BG3 Brainrot Central

More on my OC, Freya, because I adore her and I’m not ready to let her go

Shorter chapter, this one a rare installment from Freya's POV. I'm not gonna lie this one is heavily inspired by all the Like a Prayer edits that have been all over my TikTok. It was going to be a longer split POV chapter but I'm still working out the kinks and I wanted to get something out. Next time we dip our toes into smut land (she did say the next time she risks her hide in an epic act of heroism, she expects to be thoroughly fucked). 

Freya

Minthara was down. Halsin was up on the ledge to her left, keeping the onslaught of necromites at bay. Lae’zel was occupied with the mind flayer to her right, dodging the lash of its tentacles and the waves of its hostile psychic energy. Aylin laid on the putrid ground, wings broken, unmoving. 

She stood before the Bone Lord alone, and in truth, she was glad of it. All her years, her centuries, of fighting and begging and killing had led her to this. Myrkul had named Ketheric his Chosen, but long before that, the goddess he forsook in his grief named Freya hers. She would not allow him to claim another soul. 

Selûne was not a goddess of war. When people thought of the Moonmaiden, they pictured her grace, compassion, and guidance. What most did not know was that when provoked, Selûne was the most vengeful of all the pantheon. That quality was, perhaps, why the Moonmaiden chose Freya to be her champion. 

Freya slammed her sword into Myrkul’s scythe with all the moon fire she could muster in an attempt to break his guard. 

He trained his gaze on her, and blasted her with a beam of necrotic energy, but she did not yield. She swung her sword again. 

Again. 

Again. 

With each blow, she saw her brother’s face. Pitch black hair matted around sickly pale skin, blood streaming from his lips down his chin, the black war paint he’d donned over his eyes and forehead smearing with the sheen of sweat that coated his brow. 

Again. 

The way he choked on his own blood as he spoke his last words, the strength in his massive body fading as he lifted his hand to cup her cheek and wipe away her steaming tears.  

Again. 

Live, Freya. 

Again. 

Myrkul caught her next blow with his colossal scythe and she dug her heels into the ground as the Lord of the Dead pushed with all of his strength. 

A woman, one whom Freya had pushed from her memory for two centuries flickered in her mind’s eye. A face nearly identical to Freya’s own, battered and bruised and bloody and marked with age. 

Freya let out a cry that held all the rage and regret and grief that she’d refused to let herself feel for so many years as she held her ground. 

The woman stroked her hair with a gentle touch. “My brave girl.” 

Evelin. Her mother’s name was Evelin. 

Tears sprang from Freya’s eyes and flowed freely down her cheeks underneath her helmet. Her muscles burned with the strain of holding her line against the bone god. Still, she did not falter. 

“FREYA!” A booming voice to her left cut through her memories. She did not take her eyes off of the god who would see her laid low. 

A voice that felt like home. 

Her blade ignited with silver flame, heating the giant scythe she clashed with. Power, pure power, coursed through her veins like lightning. Her skin, her armor, her blood was alive with it, giving her the strength to hold the line. 

She remembered a large hand enveloping hers, its warmth reminding her of the fires she shared with her brother on the coldest winter nights. 

Myrkul yielded an inch. 

Gentle seafoam eyes flecked with hazel, boring into hers as if they saw her soul behind the walls she erected around her heart. 

Another inch. 

Strong arms pulling her into the embrace of the man who had made her feel safe for the first time in her long life, the man who’d cracked her defenses and saw the broken woman she was inside. The first to behold all that she was, the first to gain her trust. 

The scythe erupted into silver flame against her blade, but Myrkul still held firm. 

Vines erupted on either side of the Bone Lord, colossal and unyielding. They wrapped around his arms and pulled with all their might as Myrkul fought against their hold. 

Halsin. Halsin, who was warm and kind and bright and good. The sun to her moon, the fire to her ice. 

Freya took advantage of the distraction and ducked low as she broke the hold she had over Myrkul’s weapon. His blade swung over her, mere centimeters from her armor, and as it passed she quickly got to her feet and leapt. The vines constricted around Myrkul’s arms and pulled once more, forcing him to drop the scythe as she drove her own blade straight through his chest. He thrashed and writhed at the intrusion, but was powerless to stop his own looming demise. 

Green fire erupted from the colossus, and Freya had a single instant to pull her sword from him and crash to the ground as Ketheric Thorm materialized on his knees before her once more. 

“Impossible…death cannot take me…I am its master.” His voice was more broken than Freya had ever heard as he pleaded with his god to hear him. 

“Isobel…” he cried. The same green fire began to course through him, lighting his eyes and mouth. 

Freya granted him a clean death, her sword slicing cleanly through the muscles and sinews of his neck before the fire could consume him. She removed her helmet and dropped her blade, the adrenaline of battle slowly leaving her body with every passing moment. 

Ketheric Thorm was dead. 

Her brother’s death, avenged. 

The Shadow Curse would soon be no more. 

Before she could reflect on what she’d just done, she was swept up off her feet and crushed into a solid wall of muscle. 

“You did it.” Halsin’s voice, quiet and cracking with his tears. He buried his face into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered. He held her tightly, as if she was a precious thing he never wanted to let go. A part of her wished he never would. 

She pulled her head back slightly and framed his face with her gauntlets before touching her forehead to his. Despite her years and all her exploits, this moment was the most intimate she’d ever experienced. New feelings bloomed in her chest, warm and bright and spreading through her very bones. 

