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Baldur's Gate, Wyrm's Rock Fortress, Jon's solar

If you were to ask Jon Greatwolf to list the worst things that had ever happened to him, he would probably mention his kidnapping by the Mind Flayers, the horrors he witnessed in Ethel’s house… or Orin.

But if there was one thing nobody would ever expect him to mention, it was:

“Bloody paperwork,” the future Grand Duke groaned as he read and signed what was probably the eighty-eighth document of the day.

Since he was still young and inexperienced, the Grand Duke had decided it would be wise to train him in bureaucracy, considering it would become one of the central aspects of his future role. Of course, he had only been assigned a portion of the workload, mostly storage reports, certificates, and financial management documents regarding the reconstruction of Baldur’s Gate after the Absolute Crisis.

So why were there so many of them?

Because Jon had asked for more after finishing all of his paperwork during the very first week, and Florrick had been more than happy to hand him half of her own pile.

'Be careful what you wish for', he thought sarcastically.

He finished filling out the final document and stretched in his chair when he noticed a letter resting on his desk.

With a sigh, he opened it, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by its contents.

To Grand Duke Ravengard,

My name is Myrina, and I lead a coalition founded to oppose hags.

For centuries, hags have attacked, killed, and indoctrinated innocent people across every corner of Faerûn, abducting young girls and turning them into more of their kind.

We ask, should you accept, that you officially recognize and fund our coalition so that hags may no longer plague the citizens of the Sword Coast. We have already contributed to the death of one hag, Ethel, by creating a potion that the Heroes of the Gate used to rescue an abducted child and slay the monster without harming the girl.

— Myrina

“Looks like someone moved quickly,” Jon commented with a smile.

It was incredible how Myrina had gone from a grieving widow and reluctant single mother to an experienced hag hunter in only a few years. He was genuinely proud of her.

He signed the approval request for Myrina’s proposal, or at least marked it as important enough to pass directly to the Grand Duke.

Once he was done, he organized his desk and headed toward the Elfsong Tavern, where Jenevelle, Minsc, and Astarion were waiting for him.

As he stepped through the doorway of his office, he almost failed to notice the cadaverous man waiting nearby.

“Jergal! Hey, how’s it going?” Jon asked casually, despite the fact that Jergal, or Withers, as everyone who didn’t truly know him called him — was a god as old as both Selûne and Shar. Jon still found it strange to consider someone like that a friend. Assuming, of course, that Jergal considered him one as well, which Jon somewhat doubted because of the god’s fatalistic nature.

“I see that you have fulfilled your duties despite your reluctance. That you have taken pride in the life of one who was once a victim, and who has now woven vengeance against an entire race,” he explained cryptically.

Jon took a moment to understand what he meant.

“Oh, you mean Myrina! Yeah, I just forwarded her request to the Grand Duke. If he approves it, we’ll have far fewer problems with hags.”

Jergal blinked once. Then twice.

“The day you saved her life not once, but twice, you irreversibly altered her fate. Had you not intervened, there would have only been another hag. Neither strong nor weak. Merely another creature destined to live as the rest of her kind. Your hand has shaped her destiny, and the destinies of all those whose paths shall cross hers.”

Despite only understanding about half of what he had just said, Jon nodded.

“I only understood part of that, but I’ll take it as a compliment. I’ve gotta go now. See you later.”

“And remember, Arabella and Yenna are making the stew today!” Jon reminded him.

After finishing his conversation with Withers, Jon continued toward the Elfsong Tavern, only to be stopped momentarily by a messenger handing him a letter.

A letter whose sender was someone he had not seen in years…

Elfsong Tavern

“All right, fuckers! It’s been fun, but it’s time to call it a night!” Jon laughed, taking a massive swig from his beer mug.

“You are right, my friend! And that is why Minsc shall drink the entire barrel and leave you thirsty all night long!” the Rashemi declared cheerfully, right before chugging an entire barrel of beer.

On the other side of the tavern, Shadowheart and Astarion watched the scene with amused smiles.

“You know,” Astarion said, never taking his eyes off them, “Jon is probably the only one besides Wyll who even remotely resembles a stable person, and yet he still drinks like a dwarf who’s just been given permission to touch alcohol for the first time,” he commented while idly swirling his wine glass.

“To each their own,” the half-elf shrugged before taking a drink from her tankard. “Besides, remember how short he was when we first met him? Maybe he really is just a particularly tall dwarf,” she joked.

Astarion laughed, a genuine, heartfelt laugh.

“How could I forget the naïve fourteen-year-old carrying a sword taller than himself? Or rather, both of his swords, if the noises you make at night are anything to judge by,” he teased.

In response, Shadowheart dumped the contents of her mug over Astarion’s head, making him hiss in surprise and outrage.

“Well, at least my noises are cuter than yours,” the cleric shot back with a smirk.

“That was imported silk! Do you have any idea how expensive this is?!”

“Pfft, please. We both know those are somebody else’s clothes,” she replied, tilting her head aside and dodging the three daggers the vampire spawn hurled at her.

What she didn’t dodge, however, was the high elf himself launching across the table and tackling her to the floor.

“I’ll show you somebody else’s clothes, half-bitch!” Astarion threatened dramatically, only for Shadowheart to drive her knee straight between his legs.

He groaned in agony but endured long enough to grab his wine glass and smash it over her head.

“FUCK!” Shadowheart shouted, shoving him away from her.

“All right, all right, kids. Please stop before you destroy my favorite tavern. I really don’t want to pay for damages. Again,” Jon intervened, grabbing both of them by the collars like misbehaving toddlers.

“Excuse me? We pay for damages. We share finances!” Shadowheart exclaimed with mock indignation.

“I’ll start using ‘we’ when you stop making us poor,” he shot back with a grin.

“Why you little-”

Jon interrupted her with a kiss and she surrendered immediately and kissed him back.

When they finally pulled apart, she looked at him with amusement.

“You win, husband. I hope you’re happy.”

Grinning, he kissed her cheek once more.

“Very.”

Still, Shadowheart noticed that Jon’s smile seemed strained, almost forced.

“Jon... is everything okay?”

He hesitated for a moment, surprised she had noticed so quickly. He glanced toward Astarion and Minsc, only to find the same concern mirrored on their faces.

Jon sighed and sat down.

“I was planning to tell you later, but I guess now works too.” He pulled out the letter and showed it to them.

Its seal bore the image of a direwolf.

“On my way here, I ran into a messenger. He handed me this letter and... well, see for yourselves.”

