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Halsin/Plus-Size Tiefling Reader - "The Canary in the Coal Mine" - Chapter 1 - The Caged Bird Sings

Summary: Your Tiefling clan have successfully managed to capture the Archdruid known as Halsin, imprisoning him in your hideout residing in The Nine Hells. As a guard, your duty requires keeping watch of him in his cell, yet, despite his incessant humming and whistling, he somehow manages to capture your heart, blurring the forbidden line between guard and prisoner.

Tags: Forbidden Love, Prisoner x Guard, Temptation, Flirting, Reader Is Not Tav, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Protectiveness, Eventual Romance

Warnings: Explicit

Author's Notes: Any use of the Infernal language spoken by characters is indicated [“Like this!”] If some of the Tiefling traits, world building, or lore sound kinda off, I’m new to the BG3 series and D&D as a whole. Enjoy yet another story about everyone's favorite Damsel in Distress, Halsin.

Read it on AO3 here!

“I feel that I should say thank you. For whatever you did just then.” You didn't answer, but upon staring you found yourself taken with his features for a moment. His eyes, a strange assortment of colors, but his smile, a rare delicacy. [“Despite your image having been high on our bounty lists for years, I'm surprised. You're actually quite handsome in person… for an elf.”]

A high pitched sound, a whistling, echoed quietly in the cavernous halls leading up to the guardhouse door.

This was… abnormal among the caverns of the Nine Hells. Especially amongst your clan who preferred the crackling of flames to even idle conversation.

As you fetch your keys, unlocking the door opening to the relatively under-used guard house, you're greeted with a sight of your fellow guard slamming her foot against the newly occupied metal cell.

[“Quiet, you imbecile. How many times must I threaten you to stop that haggard squawking?!”]

That earned her the peace she'd required as the room fell silent afterward.

She acknowledged you before you’d the chance to properly greet her, your superior.

[“He's a noisy thing.”] She nodded in his direction as you approached, maintaining a fair distance from the cell. “He” watched you warily from inside as she continued.

[“Constantly talking and chirping. I don't know what he says. Perhaps the surface traveling members would understand him. Regardless, if he gets too noisy, a bit of a threat will get you your way.”]

Looking over him now, he appeared fairly sizable. Tall and muscular in a way you'd not anticipate an elven man to be. He’d worn some form of druid attire, layers with leather bindings, leaves adorning his shoulders, an emblem decorating his chest.

Physically, and given his bounty's title, he was more than capable of committing violent attacks and harm, however flora, or vegetative Earth magic, had little use this deep below where igneous rock addled every surface.

Whatever reason he may have for not attacking, success such as this was rare considering your clan are amongst the weaker born of Tieflings. You've no idea how such a small squadron managed to kidnap him with no loss of life.

[“He speaks English, more than likely. I can speak some of the common surface languages. If he provides any information that could be of our benefit I will report back.”]

That made the female huff with surprise, or rather pity. “The morning guard reports that he’s continued musing nearly non-stop.” Her hand fell heavy against your shoulder. [ “ May anger temper your patience like a mighty sword.”]

Soon enough she'd left, and with her, the last bit of interaction you'd receive for the next 4.5 hours until the evening meal arrived.

True to her report, it took less than a half hour before he started speaking. Not directed at you, perhaps to nobody, for that matter.

“That's a rather fine shawl.”

You knew not what he spoke of, and paid no mind to his rambling. Consistently he'd move about his cell, walking himself dizzy nearly back and forth, occasionally pausing and stretching his muscled limbs or fanning himself.

If nothing else, watching him provided you ample entertainment as you sat at your stool across the way, gnawing at a bit of tough jerky you'd purchased for the occasion that you'd grow hungry between meals.

“That looks quite delicious. May I have a bite?”

You could laugh at the audacity of his request. Of course, laughing would indicate you'd understood him, and you weren't interested in letting that slip as of yet.

You simply scowled, watching with one eyebrow curled as he slid a hand through the metal bars, pointing to the food in your hand, miming.

“I’m very hungry. Could I have some of your food, please?”

[“It's too tough. You cannot eat it.”]

He looked puzzled, gesturing to his mouth again then his hand.

Surely as a primarily omnivorous species, his teeth were not strong enough, sharp enough, to chew and process the rather hard and tender meat jerky that was present around here.

In just a short moment there’d be a cook arriving to provide you your lunch, along with his. But humored, and bored out your wits end, you decided to placate him, rising to your feet and approaching his cell.

[“If you're truly hungry enough, you can eat this.”]