Freya loved him. She loved him with all she had to give, and she didn’t even know when it had happened. 

His green eyes shuttered closed as they held each other. “I thought you were going to die. I thought I lost you.” His voice broke and fresh tears streaked through the dirt and grime on his face. She stroked his scars with her thumb while his hold on her tightened. 

“Well, it’ll take more than a god of death to knock me out. You should know that by now, druid.” A laugh broke free from his chest at her words, and her own face stretched as she grinned. It was a true smile, from ear to ear, one that didn’t cross her features often. She chuckled with him once, then twice, then she laughed like a madwoman in his arms. 

Halsin snaked a hand up her back and enveloped her head in his large hand, pulling her impossibly closer and kissing her with the reverence of a thousand priests. It was a quick, gentle thing, laced with promise and devotion. 

Lae’zel and Minthara approached them as Halsin finally dropped her to the ground, though he kept one arm firmly around her waist. Minthara had never looked worse, and Freya’s heart squeezed at the indomitable drow looking so beaten. Golden light flowed from Halsin’s free hand as he healed her from a distance without a word. 

Aylin landed before them as fast as a comet and crushed Ketheric’s severed skull with her boot, over and over and over. Halsin pulled Freya against his side and angled himself so that he was in front of her, as if shielding her from a new threat. Just this once, she supposed she would let him. 

Freya and Shadowheart bickered incessantly through their exploration of Shar’s Gauntlet. They had battled the orthon and the necromancer hiding in its depths well enough, and Freya reluctantly allowed the cleric to take the trials while she, Halsin, and Minthara searched for the relic that Ketheric Thorm kept hidden there. 

They were so close now, they’d meant to march on Moonrise that day but the battles they faced in the gauntlet took more time than they’d expected to spend down here. Halsin knew they would need to make camp, everyone would need to be at their full strength to take on Ketheric. The necromancer, in particular, had taken his toll on Freya. She limped slightly as she led their party to the large elevator that had materialized with the umbral gems they’d acquired. 

“Wait,” Shadowheart said. Freya tossed her head back and groaned, the last of her patience with the Sharran long gone. 

“What now?” Freya all but growled. 

“There’s something I need to find down here first. A weapon,” Shadowheart answered. 

“On my oath, Sharran, if you mean to sacrifice my life down here for your wicked fucking goddess I will tear you limb from limb,” Freya threatened the cleric with enough venom to fell a horse. “Regardless, we’re all exhausted. We can finish here tomorrow. Let’s get back to the others, I need a drink.”

————

Gale had been instructed to deliver a bottle of Cormyrean brandy as a gift to Freya by Quartermaster Talli. The merchant must’ve deduced that it was her favorite. Halsin had never known her to accept a gift without so much as a single protest, but she simply snatched the bottle and nodded to the wizard in thanks as he finished cooking their dinner. She uncorked the bottle and took a long swig as she limped to her tent. He unbuckled his leather bracers while he sat on a log near the fire and rested his elbows on his knees. 

He wanted to follow her, to make her let him heal that damned leg, but he didn’t want to break the trust she’d placed in him by invading her private moments. So he sat. He took the plate that Gale offered to him and ate his dinner in silence while the wizard sat next to him. Karlach bounded over to the fire with Wyll following closely behind her, the warlock and his former quarry were near inseparable as their journey went on. Lae’zel and Minthara stood near the githyanki’s tent. The two women were sharpening their blades and polishing their armor, taking small bites as they worked. Astarion joined Halsin and Gale on the log. Gale offered the vampire his wrist as wildlife in these lands would do him more harm than good. Shadowheart was lost in prayer outside her own tent. 

The wizard was the one to break the comfortable silence. “She’s in a mood today, isn’t she?” He jerked his chin toward Freya’s tent. 

Halsin nodded. “She’s a Selûnite who spent the day in a Sharran temple, who has little patience and a short temper on her best days. That, and we thought we’d be going back to Moonrise today. I’d be more concerned if she was in a good mood.” Gale chuckled and Astarion scoffed in agreement. 

The vampire broke away from the wizard’s wrist. “I’m surprised you survived the day with those three, Halsin. Well done,” he commented sarcastically, as was his way. Halsin only laughed, he knew that if it had come to a brawl between any of those women, any attempts on his part to break them up would’ve been tantamount to suicide. 

He glanced back to Freya’s tent and found himself wondering if he should take her any food. She had done the same for him on many nights when he was sulking in his remote corner of the camp. She had to be starving, they hadn’t stopped to eat since breakfast and he knew they had a big day ahead of them once the dawn broke. Gale chuckled again and clapped Halsin on the knee as he rose to make another plate. “You’ve got it so bad, my friend. Go talk to her.” The wizard shook his head as he handed the plate to Halsin. 

The wood elf reluctantly took it and carried it to where Freya made her camp. He stood at the closed entrance and cleared his throat. “Freya?” he asked, and heard only an “ow, fuck” in response, so he stuck his head in. 

She had discarded her armor and was wearing a sleeveless shirt with loose cotton shorts that revealed the gash in her thigh, crossing over the old scar. She took another swig of her brandy and splashed the contents of another less valuable bottle of alcohol over her wound. She held a needle and thread in one hand and, to no surprise on Halsin’s part, was stitching her own flesh back together. Blue light radiated from her other palm as she used what was left of her oathbound healing magic to aid the process. She flicked her eyes up to Halsin as he entered the tent and set her dinner on the small, unoccupied table near her bedroll. He knelt in front of her and watched her work for a moment. 