He passed it to his wife, who quickly read through it.

“Your family is inviting you to your brother’s twentieth birthday? That doesn’t sound like bad news. Honestly, I thought this was about Minthara, Wyll, Karlach, or Lae’zel,” she admitted after finishing.

The reason they worried so much about those four was because the party had split up twice.

The first time had been immediately after defeating the Absolute. Wyll and Karlach had gone to Avernus to hunt devils and search for a cure for her Infernal Engine, while Lae’zel had joined the rebellion against Vlaakith.

The second split had happened ten months ago.

Jon had begun considering the expansion of Baldur’s Gate’s territories, and Minthara had seized the opportunity to reveal that the followers of Eilistraee had contacted her with plans to conquer Menzoberranzan and finally break Lolth’s hold over the Underdark.

To say Jon had been shocked that Minthara wanted to conquer her homeland and hand it over to him was an understatement.

The proud and powerful Minthara wanted to claim her own city through blood and steel alongside the followers of Eilistraee… only to place it under his rule?

As surprised as he had been, Jon made little effort to dissuade her. He understood better than anyone how much she valued freedom of choice, and this was her choice.

“Minthara, Lae’zel, Wyll, and Karlach are fine. They can handle themselves,” Jon muttered. “I just... I don’t know if I can go back there.”

He rubbed his face tiredly.

“I left Winterfell for a reason. For fourteen years, Lord Stark lied to me about my mother. He knew it was the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world besides being a Stark, and he kept it from me. When I found out... I exploded. Fourteen years of resentment all unleashed at once.”

His foot tapped anxiously against the floor.

Even after five years, he still hated the way he had behaved as a teenager.

“I stole a horse, grabbed the biggest sword in the armory, and spent all my savings on a ship just to get away with no real destination in mind. You have no idea how badly I want to kick my younger self for how stupid that ‘plan’ was.”

He took a slow breath to calm himself before continuing.

“And the king is coming. The same king who killed my father. The man who kidnapped, raped, and murdered my mother, abandoned his wife and children, laughed while my half-siblings were butchered, and married the daughter of the man responsible!” He dragged a hand down his face in frustration and groaned.

His wife and friends remained silent for a long moment, processing everything he had just said.

Eventually, Astarion was the first to speak.

“Do you want revenge?” he asked quietly. “Because if that’s the case, you’ll need more than a dagger and motivation to slit a king’s throat.”

Jon waved the suggestion away like an annoying insect.

“He may have laughed at their deaths and all that, but I’m not delusional enough to pretend Rhaegar’s death wasn’t a fair fight or that King Robert and Lord Stark didn’t have legitimate reasons to go to war. But one, that doesn’t mean I want to be in the same room as him, and two, returning after all these years is going to be an incredibly awkward conversation.”

“But you’ll have to go back eventually,” Shadowheart said gently. “You can’t just ignore your family when they want you there. Out of all of us, you’re the only one besides Wyll and Jaheira who still has a family. And Wyll can’t even see his father even if he wanted to.”

Minsc nodded emphatically.

“Shadowheart is right, my friend! Minsc knows that bonds are the foundation upon which people are built! The bond between Minsc and Boo is proof enough!”

Jon bit the inside of his cheek slightly, clearly realizing he was outnumbered.

“You do realize Westeros only has humans, magic has practically disappeared there, and I still have duties as both a bureaucrat and future Grand Duke, right? Not to mention that Lae’zel and Minthara are still in contact with me.”

“You can ask Wyll and Jaheira to handle your affairs while you’re gone,” Astarion replied before sipping his wine. “I’m sure the Grand Duke would love to spend some time with his son.”

Seeing Jon raise an eyebrow, the vampire spawn continued.

“Need I remind you that one of the first three gods in existence casually wanders around your fortress? Don’t tell me it’s never crossed your mind to ask him for help,” he said skeptically.

“You know I don’t ask for favors unless it’s absolutely necessary!” Jon defended himself.

“You asked me to babysit Arabella and Yenna while you and your wife had fun on the roof of a tower,” Astarion deadpanned.

“That happened years ago and only once,” Jon muttered, suddenly avoiding eye contact.

“It happened the day before yesterday, and it was the seventh time,” Shadowheart corrected him immediately.

“Whose side are you on?” Jon groaned.

“The side that pisses you off the most.”

Jon let out a long suffering groan before finally giving up and slamming his forehead against the table.

“We need to discuss how we’re going to behave once we get to Westeros,” he mumbled at last.

The pale elf blinked once. Then twice.

“I beg your pardon, did you just say we? Ah, I see. You meant Shadowheart.”

“I meant the four of us, idiot,” Jon replied, lifting his head to glare at him. “If I’m going, we’re all going.”

Stunned, Astarion looked toward the cleric and then the Rashemi, but both simply shrugged.

“With all due respect,” Astarion began slowly, “how exactly do you intend to bring a vampire spawn into a land of eternal summer without expecting him to burst into flames? And how exactly will you explain these?” he added, pointing at his pointed ears.

“The people of Westeros have never seen a Faerûnian before. We’ll just say the ears are a unique trait,” the nineteen-year-old answered casually. “As for the sun… Gale and Rolan can probably create some kind of potion to suppress the effects. We’re not leaving tomorrow, so they’ll have time. Though I’d recommend clothes that cover your entire body.”

“Always so quick with solutions whenever it involves screwing me over,” Astarion sighed annoyed, rolling his eyes, though he offered no further objections.

“And since Boo is apparently one of the most magical beings alive, I expect you to keep an eye on him while we’re there, Minsc. Understood?” Jon added.

Minsc nearly jumped out of his seat in excitement.

“REALLY?! BOO CAN COME?!”

The future Grand Duke smiled and nodded, only to immediately get tackled into a crushing hug across the table.

“OH THANK YOU!!! YOU ARE MINSC’S THIRD BEST FRIEND AFTER BOO AND JAHEIRA!!!”

Despite the severe lack of oxygen reaching his lungs, Jon still managed to pat Minsc on the back affectionately.

Wyrm’s Rock Fortress, Jon and Shadowheart's room

“Sooo, exactly how long do we have before we leave?” Shadowheart asked while her husband held her close after their... passional night. “Portals and teleportation magic are off-limits, and we still need to plan the route and prepare everything in time, or we’ll end up being late.”

Already half-asleep, Jon opened his eyes and answered in a slightly grumpy tone.

