Chapter Text
No.
That’s all Ethena could think before the cooling numbness took over. She couldn’t have done this, could she? She wouldn’t–she’d never hurt her companions like that. Hurt an entire world like that. No. No.
“I want to say it doesn’t make sense–but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? I should’ve seen it earlier. All the signs were there.”
Karlach’s right. It makes perfect sense. Try as she might, with every bloodied bone in her body, Ethena is a killer. A monster. She slaughtered Alfira as easily as breathing–why would she think she had any hope of being something more? A creature that would have happily turned the world over to a wicked god has no right to continue on in that world. It makes perfect sense.
Numbness seeps into her fascia like ice on the trek back to camp, the new revelation dragging down her shoulders with the weight of a wooden cross. Karlach and Gale are little more than fuzzy spots ahead of her, their betrayal and rage nearly suffocating her where she stands. There’s cotton in her ears and wires in her throat; there’s a sickness in her bones, nausea rolling in waves over her head. If she were just a little weaker, more pathetic, she’d double over and vomit right here in the middle of the street, to hells with who’s watching. As it is, she trips over the flat surface and scrapes her palms, and the companions she backstabbed don’t so much as turn around. Minthara says something offhanded about how she needs to keep up.
When they make it to camp, Karlach’s fury is a beacon, drawing in the rest of the victims Ethena gleefully sentenced. Karlach tells them exactly what happened, and eyes turn to Ethena. Red eyes. White curls…no.
Astarion takes a step back, and that’s it. That’s it.
“Cool your fires, Karlach,” she hears Jaheira say. “I think an explanation is in order.” The harper turns her cold eyes to Ethena, who faintly understands that there is no mercy in her words. She wants information about the enemy, of course.
For a moment, Ethena’s throat is too dry for words, but they drift out of her anyway. “She’s right.” She’s evil. Irredeemable. “I don’t remember it, but I’m the one who started this. The Absolute. Everything that’s led up to this.”
Her companions’ reactions are lost on her. It’s no matter. She won’t hurt them again, this much is certain. She won’t hurt anyone again. Never again. Perhaps they’ll forgive her one day–a selfish notion, but she’s long proven to be a selfish thing.
“Alright,” Jaheira says firmly, silencing the camp. “Let us all take some time to process this. Ethena–you go somewhere else until we’re all ready to speak, hm?”
Ethena bobs her head mechanically, shuffling to the quietest, darkest spot of camp she can find–that old barn that smells like hay and sour wood. It is there that her legs finally give out on her, and she sinks to the dirt. Somehow, she doesn’t cry, but her lungs burn and ache in her ribs.
Was there any point at all in resisting her Urge until now? If the upcoming end of the world is her fault, how can she possibly delude herself into trying to be better now? It’s a simple answer, really: She can’t. There’s no second chances for a monster like her. For Bhaal’s obedient hunting dog.
There’s only one thing left she can do. Dogs that can’t resist their bite are subsequently put down.
Her hands shake so badly she can hardly pick up the dagger in her pack, the metal glinting in the dim light across her eyes in a reflection of what is to come. In this, she will eliminate the biggest threat to the safety of the people that once called her a friend.
“Oh, Master, happy day–to rediscover your old plans!” …Damn it. The little bastard always appears when she least wants him to. “Now you can continue your delightful carnage on the–wait, what are you doing!?”
With dry eyes and a stinging throat, Ethena turns her head up to Sceleritas, pressing the dagger’s tip over the ribs wrapped around her addled heart. “You were right, you little shit,” she manages out, her voice jagged as broken glass. “I had no hope of being anything but a killer. Satisfied now? I’ve accepted it.”
“Er–Master, I-I don’t–” Scleritas wrings his leathery hands together, stumbling over his words at the sight before him. “Not that I would ever question your dear wretchedness, Milady, but–your blade is facing the wrong way. Master.”
Maybe she’d have laughed a few days ago. Hells, a few hours ago. Not now. Not ever. “Leave my sight,” she hisses. “Go.”
“But Master!” Sceleritas wraps his hands around her wrists, sending a recoil through her spine. “You can’t do this, you can’t! Your beautiful, bloodied existence, everything you’ve worked so hard for, ended with a puny blade? I’d weep until the end of my days, Master–your father’s–”
It’s almost reflexive for Ethena to set him on fire. With a shriek that borders far too much on a moan, her butler vanishes in a foul-smelling cloud of ashy red smoke. The irritation at his presence ebbs away in seconds, leaving only the cold, gaping hopelessness in his wake.
The look on Astarion’s face…confused, stunned, betrayed…she deserves for that to be the only thing on her mind in her final moments. Gods, how could she have ever claimed to protect him when it’s her fault he’s going to once again begin the process of becoming a flesh-hungry monster? She’s damned him, she’s damned Karlach and Gale and Wyll and Lae’zel and Shadowheart and Halsin and Minthara and everyone on the damn fucking Sword Coast.
Expelling shaky breaths through her teeth, Ethena returns the tip of the dagger to her front.
“You want death so bad, Bhaal?” she hisses. “Let me give it to you.”
She presses the dagger in, and a brand new agony rips into her.
☆
At first, Astarion doesn’t know what to think. Ethena had only told him that morning that she’s a Bhaalspawn, and now he finds out she’s the one to blame for this whole tadpole debacle? Gods, things can never just be easy with her, can they? Of all the members of the group he had to fall for, it had to be the amnesiac killer with a history of attempted world domination. Honestly, he’s kind of impressed.
He watches the rotting barn doors where Ethena disappeared, idly toying with a loose stitch on his glove. When she and the others returned to the campsite, Karlach and Gale were almost matching in their levels of anger–a difficult feat in itself, considering the opposing demeanors of the two. Gale hurried into his tent with a pointed snap of the curtain, while Karlach took the time to spit out an explanation for their poor attitude. And Ethena…Ethena looked sick.
The look in her eyes–he’s seen that exact expression copied on Dalyria’s face after a particularly unforgiving “lesson” from Cazador. His first thought was that perhaps Gortash had hurt her in some way, that Karlach and Gale were angry for her. But no–turns out she’s an evil mastermind! Lovely.
He sucks in a breath that he doesn’t need, letting it ground him. He takes one thing away from the past five minutes: This isn’t Ethena’s fault. He’s watched her resist her Urge, swallowing back the madness in her eyes and offering a smile instead; he’s tied up her misbehaving hands at her discretion to ensure that she won’t hurt anybody. Whatever she’s done, she’s no longer the person she was before getting tossed onto the Nautiloid. Ethena is good, through and through.
The frozen emptiness in her eyes moves his feet before he even realizes he’s started walking, giving a wide berth to Karlach as she furiously scrubs the moisture out of her eyes.
Just as his hand touches the door, the smell of blood slams into him with all the force of a grown owlbear. Not just any blood, either–no, blood so familiar he could pick it out in the dark.
His own turns to ice in his veins. Ethena…she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave him alone.
“No.”