“Don’t,” she said. She made another stitch with skilled, nimble hands that had clearly done this several times before. 

“I could’ve taken care of that, you know,” he answered. He didn’t dare comment on the fact that she would have another scar. I wear my scars with honor, she had said once. Indeed, she had plenty. The one across the bridge of her nose, the punctures on her shoulder where the wraith had grabbed her while she defended his portal, claw marks running down her other calf. He sensed each had a story, just as the one across his own forehead did. 

“I know. I don’t care. You don’t have to heal me every time I get nicked in combat, if you did you’d be glued to my hip at all times and that would just be annoying for the both of us.” Halsin disagreed with her statement, he kept finding excuses to be close to her every chance he got. “Honestly, Halsin, I’m fine. I don’t need you to rush to my aid every time I’m hurt. Two hundred years I’ve survived, and I intend to live at least two hundred more.”

She finished her stitching and reached over to grab a clean strip of linen from her bag to wrap her muscled thigh. Every movement was practiced and deliberate, a soldier patching herself up to get back in battle. She used the ground as leverage to push herself up and test her weight on the injured leg, bouncing lightly on that foot. She seemed to be satisfied enough, so she sat back down and pulled one knee to her chest as she extended her injured leg in front of her. 

“How is your mind?” He asked the question in a whisper. “Today can’t have been easy for you.”

She breathed deeply before answering. “I’m sure Selûne’s Chosen would be a fine trophy for Shar. Unfortunately for her, I think Shadowheart still has time to turn from her path of darkness to one of light. She’s still very young, and there’s something more to her. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Do you think she will try to sacrifice you?” Halsin’s blood ran cold at the thought. He knew if it came to it, Freya would prevail, but she cared so deeply for each of her friends that the death of one of them, even in self-defense, would haunt her for the rest of her long life. 

“I think if she was going to, she would have done it when she realized where we were. I think there’s more to this than what we can see, and I have to trust that the Moonmaiden guides my way.” She finished her brandy and leaned back against her pack. “Enough about me, how do you feel?” Her eyes never left his as she leveled her question, perhaps trying to see into his very soul. 

He had no wish to burden her further. To heap his troubles on top of her own. She, quite literally, took the fate of the world onto her own shoulders without a single complaint while a parasite threatened to strip her of mind and soul at any moment. As soon as their mysterious artefact faltered in its protection, she would be gone. They both knew that, and she soldiered on regardless. 

Yet, Halsin knew that he could not ask her to trust him with her burdens without offering that same trust in kind. “I feel…hopeful,” he whispered. “More than I have in a hundred years.” She hummed her agreement. “If only I had met you sooner, my friend. I also feel afraid. We have been given the best chance anyone has had to rid this land of its curse, to set nature to rights, and watch the healing unfold. If we fail, I dare say there is no one who will be able to take our place.” Her blue eyes welled with unshed tears at his words, for she knew them to be true. If they failed, the curse would live on despite all they’d done here. For Halsin, he would never restore the balance of nature. For Freya, justice would go unserved. 

“Do you think we can win this?” A sliver of doubt crept into her voice as the question softly escaped her lips. 

“I…I will not lie to you, Freya, I do not know. Ketheric is a formidable foe.” Her eyes slid shut as a tear slid down her cheek at his confession. He reached over and brushed it away with his thumb. “You, though, you might be even more formidable than he is. I am not a betting man, but if I was, I’d gamble on you.” He hooked his finger under her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead, closing his eyes against his own tears before he moved to leave. 

Freya caught his wrist before he could go. “Stay,” she whispered, the word a prayer on her breath.

How could he deny her?

He removed his leather armor and lay shirtless beside her. She rested her head over his chest and he pulled her closer until she was nearly on top of him.  He wrapped both arms around her slender frame and held her tight until they both slipped into trance, never once letting go of the warrior woman who now guarded his beating heart. 

————

Halsin stood in the pool before Shar’s statue with Shadowheart and Freya, the former knelt in prayer, the latter watching the cleric with her sword drawn. The tension between the Selûnite and the Sharran had grown palpable, Halsin almost thought that he could touch it if he reached out. Shadowheart wielded a new spear, the Spear of Night, she had called it, and it set the paladin on edge. 

Shadowheart stood. “I’m ready,” she stated as she stepped into the pool. Tendrils of darkness crept up his legs like phantom arms pulling him under. They crawled up his chest, his shoulders, his head, ever hungry, and yanked him down until all he saw was black. 

————

Halsin woke with a start in a horrifyingly familiar landscape. Coughing, he clutched his chest and looked to Freya, who was on her hands and knees, eyes wide as she took in the broken rock and violet atmosphere. 

The Shadowfell. Shar’s domain. 

“Fuck.” Freya bit out the word like she’d been struck. Any average Selûnite would be in mortal peril in the Shadowfell, but Freya was Selûne’s Chosen. Fear and worry clawed its way into his chest at the realization. 

The party stood, and Halsin noticed that he felt lighter, his bones no longer tethered to the earth. Freya stepped forward, her body practically vibrating, and jumped from one rock to the next before Halsin could stop her. 

“Blessed Nightsinger, witness my adoration,” Shadowheart prayed as they followed the paladin. Undead Dark Justiciars lined the path before them but made no move on the Selûnite as she descended. 

“Descend to her,” they whispered in unison. Freya never faltered in her steps in front of him. “Look upon her.”

“See my actions, Lady Shar, hear my words of faith.” 