“Oh my, thank you. I can't thank you enough, I've been—” His sentence dropped short as he witnessed you spit the food from your mouth into your open hand, careful to not let an ounce of crumbled meat drop to the floor, before sliding your hand through an opening in his bars.

[“Not hungry, suddenly?”]

The look on his face was one of shock and as soon as you met eyes your serious façade cracked, laughing rather foolishly as you covered your face.

“Oh, I see. This is quite funny to you?” His pronounced brows drew together, darkening his expression.

You've yet to halt your laughing, further amused by his now passive aggressive response.

Though your enjoyment was quite short lived.

You're aghast when he actually cups your hand, leaning down and pressing his mouth against your palm. You gasp, nearly squealing, as you snatch your hand away, cradling your saliva laden phalanges to your side.

[“Disgusting fool.”] You cursed, scrubbing your hand against your dress bottoms. [“Touch me again and I'll feed my fingers down your throat.”]

Standing there he chewed quietly, offering no answer to your threat until he swallowed wholly, finishing it.

“Do you have any more, then? Preferably a dryer piece.”

He flinched, backing away from the wrought iron bars as your spear pierced through one of the openings, narrowly missing the center of his chest.

[“Do not trifle with me.”]

The door swung open and in stepped your fellow Tiefling, a metal tray and a stone molded bowl in hand. Their eyes surveyed the scene briefly, curiously glancing over the bright fading blush that bloomed outward from your chest, their lips said nothing as they approached.

[“Thank you, kindly.”] You muttered, taking the much larger platter, returning your spear to its leather holster across your back as they glanced over at him, as if ensuring he still remained breathing.

It appears a palpable tension remained between you two that could be sensed by your colleague as they answered. [“Typically I'd offer the bowl directly, but I shall leave feeding up to you to decide.”]

With that, they made their exit, leaving you both to settle in your jumbled tapestry of nerves.

He made no move to acknowledge the bowl held in your hand, surely evading any desire to tempt your anger.

[“Hands out.”] You spoke, and slowly he moved to approach the bars, undoubtedly having recognized the phrase from his prior feeding earlier in the day.

[“I've half a mind not to even feed you for your hubris.”] You spat, offering the bowl to his waiting hands.

“I apologize—” You flinched, moving the bowl out of his reach pettily, before resting it in his grasp.

[“You've 4 more hours to spend with me tonight. I insist you tread lightly.”]

He made little sound for the remainder of your meal. Despite having finished his much sooner, likely due to the nature of the varied table scraps that were offered to him, he patiently waited, standing, holding his bowl until you had finished, rising to come fetch his dish.

His fingers caressed along yours now, smooth and gentle, heating your already molten skin before you jerked away. You've experienced enough of his unwarranted touching for today.

The rest of the evening followed what was essentially the same pattern as it did prior to your attempted snack break.

He'd entertained himself with quiet yet audible humming before whistling various tunes to the echoes of the hollow room.

This has become your routine since the prisoner's arrival roughly one week ago today.

This prisoner—the Archdruid, his name lost on you—was different. Unlike the others captured by your clan in the past, he didn't seem stricken. He showed no fear despite your presence, and despite the guards many threats, very little contempt. Despite his meals considering arriving extremely late. Consisting of nothing more than left over table scraps discarded while preparing the guards meals.

Surely it must've been a struggle for the overgrown elf. Yet he seemed unbothered... Or better yet, accustomed to this experience; this way of existence.

Heeding your colleagues' threats to throttle him, he still hummed to himself and whistled for entertainment, but only in your presence now. Perhaps he'd learned of your higher tolerance for aggression over the week. Considering your initial interaction, he'd grown needlessly comfortable with your presence during his time here. That made his eventual decline in health all the more obvious to you.

You entered the guardhouse perplexed to not be greeted by the sound of low humming.

Your colleague sat with her head leaned against the wall, her delayed response to your entering that indicated she'd likely been asleep. She yawned behind you as the metal of her blade scraped against the stony wall, no answer to your greeting.

Looking upon him, the prisoner named Halsin, as you'd come to learn, appeared rather strange to you. Despite his movements, occasionally wiping away sweat and blinking, he's much more sluggish, lethargic. In fact he'd removed his blanket from the bed, instead resting atop it on the stone floor.

[“What's wrong with him?”] You asked, grabbing the attention of your sleepy superior.

[“He was like this when I arrived. Just lying around on the floor. He hasn't spoken at all.”]

[“Not even to ask to relieve himself?”]

That question earned a shrug, nonplussed by your line of questioning.

You knocked on his bars, earning a frustrated groan from him before replying, voice harsh and dry sounding. “If you're not providing a meal, leave me alone. I don't wish to be bothered.”