“Two weeks. Tomorrow, the Grand Duke is going to publicly approve my proposal, and I’ll need to organize everything so it runs smoothly while I’m away. Then we still have to find a ship, hire a crew, and pack our things.”

“And are you really sure you want to issue the decree? This isn’t something that’ll only affect the history of Baldur’s Gate; it’ll affect the entire Sword Coast,” she added worriedly.

Jon’s arm tightened slightly around Shadowheart’s waist, a silent sign of the conviction behind his decision.

“Good,” he replied solemnly. “That’ll make the message easier to send.”

He took a deep breath and let go of his wife before lying back and staring at the ceiling.

“The Absolute Crisis alone would already be enough reason to push this edict through. But we have an entire history of gods destroying hundreds of thousands of mortal lives on a whim. I refuse to let mortals remain beneath their yoke forever.”

Even though she did not entirely agree with him, Shadowheart simply sighed.

“Just promise me you won’t regret it afterward.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

The next few minutes passed in silence as they both tried to fall asleep, until something suddenly crossed Jon’s mind.

“You know you’ll have to use ‘Jenevelle’ while we’re in Westeros, right?”

“Fuuuuuck meee,” she groaned.

In response, Jon merely shrugged.

“Well, I’m hardly in any position to refuse such a request.”

And with that, they resumed where they had left off.

The day after, Wyrm's Rock Fortress, Audience hall

Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard sat upon his throne, surveying everyone gathered before him. They stood arranged in two long rows on either side of the Iron Throne.

Not far from the dais, Jon, his wife Shadowheart, and Florrick watched the scene with palpable tension.

Clearing his throat, Ravengard rose to his feet and began to speak.

“Good people of Baldur’s Gate! It has been three years since the Absolute Crisis. Three years since our city was devastated. Three years since our friends, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters died at the hands of the Cult of the Dead Three.”

His voice thundered through the hall.

“And what did the gods do? Selûne, Lathander, Corellon Larethian, Gond, Helm, Ilmater, Mystra, and Silvanus aided us! They paved the path and guided our heroes to victory, and we survived because of them!”

He slammed a fist against the armrest of his throne.

“But can the same be said of Talos? Of Shar? Of Cyric? None of them helped! They abandoned their own followers and our city alike, even after we tolerated their worship within our walls! Does their ingratitude know no bounds?!”

Murmurs immediately spread through the court.

It was no secret that many cults had begun to dwindle after the crisis, both because of the staggering death toll and because countless worshippers had lost faith.

'The latest census revealed the highest number of apostates in Baldur’s Gate’s history. Perhaps that’s why Jon was confident when he proposed the ban', the Grand Duke thought grimly before continuing.

“And do you wish to know the worst part?” Ravengard continued. “This is not even the first time we have suffered because of these gods! The Absolute Crisis came at the hands of Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul! Shar unleashed the Shadow Curse upon Moonrise Towers and conspired with Cyric to murder Mystra! The Dead Three caused the Time of Troubles itself when they stole from Ao!”

“It’s true!” one member of the court muttered.

“Why are their cults even still allowed here?! We should have outlawed them decades ago!” shouted another.

“If it weren’t for the Heroes of the Gate, all of Faerûn would’ve become the Dead Three’s playground!”

Seeing the emotions in the room beginning to boil over, the Grand Duke gestured for Jon to step forward and deliver his speech.

“You all know who I am,” Jon began, meeting the eyes of everyone present. “You know what my companions and I have done. What we witnessed. What we endured.”

His voice grew colder.

“The gods have shown us both of their faces: mercy… and tyranny. Since the dawn of time, mortals have bent to their will, hoping to receive their blessings in return. And for some, it worked. Selûne. Lathander. But not for Myrkul. Not for Cyric. Not for Talos.”

He paced slowly before the throne as the tension in the hall intensified, a growing fire appearing in the eyes of the gathered crowd.

Then he pointed toward the city beyond the castle walls.

“Talos is right out there! His followers were here when the Absolute invaded our city! Tell me: what did he do?!”

“NOTHING!” the crowd roared in unison.

“Since coming here, I have learned the history of Baldur’s Gate. I know all about the Bhaalspawn Crisis. I know of the wars that tore Faerûn apart because of Bhaal’s children. We have all suffered from the return of the Cult of Murder lurking beneath our very city!”

His voice rose into a furious roar.

“But I tell you this, today, it ends. TODAY IS THE DAY BALDUR’S GATE BECOMES OURS AGAIN!”

He thrust his fist into the air as the entire court erupted into applause.

“Lord Greatwolf is right! We have spent centuries beneath their tyranny! It is time to teach the gods their place!” one noble shouted.

“You have my sword! I want to personally behead a Bhaalist!” another roared.

Seeing how firmly the court stood behind him, Jon finally raised a hand to continue.

“The ingratitude of these gods will be punished. On that, there can be no compromise,” he declared. “But I also know that some of them, however evil they may be, cannot be provoked recklessly without risking our destruction — especially those who have not wronged us as directly as the others have.”

He paused briefly.

“The good and neutral gods stand with us… but some among the darker powers must as well. Therefore, the temples of Auril, Beshaba, Umberlee, and Tiamat will be permitted to remain.”

Some in the crowd looked dissatisfied, but not enough to oppose him.

It was done.

Jon had taken the first step toward freeing his home from evil.

Now it was time for the second.

To say Jon was tense would have been an understatement.

He wore the full Helldusk set and held Nyrulna tightly in his hands. The tension running through him was so intense that he barely noticed when Halsin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Jon looked the druid straight in the eyes before turning his attention back to the soldiers standing before him.

Five hundred of them, Harpers, members of the Watch, and Flaming Fist mercenaries. Shadowheart, Gale, Astarion, and Minsc were there as well... along with Jaheira’s children, Rion and Jord.

'If my children come back with even a scratch, I’ll rip your heart out, force-feed it to you, then shove vines down both your mouth and your ass so they stay inside. Have. I. Made. Myself. Clear?'

The memory of Jaheira’s threat, or rather, promise, was still painfully fresh in Jon’s mind.

“Of course Jaheira had to make everything violent,” he muttered under his breath. “She knows I’ll protect them.”

“So...” Gale began, using the tone reserved for difficult or deeply awkward conversations, “I don’t expect you to back down, nor do I believe I can convince you otherwise. I know you too well for that. But are you truly certain you understand what you’re doing? This isn’t about opposing one or two gods anymore. This is a full-blown holy war against a third of the pantheon.”