“Kill her.”

“Lady Shar’s will shall be done, as sure as night will fall.”

They reached a large platform, where a tall woman with yellow hair stood, shackled by magic fists glowing green. As Halsin leapt closer, he noticed the cracks in her skin, glowing gold under the dirt and grime. 

An aasimar. 

Freya and Shadowheart bounded onto the platform, the former angling herself between the caged woman and her Sharran friend. 

“I have felt you coming,” the caged woman stated, turning to face Shadowheart. “You, who have come to seek the praise of her wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart.” She stormed towards Shadowheart, blue mage hands restraining her as she did. 

“Not a dagger, a spear. My Lady Shar’s spear!” Shadowheart turned on Freya, anger and hatred and desperation etched into her expression. “Her fate is mine to seal, let me handle this!”

Freya raised her sword, the point of the blade inches from her friend’s chin. A tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, “Strike me down if you must, but I cannot let you do this.”

“The fate you seal is your own,” the larger woman said. “To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy, only servitude. Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you. And there is much she does not tell you - a terrible blood price that may extend beyond my own death.”

Shadowheart bristled as she stared down Freya’s blade. The paladin looked over her shoulder at the caged woman, and something like recognition flashed across her features. Halsin didn’t dare breathe as Freya lowered her sword and stepped to stand beside him. He had no idea what she was doing, but she took his hand in hers and gripped it like a lifeline. “Trust her,” Freya murmured under her breath to him. 

“Well, well, well,” the stranger said. “What’s that I sense? A spear intended for my heart. Empowered by your goddess, aye. Empowered to kill the child of a god,” she yelled. “Do you know what I am, little assassin? For I know you - a lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark.”

“What did you say?” Shadowheart’s voice softened, green eyes growing wide. 

“Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart - your own life? I sense more in you than you know.” The woman straightened, and Freya was taut as a bowstring next to Halsin. Her eyes were trained on the exchange happening before them, her other hand gripping the hilt of her sword so hard he thought she’d burst her gauntlet. She whispered prayers to her goddess under her breath, as if Selûne could hear her in her sister’s domain. 

Shadowheart was never meant to sacrifice Freya at all, he realized. It was this woman, bound by a necromancer’s magic, whose death was somehow more important to Shar than her twin’s Chosen. 

“Whatever you think you know of me won’t matter, once I become who I’m meant to be,” Shadowheart said with wavering conviction. 

“She knows something about you, Shadowheart,” Freya said. “Don’t you at least want to hear her out?” 

The mysterious wound on Shadowheart’s hand flashed amethyst as she pulled the spear from her back. Freya stiffened, her sword raising once more, as she took a small step forward. 

Shadowheart hesitated. She stared at her goddess’s spear in her grasp. The cleric raised her weapon, and Freya released Halsin’s hand to jump in front of the aasimar.

Shadowheart threw her arm back and cast the Spear of Night into the Shadowfell. 

Freya’s breath came in hard pants as her sword clattered to the ground. Her relief came off of her in waves, fresh tears springing to her sapphire eyes. She put her hands on Shadowheart’s shoulders as the cleric realized what she had done. 

“I can’t believe I did that…Lady Shar will disown me…what will happen to me now…?”

“Not what will happen. What will you do?” The taller woman said behind them. “Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed.” She knelt as Shadowheart stumbled forward to her, Freya stepping to the side. “Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has been waiting for me this last century. Then, oh then, we will have much to discuss.” She bowed her head, and Shadowheart considered her for a long moment before placing her wounded hand on the woman’s shoulder. 

The mage hands caging her vanished, and she dropped both hands to the ground. 

She pounded her fist into the ground. “Our Lady of Silver, hear me.” Her fist pounded once more, free from her shackles, holy fury lacing every word. 

By Silvanus. 

“She Who Guides, the Moonmaiden Selûne.” 

Freya dropped to her knees. 

“Mother of the so-called Nightsong, the Nightsong is no more!” Her eyes glowed pure silver as she stood, her Selûnite armor materializing over her battered rags. Her suit was an exact match to Freya’s own. A great golden sword floated down to her outstretched hand, and she swung it in a wide arc as white wings appeared from her back. 

The relic Ketheric was after wasn’t a relic after all, but a person. Selûne’s own daughter supplied his immortality. Now that she was free, not only would he finally be vulnerable, but they had made a powerful ally in this war. Halsin could only stare in awe as her boots touched ground once more. 

“You have given me a great gift, little warrior,” the Nightsong said to Shadowheart. “Don’t you find it oh so curious that you would spurn your Dark Lady? Perhaps you feel a stirring of the truth already”

Freya rose to her feet, collecting her sword. “And you, my mother’s Chosen. You did well to follow her guidance. I look forward to seeing what you can do.” Freya dipped her chin in a nod at the aasimar’s words. 

“But that will come later. There is a battle yet to be fought. You have done what we feared was impossible, you have released me from a century of sorrow. Your power is great, so to must be your weapon. The Moonmaiden will provide. Thus I have said, thus will it be so.” A golden glaive appeared in Shadowheart’s hand, replacing the Spear of Night. 

Freya retook her place at Halsin’s side, divine purpose igniting her confidence in their cause anew. He squeezed her arm, sharing in her newfound hope. She was radiant in her anticipation of the coming battle, blue eyes bright and wild and excited. She smiled up at him and Halsin’s heart nearly stopped. She was breathtaking. 

“Are you ready?” Selûne’s daughter asked them. 

