An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For @femslash-february prompt: "I didn't mean to."
Harmony struggles with guilt in her nightmares.
WARNING. THIS HAS SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE ORIGIN(though I'm pretty sure everyone knows it by now). IT ALSO CONTAINS DESCRIPTION OF A VIOLENT ACT AND A DEAD BODY SPEAKING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
After several weeks dealing with the bloody tadpole forced into her cranium, Harmony had her nighttime routine down pat. Lavender tea, a hot bath, and meditation, and then—and only then, could she get some sleep.
If it wasn’t a throbbing, persistent migraine that kept her from resting happily, it was nightmares. Usually, it was something from her past that she had forgotten. Blood, always. Screaming, usually. Her hands, on a lyre and her voice hypnotic. Sometimes, it was something more recent. There was one, in particular, that she hated.
She remembered that wretched night. That was one memory she’d never be rid of: she awoke over Alfira’s body, covered in blood, arms hurting from murderous work. Her body was alive, running at a million miles a minute, but her actual heart, her soul ached and her mind throbbed as she assessed her fellow, now late, bard’s corpse. I…did this? I…did this, she affirmed, bile rising in her throat. I know I did this.
Sometimes, the dream stopped there. Other times, Alfira spoke.
“Har…Harmony…”
That weak, garbled voice, once full of hope and rhythm. “Alfira…I’m so sorry.”
The dead bard’s eyes would move, and, despite no light in them any more, seemed to cut through her. “H…Harmony…you…why…?”
“I didn’t mean to. I swear, if I’d been in my right mind—“
“Right…mind…” This time, Alfira rose. Shit, Harmony thought. Is this Father’s way of torturing me into obedience?
Her movements were awkward, jumbled, like a child playing with a puppet whose strings were getting crossed. “You said…right mind…so when…I first met you…those…things…”
“Alfira, I beg you,” Harmony choked out, “I wasn’t in my right mind. I would never have hurt you otherwise, I swear it.”
“But…you did.”
Tears were coming out hot now. “I know, and if I could have brought you back—“ Harmony rubbed the back of her hand against her nose, covering it in runny snot. “I would have. When I said I really liked you, I meant it, godsdammit.”
Alfira just stared. It was worse than any undead she’d encountered, because at least those did something. Staring made the wound of her guilt sting more.
“Alfira,” Harmony added, “I swear, I would have loved to love you, but—“
“You killed me.” It was the smoothest Alfira had spoken in the nightmare so far.
“My father—I’m a Bhaalspawn. He wants me to kill. He wants naught but blood and slaughter and worship. He…didn’t like me falling behind after I was tadpoled. So he tried to—tried to…” She choked a bit, sobbing. “…force me to do what he wanted. And I did use to, oh boy, did I use to! I…I was His high priestess, and I enjoyed so much bloody prestige in the shit city—“
“Har…mony…you…”
“But I swear, when I was betrayed and put on that fucking ship, something in my brain reset, and, and I was like, ‘oh my gods, I can be good.’ And I would have been good to you, Alfira, I swear…”
Alfira just stood in a pool of her own blood. No blinking, no movement, nothing.
“Alfira, please, what will it take for you to rest—?”
“Don’t…know…died…in violence…”
Talking to a brick wall would have gotten her further. Was this truly Alfira, or was it her guilt manifesting? “I’m so, so, sorry, and I always will be, until I finally draw my last breath. Alfira, I didn’t mean to, I swear—“
Harmony was awoken by the sound of her own sobbing, head pounding. She got up, groggy, sweaty, throat tight. She’d lost count of how often Alfira had come back to haunt her. As she scrubbed her face in the wash basin, cold water biting her skin, she hoped that one day, she could grant Alfira the peace she deserved. It was too late for her love, but peace, perhaps, could still come.