“I know exactly what I’m walking into, Gale,” Jon replied firmly. “And I also know that if I don’t do this, nobody else will. The gods owe us a debt, and it’s time they repaid it.”

“And razing temples, shattering the balance between mortals and gods, and openly waging war against them counts as repayment?” Halsin asked carefully.

“I don’t know,” Jon admitted. “But is a god who demands human sacrifice and rewards you with the incredible privilege of not murdering you, your loved ones, and your home really a god worthy of worship? A god that deserves a place in Baldur’s Gate?”

Halsin and Gale exchanged a glance before slowly nodding.

“Fair point.”

As the conversation ended, the army noticed a winged knight descending from the heavens before landing directly in front of Jon, drawing a faint smile from the young man.

“You know you’re late, right?” he teased while approaching Dame Aylin. “Did Isobel keep you that long?”

The Daughter of the Moon removed her helmet and offered him her forearm.

“Speaking with your mother becomes a rather lengthy affair when said mother is a goddess.”

Jon accepted the gesture happily.

“It’s good to see you. How’s Isobel?”

Aylin’s eyes softened immediately at the mention of her wife.

“She is at Selûne’s temple, praying for the success of your mission.”

Then her expression turned more serious.

“But I must know, are you absolutely certain about this? Even Selûne herself is uncertain about the consequences of your crusade.”

Jon nodded without the slightest trace of hesitation.

“Absolutely. I won’t back down from them.”

Aylin gave a solemn nod.

“Very well. My mother acted as intermediary between myself and the other gods. Many of them support your cause. My mother grants you her blessing. As do Lathander, Bahamut, Torm, Tyr, Mielikki, Tempus and...” she hesitated slightly, “...Sune.”

The hesitation did not escape Jon’s notice.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh... no. Let’s just say Sune has shown herself to be particularly enthusiastic about your endeavor and has taken a... certain interest in you,” Aylin admitted awkwardly.

Jon stared at her for several seconds before finally speaking.

“She does know I’m married, right?”

“She does. Shadowheart is invited as well. Her exact words were, ‘the more, the merrier.’”

For a long moment, Jon could do nothing except stare blankly at his friend in complete silence.

Eventually, he managed to speak again.

“I’ll... discuss it with my wife. But-”

“She’s interested in you, yes, but you’ll still have her support regardless of your answer,” Aylin clarified immediately.

“Good. Good,” Jon muttered awkwardly.

An uncomfortable silence lingered between them for a while before Jon finally gathered enough courage to speak again.

“We should get moving. Temples and cults aren’t going to destroy themselves.”

The demigoddess nodded and joined Jon at the head of the gathered soldiers.

Their first target awaited them.

The Temple of Talos.

Talos Temple

“This is your last chance! Surrender and abandon the temple peacefully, or we will force you to leave it!” Jon’s voice thundered from behind his helmet and echoed through the temple walls as he stood at the head of his battalion. Every soldier was in position, weapons drawn and ready.

No answer came from the Temple of Talos.

Instead, the massive doors slowly opened, and a woman stepped outside. She was a wood elf with oak-colored skin and eyes filled with contempt.

She glared at Jon and his soldiers before shouting, “How dare you order us to abandon the temple of the Destroyer?! Leave now, and perhaps Talos will spare this city from being wiped off the map!”

At the provocation, Jon calmly walked toward her, spinning Nyrulna in one hand.

“So that is your useless god’s idea of mercy?” he asked coldly. “Perhaps there are too many lightning bolts rattling around in your skull for you to understand this, but the fact that this is the best Talos can offer as kindness is exactly why he and his cult are banned from Baldur’s Gate.”

He stopped only a few steps away and leveled the trident at her.

“Surrender. Take your followers and leave my city. Do that, and no harm will come to you.”

Suddenly, Nyrulna and Jon’s armor became wrapped in a thin but clearly visible layer of hellfire.

“Or resist. Fight and die while helplessly watching us destroy your temple, shatter Talos’s statues, and burn every tapestry, book, and scroll dedicated to him.”

The look in his eyes made it abundantly clear he meant every word.

The High Priestess clenched her teeth, glaring at him with pure hatred.

“You forget your place, mortal.”

She cast Investiture of Wind and rose into the air, never breaking eye contact with him.

“I am Raloquinal Arevi, Stormherald of Talos, God of Storms, Destroyer of Nature, and Manifestation of the World’s Wrath!”

She raised her right hand, lightning crackling violently around her fingers.

“AND YOU DARE DISRESPECT A GOD AS THOUGH YOU WERE HIS EQUAL?!”

She cast Call Lightning directly at Jon, fully expecting the bolt to reduce him to ash the instant it struck.

Lightning descended from the heavens with explosive force, kicking up powerful gusts of wind and a massive cloud of dust as it slammed into him.

When the dust finally cleared, a small crater surrounded Jon… but he stood entirely unharmed.

Even his armor remained intact.

Shock spread across the faces of everyone watching from inside the temple, while Jon merely smiled beneath his helmet.

Raloquinal’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her mouth hung open as she watched Jon casually twirl Nyrulna to disperse the dust around him.

“My turn now.”

Hellfire erupted from his Helldusk Boots as he launched himself toward her.

Before the Stormherald could react, Jon released Nyrulna to float in midair and seized both her arms, twisting them violently until they snapped.

She screamed in agony, but the sound was abruptly cut off when Nyrulna impaled her through the stomach from behind.

Jon recalled the trident, ripped it free from her body, then smashed his helmet into her face with a brutal headbutt before letting her fall.

She hit the ground dead, collapsing into a pool of her own blood.

The moment the Talassans saw their Stormherald die so effortlessly, the temple doors and windows burst open as volleys of lightning-charged arrows, bolts, and spells rained down upon Jon’s forces.

Gale and Halsin reacted instantly, conjuring a massive Wall of Stone to block the barrage.

“Astarion, would you be so kind as to do the thing while we distract them?” Gale asked politely.

The vampire spawn flicked two fingers from his brow.

“With pleasure.”

He vanished from sight and slipped toward the temple.

As Astarion disappeared, Shadowheart noticed several Talassans charging out through the entrance.

“Spellcasters and archers! Suppression fire!” she shouted.

She immediately cast Silence, preventing the enemy clerics from using protective magic.

From above, Jon watched the battle intensify as Talassans fell one after another, though their fanaticism drove them to continue fighting regardless.

Gripping Nyrulna tightly, he dove straight toward the temple entrance.

He impaled one human through the chest and incinerated another with Immolating Gaze, reducing the screaming man to ash within seconds.