“Ready for what?” It was Shadowheart who answered, still so unsure of herself after defying her patron deity. 

The Nightsong’s expression hardened in determination and the promise of righteous vengeance as she readied to launch into the sky.

“To kill Ketheric Thorm.”

—-----

“Let’s fucking GO!” Karlach exclaimed as Freya tossed her a soul coin. They had hustled back to camp after the Nightsong shot to the sky and opened a portal out of the Shadowfell to retrieve their other companions and ready themselves for battle. Freya was practically vibrating with excitement, while Shadowheart remained silent in her crisis of faith. He hadn’t expected the young cleric to save a daughter of Selûne, and he regretted the sharp tone that he had used with her since discovering who she worshipped. He’d make sure to speak with her, when the battle was won. 

If, of course, they all survived it. 

Everyone circled around the campfire that was always stoked in these lands, eyes on Freya. Their leader, their commander, a general of war, a seasoned veteran, who stood tall despite her short stature with her chin held high and hands clasped behind her back. Who wielded the power of a god with every swing of her sword and shielded her allies in the light of her faith. If she had been a druid, Halsin mused that her preferred wildshape would be a great white wolf with her fierce loyalty and the way she protected her pack. 

“It’s time,” she called to them, a wicked smirk lifting her lips. “Hold to your courage, hold to your strength. Today, we take Moonrise Towers. Today, we avenge all those who have fallen to this curse, all those who have been taken by this cult. Today, we avenge ourselves.” 

————

Freya chugged an Elixir of Cloud Giant Strength as they approached Jaheira, who waited outside the tower’s entrance with her Harpers. War and battle came so naturally to her, he’d never seen her more at peace despite the violence they were marching into. Minthara matched her every stride, the drow and the elf marched in near perfect tandem. Halsin followed close behind, and Karlach skipped next to him, twirling her axe as she went. Wyll, Gale, and Astarion chattered behind them, and Lae’zel brought up the rear with Shadowheart. 

“You’re late,” the High Harper jested to Freya as they reached the tower entrance. She looked up to where the Nightsong was circling the tower, her wings returned to her. “Unshackled from shadows, she will rise in moonlight glory and bring the accursed one’s second death. So sayeth the wise Alaundo.” Jaheira turned to the paladin. “That beacon of angelic wrath has taken the fight to Ketheric on the rooftop, and the first line of defense are dead.” Indeed, charred corpses littered the bridge they’d just crossed. “It is only a matter of time before the general gathers his forces and retaliates. For now, though, he is on the back foot for the first time since he returned from the grave.” Jaheira smiled in appreciation as Freya crossed her arms and nodded curtly. “This is it. The spearhead moment. You’ve brought us this far, so how shall we proceed?”

Freya inspected the tower, gaze traveling skyward as if she could see Ketheric himself on the rooftop. “I have several bones to pick with the general. Get me up there. We move in, take the main floor, and cut off all exits.” She slid her winged helmet over her braids, and Jaheira’s eyes flashed in recognition as if she too remembered the Chosen who had led the same battle a hundred years before. It did not pass Freya’s notice. “We never officially met the first time, High Harper. It will be my honor to break Ketheric’s bones alongside you properly today.”

“The honor will be mine, Chosen of Selûne.” Halsin heard the whispers from their party behind him as Jaheira used their paladin’s proper title. Freya paid them no mind as she drew her sword. She had a singular focus, now that she was here. Battle. Bloodshed. War. Retribution. 

She had thinned out most of the cultists in the tower when she rescued Minthara and the other prisoners, but more had come to take the place of the dead. Halsin knew storming the tower wouldn’t be easy, but if they could get her through the fray and to the rooftop, she would not fail this time. Everything they had both suffered these last hundred years led to this, and though his first instinct was always to take responsibility for the curse, this was not his charge to lead. It was hers. It was always hers. 

Halsin stepped up to her side, the two of them sparing a glance at each other as Jaheira readied her Harpers. “For what it’s worth, I thank the Moonmaiden for leading me to you,” she whispered to him. His eyes welled with tears at her words, and he reached over to gently squeeze her arm. If they survived this day, he would follow her to the ends of Faerûn for the rest of his long life, if she would have him. 

“Do you think we can win?” He asked her, a wicked grin crossing her face in response. 

“On my oath, I will see justice done here, or I will fall in its pursuit.”

————

Moonrise Towers was theirs. The battle was quick, but not without difficulty, and they still had a long way to go before the day was done. 

Freya ordered Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Astarion to remain on the main floor to assist the Harpers in keeping their hold on the tower and Halsin shed his ursine form to more easily maneuver the narrow staircase as they ascended. He, Minthara, Freya, and Lae’zel made their way to the giant ornate doors that led to the rooftop, pausing before they entered. 

The drow and the high elf shared a look before they nodded at one another, and kicked the metal door open in tandem. The two of them were an unstoppable force in battle, almost reading each other’s thoughts as they cut their enemies down, always on the front lines. 

“You,” Ketheric seethed as they marched to where he stood. “What have you done? What have you done to me?” He bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Freya approached him as if she was a hunter stalking her prey. 

“It’s over, Ketheric.” She pointed her sword at the general, stance wide and defiant. “Bend the knee, or I will take your head.”

“You’ve come this far, stripped the enemy of his advantage. Why would you show mercy now?”

Halsin also wondered what Freya was playing at. He did not expect her to offer him a chance to surrender, the villain responsible for her brother’s death. 

