Get Over It

(Spoilers for the Avatar Trilogy and the latest revelations in the Grand History of the Realms as disseminated on the internet, apologies if I conflict with the latter source, fuzzy but decidedly unfluffy thinking, offscreen death)

"You desired godhood, control over your destiny, and great power," said Ao. "You will have only two of these – godhood and power – to exercise as you will in the Realm of the Dead. And all of the suffering in Toril will be yours as well, to cause and inflict as you wish. But you will never know contentment or happiness again."

Ao paused then and looked at Midnight. "But the thing you have desired most, Lord Cyric, will never come to pass…"

- The Avatar Trilogy: Waterdeep, by Troy Denning

"Love is a lie. Only hate endures."

- Two of the Thirteen Truths of Shar, The Twilight War: Shadowstorm, by Paul S. Kemp

"It's over."

"It's over," says Cyric, because it is. "Over, over, over."

They took her away and now Kelemvor's on his knees cradling her, reaching toward her eyes wide and blue-white. Her hair is right, long and dark, but her eyes should be dark too, dark with crimson flecks. When they came in Cyric had been trying to put those flecks back in. Kelemvor's fingers slide her eyelids over his efforts.

When they came in, they'd bound him with Sune's silk sash. Lathander gives it radiance, Tyr gives it strength, but it's still a sash wound around him and he laughs and laughs at the thought of it. Sune scowls; Cyric is always mucking up her affairs.

"It's impossible," says Kelemvor. "Impossible. Savras should have seen –" Savras is a grease stain on the floor of Dweomerheart. "He had to have had help."

"It was me," says Cyric. "It was me! You want proof? Here's your proof. It's over. It's over."

"Yes," says Mask, sticking his head out from a shadow on the wall. "You said that." Tyr gives him a sharp look.

Her hands were raised and he can see the slashes of his not-Godsbane blade across them. That's how he knows it was him. "I did it, it's done, it's over."

"No one else?" says Tyr, but of course Tyr is inclined to look to him first, Tyr and Sune and Helm are the ones he's mucked up most recently. Helm would be here too, but for the obvious.

"It was me," says Cyric. "Me. Me! It's over now, over, and I did it, it was me, I plead guilty. Oh, don't look so sour, Lady Firehair, Love is a lie, and guess what I am, I know all about love, it's a lie. Prince of Lies, and love is a lie, you ought to be grateful I haven't dismissed you yet."

Mask and Lathander look at one another. Kelemvor's head is lowered and Cyric thinks there are tears, more tears. They look delectable. She's falling apart now, and the closer Kelemvor holds her the faster she goes.

Cyric says, "I plead guilty to the murder of the Harlot."

"Of Mystra," says Sune.

"No, of Midnight of Deepingdale. Ariel Manx." Kelemvor's head snaps up. Kelemvor's eyes are dry. "It was a beautiful name. I said so. Secrets are always safe between friends, yes? She counted me her friend. Oh, she didn't tell you of that, did she, Kel? She told me. Secrets between friends. You had to buy it from her, I remember that. You forced it from her, you said she had to tell you after we met Elminster though Elminster didn't let us get in a word edgewise before teleporting away." Does Elminster hear this? Cyric hopes he's already combusted, as some pleasant side effect. "Well, it's over with now. You never deserved Ariel. You put a price on everything. You would have watched the Dalesmen kill her. For killing that senile archmage who didn't even have the decency to be dead. You would have let them kill her."

Kelemvor gets to his feet as the last bits of Ariel fall through his fingers, "I didn't kill her now."

"But it's over now! No more of that. It's over. I have what I wanted, I wanted it, I got it, it's over!"

Sune puts a hand on Kelemvor's shoulder. Mask gives Cyric the oddest look before returning his gaze to Lathander. Tyr pronounces judgment.

Cyric folds to his knees, looking at the floor, but she is entirely gone by now. "Perhaps he truly does not remember," he hears Lathander say. "Given her nature…"

Mask says, "She talks of forgetfulness a good bit…."

"And it's the first of her thirteen so-called truths," says Lathander. "Possibly a coincidence in phrasing, but…"

"Ye-es," says Sune, "isn't it…"

It's over. It's over. It's over and Cyric laughs in the face of it. He has what he wanted.

"Stand back –"

Kelemvor steps back, shrugging his shoulder out from under Sune's hand. Mask melts back into the shadow. Lathander and Tyr lift Cyric between them. Sune lifts her hands, working what magic she can even while the Weave unravels. Her hands can't compare to Ariel's.

He has what he wanted. Shouldn't that please him?

Mask steps out of the shadow again. "Keep your distance," says Tyr.

"I'm keeping it, I'm keeping it. It just occurred to me. You have such a great memory," he says to Cyric, "don't you remember what Ao told you on Mount Waterdeep? Didn't we all hear that? All right, Kelemvor, maybe not you, but the rest of us ought to. Don't you remember?"

He waits for Lathander to burn him to ash with sun's fire. For Tyr to take his head. For Sune to tighten her sash like a great snake.

"I was there. I heard." Mask shakes his head. "Cyric, Cyric, it will never be over for you."