Jon stared at the remaining defenders from behind his helmet, Nyrulna still dripping with Arevi’s blood.

“You do not have to fight for a god who only takes from you and never rewards you,” he declared. “If you truly wish to dedicate your lives to his worship, then do so elsewhere — but not within this city.”

He genuinely attempted to reason with them.

Their response was to tighten their grips on their weapons and point them directly at him.

Seeing that Jon had created an opening, Gale and Halsin dismissed the Wall of Stone and led the battalion into the temple to support him.

Two Talassans attempted to flank Jon simultaneously, but he moved too quickly, dodging both attacks effortlessly. He grabbed the one on his left and hurled him into the other before throwing Nyrulna and pinning them both to the floor. The trident instantly returned to his outstretched hand.

A dwarf paladin tried to hamstring him from behind, but Halsin — now in massive bear form — lunged forward and bit clean through the dwarf’s skull.

Nearby, a half-orc cleric began casting Insect Plague, targeting Jon and Halsin, but Gale immediately countered it with Counterspell.

The half-orc attempted to flee, only to freeze in place under Shadowheart’s Hold Person.

The last remaining cleric, desperation written across her face, raised her hands toward the heavens.

“Great Talos, Destroyer of Faerûn, Leader of the Gods of Fury, punish this insolent mortal for profaning this holy place and seeking to destroy this city—AUGH!”

Her prayer ended in a wet choke as Astarion appeared behind her and slit her throat.

“Mmph. Next time, less talking and more stabbing,” he quipped, wiping blood from his dagger before turning toward the remaining defenders. “I strongly suggest surrender unless you’re interested in developing additional holes.”

The surviving Talassans finally realized resistance was hopeless.

Weapons clattered to the floor.

Once the remaining clerics and paladins were restrained, Jon unfurled a scroll and cast Zone of Truth.

“I love this spell,” he remarked smiling. “Now tell us everything about this temple, including anything valuable hidden inside.”

A dragonborn paladin spoke first, visibly trembling against the magic’s influence.

“We kept women and children in a hidden chamber... captured them... converted them...”

Jon’s fury nearly boiled over.

“What do you mean by converted?” he demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.

The dragonborn shook violently.

“We... hypnotized them... or tortured them...”

Without hesitation, Jon drove his trident straight through the dragonborn’s throat.

The paladin collapsed instantly.

“Did the rest of you know about this?” Jon asked the others icily.

“Y-yes...” another cultist stammered. “We all participated.”

“Where are they?” Shadowheart demanded urgently.

“Secret room... behind Talos’s statue...”

Jon turned toward one of the Watch soldiers.

“Chain them and load them onto the prison carts. If any of them so much as breathes wrong, kill them.”

The soldier nodded grimly.

Upon reaching Talos’s massive statue, Jon, Aylin, and Shadowheart discovered dozens of prisoners hidden behind it, men, women, and children, all visibly starving. Every adult bore scars both fresh and old.

Shadowheart stepped forward first, raising her hands peacefully.

“It’s alright. Everything’s alright now. No one is going to hurt you anymore.”

A small half-orc boy hesitantly looked up at them.

“H-have the loud men gone away?”

Jon managed a reassuring smile.

“Yes,” he answered softly. “Forever.”

For the first time in who knew how long, the boy smiled.

Once every prisoner had been freed, Aylin, Jon, Halsin, and Minsc wrapped thick ropes around Talos’s massive stone statue.

Together, they pulled until the idol groaned, toppled over, and shattered apart, drawing cheers and relieved cries from the freed captives.

After the fall of Talos’s church, Jon and his forces continued their campaign against the remaining evil-aligned temples.

The assault on Malar’s temple proved catastrophic; savage beasts devoured more than half the battalion.

The churches of Loviatar and Bane surrendered far more quickly after recognizing Gortash’s killer leading the assault. The Myrkulites wisely did the same after realizing they were in front of the destroyer of their god’s avatar.

Jon imprisoned those who surrendered.

He executed those who resisted.

And he tore down every blasphemous statue in his path.

But the worst came on the road to Bhaal’s temple.

The Bhaalists hid within the shadows, striking unexpectedly and inflicting horrific losses upon Jon’s forces.

Screams, laughter, and the sounds of flesh being pierced echoed endlessly through Jon’s mind.

Within a single hour, he had lost another hundred and ninety soldiers. Those who remained were exhausted, bloodied, and demoralized.

It only strengthened his resolve.

By the time they reached the Temple of Bhaal, Jon advanced with only Halsin, Aylin, and Astarion beside him. Shadowheart, Gale, and Minsc remained behind to establish a perimeter and ensure no Bhaalists escaped.

Once inside, Jon sent Halsin and Ghost ahead to scout.

“See anything, Ghost?” Halsin asked while in bear form.

The direwolf growled.

“No. There’s too much blood here for my nose to track anything. Didn’t Jon give you a See Invisibility scroll?”

Halsin shifted back into elven form and rummaged through his bag for the scroll.

But before he could activate it, Ghost suddenly lunged toward him.

Halsin barely had time to react before realizing the direwolf was not attacking him, but the invisible Bhaalist behind him.

Ghost tore out the assassin’s throat just as dozens more cultists emerged from the shadows and attacked.

Transforming back into a bear, Halsin roared and charged alongside Ghost, hoping the others would hear the fighting.

They did.

The moment Jon heard Halsin’s roar, his blood ran cold.

Drawing Gontr Mael, he cast Celestial Haste and flew forward at terrifying speed.

The instant he saw Ghost surrounded by six Bhaalists, he fired three arrows into them before burning the remaining assassins alive with Scorching Rays.

“GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY DIREWOLF!” he roared while landing in the middle of the battlefield.

Meanwhile, Astarion and Aylin rushed to assist Halsin. Astarion slit one cultist’s throat in a blur of motion while Aylin decapitated two others. Halsin finished the last with a crushing swipe of his claws.

“Be careful! They’re everywhere!” Halsin warned as he shifted back into elven form.

As though summoned by his words, nearly fifty Bhaalists emerged from the darkness wielding blades, axes, bows, crossbows, and spells.

To buy time, Jon activated a Wall of Force scroll, trapping the five of them within a protective sphere.

The cultists crowded around the barrier immediately, some even climbing atop it.

“I assume it’s too much to hope you have more than one of those scrolls?” Astarion asked dryly.

“No,” Jon replied. “They’re hard enough to buy already. Wizards get very protective about combat spells. I only got this one because Gale found it in an old chest.”