“I’m not like you, Ketheric. My only interest is what is right. I offer mercy, but make no mistake, I will strike you down if you raise a hand against me.” She stepped closer to him, the point of her blade touching the strange purple stone in his armor. 

“Who decides what is right? Is it your god, who stood by while my life was dismantled piece by piece?” Halsin watched as the two circled each other in a dance of death. “We are nothing more than their playthings, discarded when we serve no further purpose. You ought to learn that now, Chosen, before Selûne stands by and watches as everything you love is stolen from you, as she did me.”

“Selûne did not take my family from me, Thorm. You did. You lost your family, and so you took countless others in retribution. Do not pretend that you are the only soul among us who has suffered loss. Do not presume to know what I, myself, have endured. Bend. The. Knee. I will not ask again.” Freya’s voice raised as she spoke, carrying the power of a hundred tempests.

Ketheric considered her for a long moment, then nodded as he slowly dropped to his knees. “You have beaten me, True Soul.” Freya lifted his chin with her sword, and in his eyes found only a broken shell of a man. “But the gods beat me first.”

“KETHERIC THORM!” 

Oh no. 

The Nightsong landed on the rooftop with such power it shook the stone, greatsword raised, silver fire enveloping her body and wings. 

“Rise, you dog, for retribution has come - and her sword is my sword.”

“Aylin?” The general’s voice faltered in frightened awe as the Moonmaiden’s own daughter glared down at him at Freya’s side. 

Ketheric got to his feet, ignoring the point of Freya’s blade as he glowered at the aasimar. “I was a fool to even consider surrender. That was my mistake. You, True Soul, answer to me. If you will not bow, you will break.”

Freya flipped her sword in her hand and trained her steel blue eyes on the general. “Try me,” she seethed. 

A blast of mental energy forced them backward, Freya crashing into Halsin. He caught her as their artefact floated in front of them, protecting the party from Thorm’s psychic influence. It thrust itself into Freya’s empty hand as his eyes narrowed and rage clouded his features. “The Prism…you’ve had it all this time, you worm!”

Brief mention of suicide and domestic violence towards the end (not between characters).

“Be gentle with him,” Halsin whispered to Freya. They stood on the cusp of reuniting Thaniel with his missing half, in the form of a young boy named Oliver. One wrong move, and they could lose their chance to break the curse forever. “He’s much more than a child, though he doesn’t truly know that.”

Freya got down on one knee, lowering herself to Oliver’s height. “Oliver,” she began. Her tone was firm, but gentle, like a mother teaching her child. He’d only ever seen this softness in her once when she told Arabella of her parents’ fates, which squeezed his heart. “You’ve been so brave. No child should ever have to endure what you have, and yet you survived despite all the challenges in your way.” Halsin didn’t dare breathe lest he scare the boy away as she spoke.

“Thaniel did not abandon you, Oliver. You were taken from each other, and now he needs you more than ever. You needn’t invent friends any longer. Thaniel’s returned, and he’s waiting for you. You won’t be alone anymore, I swear it.” 

Oliver considered her for a long moment, searching for lies or deceit in her words. Halsin knew he would find none, as Freya did not make promises lightly. She was the most honest person he’d ever met. 

“Alright. I’ll do it. I want to do it. It’ll be nice to see him again,” Oliver said, a hopeful smile spreading across his face.

“Well done.” Halsin’s eyes filled with tears as his heart swelled. Soon, the land would begin to heal, and it was all thanks to her. She was incredible. A parasite threatened to take over her mind at any moment, yet she still acted with compassion and kindness despite her thorny nature. She still found the time to save a bear from a cage simply because she thought it was the right thing to do. This curse was not her responsibility, yet she aided him in breaking it simply because he asked for her help. 

“Are you crying? You’re a bit big to be crying, but I suppose that’s okay,” Oliver commented as green light surrounded him. “Bye! And thank you for playing with me.” Oliver vanished in swirls of gold and green and Halsin watched as Freya stared in awe and hope. 

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and crushed her to his chest. She stiffened for a moment in surprise, as if she’d never had someone embrace her before, and then hesitantly hugged him back. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Thank you.”

He rested his chin on her head and inhaled the scent of thunderstorms and rosemary and steel as he closed his eyes, soaking her in. He didn’t want to let her go, to give up this moment with her. He let his tears fall silently, thanking Silvanus and Selûne and every other god that would listen for bringing this woman to him. 

Her hands moved to his hips as she gently pulled away. “We should go to the inn and speak with Jaheira on our way back to camp,” she said, blue eyes twinkling with hope. “Tomorrow, we’ll head to the mausoleum and find the relic. The time has come to make Ketheric Thorm bleed.” She grabbed his hand in hers and pulled him along with her towards Last Light, everything about her radiating indomitable determination. 

Whatever she needed him to be, he would do it. A protector, a friend, an ear to listen, a lover. If she just needed someone to clean her boots, he would volunteer just to have a moment in her company. Ever since he kissed her that day after she raided Moonrise like a mad woman, he’d been so drunk on her that he could think of little else. Memories of Freya drowned every trance, and he spent his waking moments seeking her out. The wild thrill in her eyes with each swing of her blade, the way her hair glowed pure white under the moon, how she stood tall and resolute as she faced every obstacle in her path. Her soft heart, hidden behind that rock-hard exterior, wielding her strength as a shield in front of the most vulnerable. 

And by the gods, that smile of hers threatened to put him on his knees on the rare occasions it shone through. 