You waved over your colleague. [“When is the last time this one had been fed?”]

[“Who knows? Feedings are only scheduled during the morning and evening shifts. At least he's been quiet, for all I care.”]

You turned to her, tone turned accusatory as you shortened the distance between you.

[“Did you at least give him water?”]

[“What do I look like, a butler? He can drink his own sweat for all I care. He's made plenty of that.”]

Color surged in your chest as you pointed your gaze at her.

[“He's a mortal, fool. And a wood elf. What feels like a cozy warmth to us Tieflings could feel like a savage blaze to him. If he doesn't remain hydrated he'll perish before we're even able to trade him in for a bounty.”]

Flames burst forth from her balled fists as she advanced upon you now, standing nearly horn to horn, mere inches taller than you as she grit.

[“You will watch your tongue underling. He is the Archdruid of one of the largest druid settlements on the surface. If he's as powerful as his bounty claims, he will manage to survive without another pail of water for 12 hours.”]

Anger pitted at the root of your tongue, yet you swallowed down, instead saying nothing as she moved to leave the room.

Halsin looked on in quiet intensity as you remained there, bright, intense color visible up your back to your neck.

As soon as the door slammed shut you crossed out of his view, entering the store room nearby, a converted cell nearest the entrance that's gone unused for long enough that it now houses foods and nonessential overstock.

Your fellow guards have raided it in secret from time to time, particularly a few bottles of cheap mulled wine that had been cleverly replaced with water to avoid detection.

You returned to his cell, banging on his door and he lifted his head, though his hair appeared clung to his skin, his brows drawn in an almost intimidating, unpleasant expression.

“Liquor?” He scoffed, waving you off. “There's nothing you need of me. I'd prefer to rest, as I'm quite tired.”

[“Come here. Imbecile.”] You whispered, urgently beckoning him closer, and though you spotted an eye roll, begrudgingly he rose to his feet.

The bottle’s glass shoulders clinked against the metal segments; too wide to pass through the bars.

Lethargy hung heavy in his brow as even his eyes remained nearly half lidded as he stared upward at you, puzzling. “Surely you don't intend to feed me that, do you?”

You tipped the bottle, the first splash landing squarely over his chin and he recoiled, stepping back.

[“Hold on. Just sit still—please.”]

With little time to waste, you grabbed him by his fitted collar, pulling him closer against the bars, holding him in place.

He coughed, cursing as he clung to your arm. This was unsafe, allowing a prisoner to grab you, but the bottle was growing lighter in your hand and despite his initial protests, he seemed to be adjusting, swallowing the water now.

[“Quickly now, before another guard arrives.”]

Slower now, he began to breathe through his nose, drinking down the more even stream that spilled from the bottle mouth, allowing you to release your hold, instead cradling his chin between your fingers.

As keys turned in the door you quickly pulled away, crowding the bottle behind your back. Your less than pleased looking superior had returned, with a bowl of scraps in hand and a pail of water.

[“I managed to track down his feed. The prior shift forgot it.”]

Approaching now she looked at him warily, his face and front seemingly drenched with wetness, before sliding the stone bowl along the floor. [“You sweat like a pig on a spit.”] She spat.

She called over to you. [“He looks disgusting. Make sure he eats both his meals.”] You say nothing in response, but as you're edging closer to the store room she intercepts, snatching the wrist you'd hidden behind your back.

[“What is that you have there?”] She trilled. [“Drinking on the job carries a heavy punishment if reported to the prison warden.”]

She tossed the bottle back, merely a few drops making contact with her tongue as she grimaced. [“Woman, you've nearly finished the whole bottle.”] She blinked. [“Hardly tastes like anything. Lost its edge.”]

You nearly missed the catch as she tossed it back to you. [“Make sure this isn't seen by the others.”]

You nodded quietly before she exited, leaving a tense rhythm to your heartbeat. You sighed with relief as you returned to your stool, the bright colors previously adorning your flesh having faded back into their even red and orange hues.

He sat crouched, scooping the now empty bowl into the idle pail of water before bringing it to his lips.

“I feel that I should say thank you. For whatever you did just then.”

You didn't answer, but upon staring you found yourself taken with his features for a moment. His eyes, a strange assortment of colors, but his smile, a rare delicacy.

[“Despite your image having been high on our bounty lists for years, I'm surprised. You're actually quite handsome in person… for an elf.”]

Similarly he does not answer, returning back to the outstretched blanket decorating the floor of his cell.

You're delighted to hear as he quietly begins humming to himself again. A gentle, solemn tune that accompanies the timber of his voice.

You enjoy it.

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