“What’s the plan?” Aylin asked. “I can’t kill them and protect all of you at the same time.”

Jon gripped Nyrulna as flames spread across his armor.

“One that’s easier to do than explain,” he answered. “You and Halsin take Ghost and Astarion and get out of here. I’ll stay behind and wipe these vermin out myself.”

Aylin looked horrified.

“You’re joking. There are nearly fifty Bhaalists out there willing to die just to kill you.”

“The same can be said about me.”

Ghost immediately growled.

“There’s no way I’m leaving you behind!”

Astarion stepped in front of Jon with theatrical frustration.

“And pray tell, how exactly are we supposed to escape this lovely little bubble without being turned into pincushions? Or better yet, how do you expect us to survive a STORM OF LIGHTNING AND HELLFIRE?!”

With a groan, Jon extinguished the flames and ran an armored hand over his helmet.

“Aylin flies Ghost out. Halsin turns into a horse and carries you.”

Astarion thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

“Mhm, fascinating plan. One minor issue: how exactly do we leave this three-meter sphere without becoming extra crispy or resembling particularly artistic cheese?”

Jon simply pointed downward.

Astarion followed his gesture toward the softening ground beneath them before staring back at him in complete exasperation.

“I hate you.”

Outside the barrier, the Bhaalists grew increasingly nervous as the earth beneath Jon’s allies softened and swallowed them underground — leaving only the heretic standing alone in demonic armor with Nyrulna floating behind him.

Then the Wall of Force began to dissolve.

Nyrulna spun so rapidly its blades faded, infernal flames engulfing the weapon completely, forming a fire wheel.

A blade of pure darkness formed in Jon’s free hand as he lowered himself into a combat stance.

“Any last words?”

Dozens of cultists charged him immediately.

They had numbers.

They had madness.

Jon had skill.

And more importantly…

He had hatred.

He decapitated the first cultist instantly and incinerated two more with his free hand while Nyrulna tore through ten Bhaalists at once, burning their corpses black as coal.

He punched through another assassin’s stomach, grabbed the spine inside, and ripped it free from the body.

He hoped the brutality might intimidate them.

It didn’t.

They were far too insane for fear.

Jon continued slaughtering them relentlessly, bisecting one, incinerating another with Immolating Gaze, and impaling a third through the back with Nyrulna without even turning around.

But despite everything, even Baldur’s Gate’s hero had to admit there were simply too many of them.

'Three more minutes, he thought desperately. That should be enough time for them to get far enough away and then I can—'

“ARGH!”

Agonizing pain exploded through his side.

A hidden Bhaalist had slipped past his guard and stabbed him with a magical dagger.

Then one wound became ten.

Nearly every organ in his body was pierced, blood spilling from Jon’s mouth.

“Thank you, Bhaal, for this gift!” one cultist screamed joyfully.

“Thank you, Orin, for softening the flesh!” shouted another.

“May his blood bathe us all!” cried a third.

Growling in fury, Jon recalled Nyrulna and slammed it outward, unleashing a thunderous shockwave that hurled the Bhaalists backward. Several were torn apart instantly by the force.

The air around him became unbearably hot.

The Bhaalists watched as flames flickered violently around Jon’s body.

He slowly rose into the air, releasing Nyrulna to hover behind him as it spun through the flames.

“You fucking Bhaalists...” Jon whispered from behind his helmet.

“BURN IN THE HELLS!”

A massive inferno erupted outward from his body.

Hellfire and divine winds consumed the entire chamber, vaporizing every Bhaalist within seconds so completely that not even ashes remained.

The explosion, fueled by the infernal power of the Helldusk Armor and the divine winds of Nyrulna, proved too much for the Temple of Bhaal to withstand.

The structure began collapsing around him.

Jon dodged falling debris while flying desperately toward the exit, but his injuries were finally catching up to him.

“Fuck...” he groaned weakly as his body began to fall.

He had lost too much blood.

He could barely stay conscious.

'Can’t... not now... not when they...'

Summoning every ounce of willpower left within him, Jon forced himself toward the entrance.

Then he heard it.

A massive section of the temple ceiling broke loose above him.

It was too large.

And he was too slow.

Jon knew he could not dodge it in time.

All he could do now was survive.

With trembling hands, he grabbed his final Potion of Supreme Healing and crushed it in his fist, letting the magic flow through his body moments before the collapsing temple and the ground rushed up to meet him.

Shadowheart felt a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. Two hours had passed without any word from Jon, and the worst part was not being there with him.

“Dammit...” she muttered, frowning as her restless pacing echoed through the camp.

Sensing her distress, Gale approached carefully. “Hey, don’t worry. We’re talking about Jon. He’ll be perfectly fine,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“He is right! Boo knows Jon is stronger than all of us! He will not die!” Minsc added with unwavering conviction, though his words did little to ease her anxiety.

She sighed heavily and finally stopped pacing. “I know. But we’re talking about Bhaalists. You remember what Orin did to him, don’t you?” she asked quietly, her eyes meeting theirs.

Both Gale and Minsc immediately looked away. That memory remained one of the darkest moments of their lives.

The howl of a direwolf suddenly cut through the silence.

Ghost came sprinting toward them as fast as he could, followed closely by Halsin, Astarion, and Aylin.

The moment Shadowheart realized Jon was not with them, her heart skipped a beat.

“What the fuck happened!?” she shouted, rushing toward them.

“The Bhaalists ambushed us,” Halsin explained grimly. “They surrounded us, and Jon trapped them behind a barrier to protect us. When it fell, he stayed behind so we could escape.”

No one had time to respond before the air around them suddenly grew unbearably hot. A deafening explosion echoed in the distance.

Every single one of them recognized the sound immediately.

Jon.

“GALE! GET US TO JON! NOW!”

“At once!” Gale replied, teleporting the group directly to the entrance of the Temple of Bhaal.

Without waiting for the others, Shadowheart sprinted inside.

All she found was rubble.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest as she frantically searched the destroyed chamber. Then she saw it: a gauntleted hand sticking out from beneath the debris.

She would have recognized that armor anywhere.

Shadowheart immediately dropped to her knees and began desperately pulling away stones until the rubble became too heavy for her to move alone. Thankfully, Gale and the others arrived moments later.

“Allow me,” the wizard said.

With a wave of his hand, Gale levitated the largest chunks of stone away from Jon’s body.

The moment he was free, Shadowheart crouched beside him and grabbed his face gently.

“Hey. Jon, can you hear me? Jon!” She pressed two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse.