They reached Last Light in record speed, propelled by their combined hope and newfound purpose. He squeezed Freya’s hand before reluctantly letting go as Dammon caught his eye. “You go talk to Jaheira,” he told Freya. “This is your victory to share. I want to get some supplies while we’re here.” She nodded, and behind the safety of Isobel’s shield, she finally sheathed her sword across her back as she entered the inn. Halsin made his way to the pens where Dammon had set up shop. 

“It took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but it’s as ready as it’ll ever be,” the blacksmith said to Halsin as he approached. He held up the new suit for inspection, a perfect replica of the sketches Halsin had given him. 

“It’s perfect, Dammon, thank you.” He tossed the tiefling a pouch full of gold coins he’d gathered on their travels. Halsin rarely dealt with money, preferring to craft his own things or trade in favors or materials, so the sum was hardly a loss. He knew that in Baldur’s Gate, Dammon would need it far more than him. 

Dammon’s eyes went wide as he felt the weight of the small bag, and Halsin just nodded before he could protest. The blacksmith packed the new suit of armor as Freya exited to the village center. Halsin slung the pack over his shoulder and took her hand once more, falling into an easy, comfortable rhythm as they made their trek to camp. 

————

Freya and Lae’zel had to have lost their damned minds. Halsin approached the campfire to find the githyanki and the elf upside down next to each other, holding themselves upright by standing on their forearms. Both women had discarded their shirts, putting their tensed abdominal muscles and sweat on full display. Freya’s long silver braid coiled on the ground beneath her, expression set in hard determination, and while Halsin tried not to stare at her, he couldn’t look away. 

He knelt in front of the high elf, tilting his head to the side. “What are you doing?” he chuckled.

“Proving a point. Go away, you’re distracting me.”

He laughed again and looked over his shoulder at Karlach, who was watching them with no shortage of amusement. “Lae’zel made some comment about how even two hundred years of ‘istik’ training couldn’t measure up to twenty of githyanki education. Freya took that personally,” the tiefling explained. 

“I thought paladins let go of their pride when they took their vows,” he said to Freya with a grin, earning himself the piercing glare he’d come to love. 

“My goddess is a forgiving one,” she shot back through gritted teeth.

“Feel free to surrender, istik,” Lae’zel quipped.

“Never.”

“How long have they been at it?” Halsin asked Karlach. Indeed, Freya’s face was a deep red and even Lae’zel’s olive skin was flushed. He wondered if their tadpoles were feasting on all the fresh blood rushing to their brains.

“Dunno, few minutes at least. We have a bet going, care to join the pool?” Karlach crossed her large arms over her broad chest and leaned on one hip as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“If I bet against either of these two, I’m going to find a dagger at my throat tonight. I’ll pass.” He glanced between the two with a broad grin spreading from ear to ear and noticed that Lae’zel’s biceps had begun to shake. 

“Suit yourself, Wyll made dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Gale relinquished his cooking duties for the night, eh?” The wizard had taken on the task of feeding their growing camp, and would get downright offended should anyone else offer to give him a reprieve. 

“Well, he’s not here. Neither is Astarion. I don’t think any of us want to go looking for them.” Karlach wiggled her eyebrows as she spoke. He didn’t need any additional innuendo, he was truly happy that at least someone was indulging in their baser needs. 

He’d spent the last days trying - and failing - to put his kiss with Freya from his mind. The feel of her against him, hard and soft all at once, the feel of her lips against his, the soft sounds she made, their damn clothes separating them -

“T’chaki!” He heard Lae’zel curse at Freya, the githyanki on a knee as the elf gracefully landed on her feet, a wild grin across her face. “You claim victory this day, istik, you will not be so fortunate the next time.” Freya laughed and offered a hand to her friend, who swatted it away and rose on her own. 

“Wyll, you owe me five coppers!” Karlach called to the warlock, who cursed under his breath. Freya winked at him as she pulled her shirt over her head. 

Evenings like these, it was easy to forget all the threats they faced together. There were no parasites, no curse, no cult. Just easy camaraderie between an unlikely band of misfits. A disparate collection of vagabonds and strays, he’d heard Minthara call them while speaking with Freya. The drow wasn’t wrong, but somehow the party had forged bonds and friendships they’d keep for the rest of their lives. 

Freya approached him, taking his hand in hers. “Who would you have bet on, without the threat of death?” she whispered.

“You already know the answer.” Her sapphire eyes twinkled like the stars in the night sky. As wretched as this place was, he swore she brought the light of the moon with her. He often caught himself wondering if she was secretly an avatar of her patron goddess. “I’d always bet on you, Freya.”

—-----

“Tell me something about yourself that I wouldn’t even think to ask,” Freya inquired as he busted down a locked door with his shoulder. They were looting the town tollhouse, the paladin having somehow talked the toll collector into self-destructing. 

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t shock you to learn that I love animals and nature?” He chuckled as she shot him a playful glare. “I know, well-trodden territory. Let’s see, I whittle in my spare time, and I have something of a sweet tooth. Though everyone is always amused when I say I like honey.”

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?” She laughed, the sound a siren’s song to Halsin’s ears.

“I like what I like. I’m too old to give a damn what anyone thinks.” Except for you, he added silently. He didn’t know when he started caring whether he had her approval or not, but he craved the gentle side of her that started to poke through her hard exterior whenever they spent time alone together. 

“What do you make?”

“Ornaments, utensils, and ducks. I like ducks,” he added with a half-smile. “Your turn.”

“I live in mortal fear of krakens, though I’ve never actually seen one.”

