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Isadora stared out across the camp feeling oddly sick to her stomach. The tieflings had been saved, for now, and she’d had to kill a drow to do it.
One of her own.
She knew Minthara hadn’t been worth saving – she was too far gone into the Absolute’s clutches and it was likely she worshiped Lolth outside of that – but Isa took no pleasure in taking the life of one of her own, regardless of who they worshiped.
The others had offered to take care of it without her present, but she knew she needed to be one to land the final blow. And she did. Epiphany had made quick work of the fearsome leader of the goblins and Minthara’s life blinked out of existence like she had never been there to cause harm in the first place.
Guilt settled across her in a fine layer as she thought about what had brought her here, to this precise moment. Seeing the tieflings happy was one thing, but she’d wondered if she should’ve even helped the druids or simply flayed them herself as a service to race. Veritably, she knew the more lives saved the better, but she couldn’t help but still feel the sting and ache of wishful redemption sizzling beneath her skin. She caught Halsin’s eye and had to suddenly look away from his grateful smile, not trusting herself to keep from betraying how she’d really felt about his grove and fellow druids. They’d been nothing but cruel to her since she’d stepped foot on their land and she couldn’t simply forgive their transgressions, especially since she’d had to take the solution into her own hands for them to be absolved of their sins.
She stared blankly into the fire, trying to ignore the reverie surrounding her. She had known she’d be treated with scorn if she ever made it to the surface. She’d just never assumed it’d be so blatant.
“Isa,” Gale’s soft tenor startled her as he approached. He handed her a glass of wine and smiled gently. “Are you alright?”
“Better now.” She smiled as she clinked her glass against his and nudged his shoulder.
“I thought I’d see you out dancing, or perhaps flirting.” An amused smile spread across his attractive lips and she had to stifle an unwitting noise.
“No, nothing so severe.”
He hummed in mild agreement and settled on the log, his thigh pressing against hers. A shiver ran through her as she felt the soft heat emanating from him and he glanced over at her, his brow quirked in question.
“Do you ever wonder if you’ve made the right choices?” She asked after a while. “If all the things leading up to this moment were worth it?”
He snorted. “Are you humoring me?”
“Not at all.”
"Constantly,” he said, slightly exasperated. “Isa, every moment of my waking life is questioning if I’ve done the right thing, if I’m doing the right things. I know I’ve made many mistakes in my short life and all I can ever ask is if I’m truly avoiding the next big blunder or if I’m walking headlong into it,” he looked at her, then, his big brown eyes confronting her dark gaze. “But I have a feeling you’re not really asking about me. So tell me, why are you questioning your choices at this particular moment? Have you made a grievous error in some capacity?” He gently bumped his knee against hers and his lips twisted into an almost ironic smirk.
“Maybe for myself, for my kind. But nothing that probably shouldn’t have been done in the first place. It’s hard to know.”
He nodded as if he understood. She was sure he didn’t, but it was nice to have someone listen in the first place. The chalice was cold against her lips as she took a sip of the dry red he’d handed her and she felt comforted by his presence, thankful he’d chosen to join her silent company.
“I don’t know what specifically is on your mind,” his voice was quiet, intimate, as if he only meant for her to hear his words. “But if you really need to know if you’ve made the right choice here, now, don’t listen to me,” he gestured outwards to their encampment full of survivors, to all of the people celebrating, free from fear for the first time in possibly years. "Listen to them.”
And Isa did listen. She listened to the shouts and cries of laughter. She listened to some sob with relief and delight. She listened to Halsin’s booming voice as he spoke to Zevlor, apologizing for what they’d had to endure while he was otherwise preoccupied. She listened to Alfira’s strong and sure voice echoing into the night; the young tiefling may have lost her teacher, but she had found her path forward through chaos and guilt. She listened to the entirety of the lively camp, Astarion whinging about the wine, Lae’zel sharpening her weapons, Shadowheart engaging nervously with Rolan and his siblings, Karlach laughing loudly at something she couldn't determine, and Gale humming softly beside her to whatever Alfira had decided to play. It was all reminiscent of a peace she thought she’d never earn. She still wasn’t confident she really had earned it, but she had done what she could for now.
This moment, this one moment, was really and truly hers to savor, regardless of the measures she’d had to take to earn it.