It was there. Too weak to calm her. Far too weak.

“Okay... okay, he needs healing.” Panic edged her voice as she immediately cast her most powerful healing spell, sealing the worst of his wounds.

A moment later, Jon began coughing violently, groaning as his body jerked weakly.

Shadowheart realized he was still wearing his helmet.

“He can’t breathe properly,” she muttered, quickly removing it.

The nineteen-year-old slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurry as he stared at the indistinct shapes of his friends.

“W-water...” he whispered weakly.

Halsin immediately helped him drink.

Once Jon was sitting upright, Shadowheart looked at him with eyes full of worry.

“How do you feel?”

After several long breaths, he finally answered, “I’ve had worse days.”

Overjoyed to see his human alive, Ghost rushed toward him and began licking his face relentlessly.

“I’m so happy you’re okay!” the direwolf cried happily.

Jon laughed weakly until a sharp pain shot through his chest, forcing him to wince.

“Maybe we should postpone the cuddling until later,” he groaned. “Can someone help me up?”

Aylin was the first to step forward, helping him stand and supporting him as they slowly began walking away from the ruins.

“So...” Jon asked weakly, smirking beneath the exhaustion, “did Shadowheart and I impress Sune?”

“Save your strength,” Aylin replied dryly. “I might need your mouth for your favorite activities later.”

Jon blinked. “Now you’re just making it weird.”

He glanced toward Shadowheart, who walked beside him while repeatedly throwing worried looks his way.

“You know I’ve survived worse, right?”

“You know I don’t give a fuck, right?!” she snapped immediately. “You’re a reckless idiot who stops thinking the second he has a fucking sword in his hand.”

“Easy now,” Jon teased weakly. “You know you love me.”

“One more stupid comment and I’ll cut off the part that defines you,” she threatened.

Jon gave her an arrogant grin. “You’d never give up-”

“I was talking about your hair,” she interrupted flatly.

Pure panic instantly appeared on Jon’s face.

“And this,” he muttered, “is where I shut up.”

That was the last thing he said before they finally emerged back onto the surface.

Jon kept smiling the entire way.

He did it.

He defeated the gods.

He freed Baldur’s Gate, his home, from their tyranny.

He knew not all of his friends agreed with what he had done. He knew that.

But he also knew he had done the right thing.

The night later

After raising a solemn monument to the fallen, the city finally erupted into a joyous celebration, reveling in the banishment of the evil gods. Bards filled the air with lively melodies, and men and women alike danced with reckless abandon, as if it were their last day alive.

Jon sat at a table surrounded by his closest companions: Aylin, Isobel, Halsin, Jaheira, Minsc, Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart.

"So, Jaheira," he began, trying to mask his apprehension, "now that your children are safe, will my heart be allowed to remain in my chest?"

The Harper slowly sipped her wine, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I suppose I cannot deny Baldur's Gate its next Grand Duke," she conceded, drawing a visible sigh of relief from Jon.

"Thank you," he said, raising his tankard in a toast before taking a long draught.

Just then, Grand Duke Ravengard and Councilor Florrick approached their table. "The heroes of the city! Usually, they crave the spotlight, not the fringes of the party," the Grand Duke joked, a warm smile on his lips.

Jon smiled, raising his cup in acknowledgment. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I am a man of action, not words."

Florrick interrupted him with a teasing smirk. "Oh? And what about your speech this morning? Or the rousing one you gave before the battle against the Absolute?"

Jon’s ears flushed red. "Must you bring that up every single time?" he asked sarcastically, before draining his cup.

Florrick merely shrugged. "Only nine times out of eight," she replied, sending a wave of laughter rippling through the group.

The Grand Duke turned his attention back to Jon. "Have you made your decision yet? When do you leave?"

"In about two weeks. I've spoken with the priestesses of Umberlee; they've agreed to guide us to Westeros as thanks for not outlawing their cult." He paused, a crease of disgust forming on his brow. "It still sits ill with me that we must rely on a goddess who takes pleasure in watching us be devoured by sharks."

With a heavy sigh, the Grand Duke agreed. "Sometimes, we must compromise with those we despise in order to move forward."

Suppressing a grimace, Jon decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. "I've spoken with Halsin, Gale, and Jaheira; they'll help you govern the city while I am away. Aylin and Isobel will remain here in case any conflict arises. And if Jergal decides to intervene..."

His words were abruptly cut short by the swirling manifestation of a portal nearby.

Karlach and Wyll stepped through, beaming as they strode toward the group.

"Father!" Wyll exclaimed, a broad smile lighting up his face as he pulled Ravengard into a warm embrace.

"Wyll! What are you doing here, my son? Are you well?" Ravengard asked, his voice thick with surprise.

"I am well, Father. Jon asked us to return to watch over the city in his absence. Karlach's infernal engine will hold steady for several months, so we shouldn't face any issues," Wyll explained.

"I refuse to leave the city without capable protectors, especially now that we've finally rebuilt it," Jon chimed in, turning to greet his friends.

But before he could say another word, Karlach hoisted him into a bone-crushing bear hug. "I missed you so much, Soldier! And now that I'm finally here, you're leaving?!" she cried out, completely oblivious to the alarming, faint cracking sounds coming from Jon's ribs.

"Wyll, please tell your general to release my husband. I'd rather not become a widow after only a year of marriage," Shadowheart quipped, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips.

"Oh, crap! Sorry, Soldier!" Karlach apologized sheepishly, hastily dropping Jon back to his feet as the rest of the table erupted into joyous laughter.

Two weeks later

"I need you to explain to me again: you're leaving the greatest city on the Sword Coast, where you will inherit from the Grand Duke himself, and soon after, have the greatest city in the Underdark under your command, to go to a continent that despises your bastard heritage. And if you present yourself as a member of the former dynasty, you will have to face the new King himself. And if I'm not mistaken, the betrothed of your mother and her brother instigated a rebellion, killing all but three members of your father's family, with you being the fourth, though no one there knows that. And you expect me not to be angry? Jon you should know I've tortured for less," Minthara said, her voice laced with barely suppressed fury and preoccupation.

"I agree. That reeks of ch'raith territory. You cannot simply go there and claim anything! Not to mention you are an istik in his own native land," Lae'zel added, her usual stoicism replaced by a sharp disapproval.

Jon raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not going there for the crown; I remind you that I didn't even want to become the next Grand Duke. I'm going there to celebrate my brother's nameday, stay there for a few weeks at most, and return here. Simple, quick, easy to remember."