He laughed at her confession. “Well, I think if you avoid the high seas, you can consider yourself safe.”

“Spiders, too. I fucking hate spiders.” She shuddered at the thought while Halsin stifled a laugh. She’d faced countless foes that would make most men piss themselves, but it was spiders that induced her fear. Not to mention, she’d befriended a drow. The irony was not lost on him.

“Worry not, fearless warrior. I shall protect you from the tiny fiends.” She slapped his arm and glared up at him with a twinkle in her eye as she broke apart a locked chest. 

“Asshole,” she quipped under her breath. 

—-----

Pure shock dominated Freya’s expression as Halsin carefully emptied Dammon’s pack and she took in its contents. 

“How did you…?” She whispered the unfinished question with a fist clutching her heart. 

“The first time we marched on Moonrise, I recall a young woman leading the vanguard,” Halsin began. “I remember the whispers that she was Selûne’s Chosen, and that she would lead us to victory.” Freya’s eyes nearly bulged out of her skull at his recollection. “When I first met you, I had my suspicions. I dreamt of that day the night of the party with the tieflings, and I sketched her in my journal. It wasn’t until I saw you blast those shadows with moonlight that I knew it was you.” 

Freya fell to her knees, her identity settling over the two of them like a blanket. He knew why she didn’t tell the others who she was. He understood the guilt and shame and failure that waged war in her mind. She bowed her head, hands resting on her thighs as her shoulders shook with unshed tears. 

“I gave the drawings to Dammon when I picked up your armor after you’d been hurt. Forgive me, if I’ve overstepped, I just thought that the next time you faced Thorm in battle, you’d want to do it as Selûne’s paladin.”

She gathered the winged helm in her small hands and allowed her tears to fall silently on the steel. She ran her thumbs over the carvings of the moon, and Halsin held his breath while he waited for her verdict. 

“I took this armor off that day,” she whispered. “I remember leading everyone to battle, as I’d done a thousand times before, and I watched my brother take a blade that was meant for me.” A lump formed in Halsin’s throat as she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the night sky. “I held him as he took his last breath. We did everything together, he and I. We left the North when we were sixteen and nineteen, never spending a day apart from each other. Our father was a cruel man, and the two of us did everything in our power to protect our mother from him. He was relentless. Always drunk, always angry. 

“Az found her. She’d hung herself from the balcony outside her bedroom. I’d never seen him so angry, he was always so good, so kind and annoying and always cracking jokes no matter how fucked everything around us was. He came to my room that night, bags packed on his back, and told me we were leaving. We traveled south and never looked back. I don’t know if my father still lives, or if Az killed him, and I probably never will. 

“That day at Moonrise, I held my brother as he died. I watched as the life and light left his eyes.” She choked on a sob, and Halsin’s own cheeks were wet as he knelt in front of her. “Then I watched as his body cracked and transformed, and his eyes glowed sickly green and skin turned black.” Horror settled in Halsin’s gut, ice spreading through his core. “He lunged at me, and I severed his head. My brother, my sweet, brave brother, was one of the first victims of the curse. I took my armor off, and never wore it again.” She took a deep breath and held the new helmet to her chest, finally opening her eyes and staring into Halsin’s own. Her sorrow and guilt quickly hardened to cold determination and righteous anger.

“Until now.”

————

“How is the fit?” Halsin asked over his shoulder, his back turned to give the paladin her privacy. His chest ached for her, yet swelled with the knowledge that she trusted him and only him with the burden she’d been carrying alone this last century.

“Dammon is one crafty motherfucker,” she said. “It’s excellent. Better, even, than any of my old sets. The scalemail was a perfect touch, I feel like I can actually move rather than being weighed down. You can turn around, by the way.” He did so, and as he took in the sight of her he had no idea how he’d ever doubted she was the Moonmaiden’s Chosen. 

The old armor she wore was well-fitted, but in comparison to the new set it was bulky and, as Dammon had said after she was hurt, full of gaps. Where the plate ended, silver scalemail hugged every curve and muscle on her body. Accents of dark blue fabric, a color Halsin had come to associate only with her, flavored the silver steel and symbols of the Moonmaiden intricately adorned the plate. Halsin had no idea how Dammon had pulled it off in such a short amount of time. 

He retrieved her new helmet from where it lay at her feet and placed it over her silver braids like a crown. It slid snugly into place, another perfect fit. Her sapphire eyes bore into his own, gratitude and hope and trust pouring through her features. 

“It feels right. Thank you, for bringing me back to myself,” she whispered. He stepped back, squeezing her shoulder. He circled her, searching for any cracks in the armor she couldn’t see, and found none. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her back to his chest, and she leaned against him. She took her helmet off and dropped it at her feet, then clutched his forearms with both hands and let her head fall back against him. 

“Your secrets are safe with me, my friend. Your trust is an honor I can’t even begin to describe.” Halsin kissed her hair again and rested his cheek on her head. He meant every word. He would guard her back and her secrets with his life. 

“You’ll come with me tomorrow?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it. Wherever you need me, that’s where I’ll be.” She spun in his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead against his chest. 

“I need you to promise me something,” she murmured. 

“Anything.”

“If I fall tomorrow, burn my body. Don’t let me change like Az.” The thought alone made Halsin’s blood run cold. He took her face in his large hands and tilted her chin up to look at him. A lump formed in his throat as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

I’m convinced that a forehead kiss and a bear hug from Halsin would cure all my problems rn 🥲