see a monster, when you look at me?”
“You know I don’t,” Spider said, “but that isn’t the same, and this isn’t the point–”
“But it is,” Astarion interrupted. “It is the point. I am a monster, just as much as you are, if not more.”
“You aren’t,” Spider protested. “You had no choice. And this isn’t about you! It’s about me, and the fact I don’t trust myself not to rip everything I hold most dear to shreds. I crave it! It’s my nature to want to kill and hurt. I don’t know how to exist without it. I don’t know if I can exist without it.”
“Oh please, how many lives have you taken? Dozens? I must have brought Cazador a thousand souls.” Astarion moves forward forward, reaching out and pausing when Spider flinches. He cups her face and forces their eyes to meet. Nothing but fierce determination blazes back at her. There is no fear or disgust in Astarions eyes.
“You don’t scare me,” he hissed. “You never have, and you never will. There is nothing that you could do that would ever make me leave you. Nothing.”
They stare at each other for another long moment before Spider feels her face crumple. Astarion is leaning forward instantly, pressing his lips firmly to her forehead to her forehead, then her cheek, and finally against her lips. He tastes clean, like the sprigs of mint Halsin had begun to grow in the morning for tea, chased by the familiar iron tang of blood. Spider sighs wetly against his lips. Astarion smooths a stray strand of hair back from her face and presses his lips to her cheek again. He presses their foreheads together. Spider lets her eyes flutter shut and breathes for a moment. Astarion snorts.
“I don’t see a monster when I look at you,” he says. “I see someone who ruined my last clean shirt.
Spider’s eyes fly open and she pushes him back. Dawn flies off his shoulder and Astarion snickers, rolling to his feet. His daemon is significantly less amused, and she lands on Spider’s wolf's back. They look cozy, laying together.
“You are the most infuriating man I have ever met,” Spider grumbles. Astarion preens and reaches down to offer her a hand up.
“It has been said,” he agrees. “Now get dressed. You have breakfast to eat and Wyll to deal with.”
Spider grimaces and Astarion barks a laugh. She ducks to hide her face in his shoulder.
“I knew it! You find him as irritating as I do,” Astarion crows. Spider shoves him lightly.
“I do not! He’s just so…” she wrinkles her nose. “Earnest. It’s too early in the morning for optimism.”
Astarion laughs again and pushes away from her.
“I’m telling him you said that,” he promises, turning to grab his leathers. Spider huffs and bends to find clothes for the day.
“If you do, you’ll be finding someone else to share your bedroll with.” She can hear him laughing as he ducks out of the tent, stopping briefly to let Dawn fly out ahead of him. Spider dresses and follows him, holding the flap of the tent open to let her wolf slide past her. When she joins Astarion by the fire, accepting a cup of tea from Halsin, she realizes what shirt she’s wearing. Astarion's actual last clean shirt, pulled from where she’d tucked it into the bottom of her pack.