The two formidable women exchanged a look, then fixed Jon with a simultaneous question: "Who is accompanying you?"

He offered a proud smile. "Shadowheart, Minsc, and Astarion." Those names didn’t convince them at all.

"I am sending a drow/githyanki squad for assistance," they declared in unison.

"No! Absolutely not! Westeros is populated solely by humans, with only a small percentage of dwarves on the entire continent. The ship's crew will consist only of humans, dwarves, halflings, and surface elves and half-elves, only those with a human-like appearance," he explained firmly.

Minthara frowned, her usual severe expression deepening. "And what if someone poisons you? Or try to stab you? Or frames you?" she questioned, her voice sharp with concern.

He raised an eyebrow and four fingers as he answered. "First of all, I'll be wearing an armor, so trying to kill assassinate me isn't exactly a walk in the park. Second of all, my swordsmanship is among the best in Faerûn , so fighing won’t be a problem. Third of all, I'm taking a plethora of scrolls, including Zone of Truth. A lot of Zone of Truth. And as for poison, really? Thanks to you, we are practically poison-proof, cook" he retorted with a wry smile.

She considered his points for a moment before nodding reclutantly. "You have a point. But if they attempt anything, especially the royal family, summon us, and we will annex that worthless continent to our territories." Minthara's tone left no room for doubt.

"I'm not going there as a king, but as a bastard. I won't even mention magic or my future role as Grand Duke. They'll likely think I'm insane or, worse, a liar," he protested.

"But you will be a liar if you don't say that," Lae'zel stressed, her githyanki logic unyielding.

He ran a frustrated hand over his face and groaned. "True, but... I just can't. Trust me when I say I simply cannot go there and start killing people. Maybe half a dozen at most," he conceded with a sigh.

They exchanged another look, then nodded in reluctant acceptance before moving on to the next pressing matter. "To whom should we report in your absence?" the drow asked.

"Jaheira," Jon answered simply, and the two women nodded. "You mentioned the ship departs tomorrow. Have you packed everything you and your party require?" Minthara demanded.

Jon nodded. "Everything except Robb's present. I commissioned it from Clan Ironhand and the Gondians, plus a special item for—" He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Lord Greatwolf, this is Zanner and Barcus. We have completed both of your commissions," the gnome leader of the Church of Gond announced from behind the door.

A wide smile spread across Jon's face. "Excellent! Come in and show them to me!" He opened the door, ushering in the two gnomes. He noticed three heavily muscled gnomes bearing the Ironhand insignia were carefully maneuvering a large chest and a smaller, intricately carved box into the room.

The two gnomes bowed their heads respectfully as they entered, their eyes widening slightly as they took in the imposing figures of Lae'zel and Minthara.

"Don't worry. That's their happy face," Jon joked, gesturing towards the two stern women. "So... did you encounter any difficulties at Grymforge?" he asked politely.

They shook their heads in unison. "Not at all. We finished just in time," Barcus replied, moving to open the large chest. It unfolded with a series of intricate clicks and whirs, revealing itself to be a meticulously crafted folding closet, complete with various compartments and hanging rods.

Jon's smile widened at the sight. "What do you think? This is Robb's present!" he exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

The drow watched in stunned silence. "Really?" Minthara finally managed, a hint of amusement in her voice. "When it comes to spending money, you truly operate on an 'all or nothing' principle."

He rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha, ha," he said with exaggerated sarcasm. "What about the other item?" he asked, his anticipation returning.

Zanner gestured to Barcus, who carefully handed him the small box. Zanner opened it, revealing its contents to Jon.

Jon nearly bounced on the balls of his feet like a child on their nameday. He eagerly took the object, inspecting it with fascination. "Awesome! I can fire this six times before reloading, right?" he asked, his eyes gleaming.

Barcus nodded proudly. "Yes, you can. We used lead for the projectiles. They can penetrate any non-magical metal. And we crafted six hundred of them. You'll need smokepowder to use it, but we also designed this to make reloading faster; we call it a speedloader. You load the powder and lead balls into it, then attach it to the weapon, and with a swift motion of your hand, it's loaded and ready to fire. The only drawback is the range; it's most effective within the confines of a room. For long-distance engagements, a bow would be more suitable."

Lae'zel and Minthara examined the unfamiliar object with keen interest. It was smaller than a heavy crossbow but larger than a hand crossbow. Its only similarity to those weapons was the tiller. At the opposite end, six long barrels, each roughly fifteen centimeters long, were clustered together, with a small, intricate piece of metal situated between them.

"A new weapon? Intriguing. What is its designation?" Lae'zel asked, her curiosity evident.

"This is... the Pepperbox!".

One day later

"Is everything ready?" Jon asked the ship's captain, who nodded. "Yes, Lord Greatwolf. We've also brought an Umberlee cleric aboard," he added.

Jon inwardly grimaced, but kept his displeasure hidden. He knew he couldn't interfere with the captain's arrangements. "Good. And what about my friends and my wife?" he inquired.

The captain gestured towards the ship. "On board, my lord. You're the last important passenger," he replied. Jon nodded. "Good, then you are free to sail." With that, he boarded the vessel and joined his wife and companions.

"'The early bird gets the worm' is clearly an unknown proverb to you, isn't it?" Astarion drawled, earning an eye-roll from Jon.

"I won't take lectures from a daylight-allergic twink, Astarion," Jon retorted. "Touché," the vampire spawn murmured.

Jon turned to his wife, a warm smile gracing his lips. "Are you ready, Lady Jenevelle Hallowleaf?" She returned his smile. "Of course, my lord husband. And you?"

He nodded. "Helldusk Armor, Helldusk Helmet, Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength, Amulet of Greater Health, Disintegrating Night Walkers, Shadow Blade ring, Gontr Mael, Nyrulna, the Emperor's sword, five scrolls of spells we might even remotely need, and..." he dramatically produced the Pepperbox. "THIS!"

"Now that is interesting," Astarion commented, his gaze fixed on the new weapon.

"What did you guys bring?" Jon asked, but before anyone could answer, the captain's booming voice announced it was time to cast off.

They shrugged. "Guess we'll tell you in the open sea," Jenevelle said, and everyone unaccustomed to sailing retreated to their cabins.

Only then did Jon feel a wave of anxiety wash over him, more intense than he had anticipated. Please, let nothing bad happen, he silently pleaded to the empty air within his mind. But deep down, he knew better.

Fate was a particular bitch with him.

Especially with him.