#Damn it slow burn I wanted dirty p*rn but ended with a messy emotional rollercoaster fic instead

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part 22 [THEY FINALLY KISS!!!]

Halsin gently closed the door to the children's bedroom, a soft smile lingering on his lips as the echoes of their laughter and whispered thanks for the bedtime story filled the quiet night. The moon cast a silvery glow through the hallway windows, and the house had settled into a peaceful hush. As he made his way towards the couch that now served as his bed, a concern tugged at the edges of his mind.

Minthara.

He had not seen her leave the bedroom all day, not even to eat. She had been in there since the morning, and though he respected her need for privacy, focus and recovery, a nagging worry gnawed at him. Halsin paused at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't want to disturb her, but he couldn't ignore the possibility that she was neglecting her own well-being. He made his way into the kitchen, his movements quiet and deliberate. The fire in the hearth had died down to glowing embers, but he quickly managed to light it up once more, the low flames casting a warm, muted light across the room. Halsin set a pot of water to boil, preparing a soothing herbal tea while reheating the leftover stew from dinner. As the tea steeped, he gathered everything with care, placing a bowl of the steaming stew on a tray alongside a thick slice of bread. The fragrant tea followed, its warm aroma filling the air as he carefully arranged the items, making sure everything was just right before heading out.

The wood steps creaked softly under his weight as he ascended the stairs. He hesitated outside his bedroom door, his heart stirring with a mixture of concern and an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Taking a steadying breath, he rapped his knuckles lightly against the door.

"Minthara?" he called softly, not wanting to startle her. "It's Halsin. May I come in?"

There was a brief silence before he heard the faint rustle of movement from within. He took it as a sign of acknowledgment and slowly pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit by candles, casting long shadows across the floor. Minthara sat at a small desk, her eyes locked onto the pages of a well-worn notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration as she furiously scribbled notes with a quill.

Halsin stepped inside, the tray balanced carefully in his hands. "I brought you some food," he said gently, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "I noticed you hadn't come out all day, and I thought you might be hungry."

Minthara's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she registered his presence. She looked at the tray and then back at her notebook, clearly torn between her frustration and the sudden reminder of her own needs. As Halsin set the tray down beside her, he couldn't help but glance at the chaotic scrawl covering the pages. Among the notes about possible coded messages, he saw a frustrated rant: "What does it mean? Why did I write this SHIT??"

"Struggling against your own handwriting?" he joked gently.

Minthara shot him a sharp look, her irritation evident. But then, to his surprise, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Yes, it's almost as if it was written by a bear," she replied, her tone begrudgingly playful.

"Alas, I must say that bears tend to have horrible writing skills," Halsin continued, a playful glint in his eye. Minthara smirks, but soon her smile falters, her eyes dropping back to the diary in front of her. The lighthearted moment gave way to a deeper frustration, her shoulders slumping slightly as she let out a frustrated sigh, her fingers tightening around the quill. "I have yet to go through the entirety of my belongings, but I thought retrieving my diary would at least shed some light on the mystery of my situation," she admitted, her voice tinged with exasperation. She shook her head, her brow furrowing in frustration. "I cursed myself for being so adept at encrypting messages. It's as if I’ve locked away my own thoughts and thrown away the key."

Halsin nods in acknowledgement of her struggle. "You've been through a lot," he said gently. Then, his tone grew slightly more serious as he added, "You shouldn't punish yourself for it. Take a break instead, eat something. Proper rest might help with your memory loss."

"It's not just about remembering," she said, and then her brow furrowed again. "It's about time. I had a war at my hands down in the Underdark, and each moment I spend here, trying to know who did this to me, and why, my enemies grow stronger. But at the same time, I can’t simply return without this knowledge, otherwise I’d be dooming myself to be sabotaged again.”

Halsin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand," he said. "But you also won't be able to decode anything if you're exhausted and hungry."

Minthara's gaze flickered to the tray of food, and she sighed again, this time with a reluctant resignation.

"Good," he said softly. "If you need anything else, let me know."

*** Halsin settled himself on the wooden bench of the veranda, the familiar feel of the carving knife in his hands a comforting presence. It was already late at night, but he still had a couple of hours before his body needed a meditation. As he gazed out over the tranquil landscape, a sense of peace settled over him, a rare respite from the agitation that had recently consumed his life.

The view from his vantage point was nothing short of idyllic. Stretching out before him, the lazy river wound its way through the lush, verdant landscape, its gently rippling surface reflecting the dappled moonlight that filtered through the dense canopy of trees. Below him, the quaint village nestled in the valley, with its flat-roof cottages and winding cobblestone streets still a work in progress. Raising the knife, Halsin began to carve away at the piece of wood he held with smooth, rhythmic strokes of the blade. 

He was oblivious to the passing of time, his world narrowed to the delicate figurine slowly taking form beneath his skilled hands. Each stroke was deliberate, honed by years of practice, as he coaxed the wood to reveal the intricate details – the flutter of wings, the curve of flowing feathers, the gentle tilt of a head. Yet, not even the peaceful scenario and the relaxing activity could shield his mind from the haunting memories that continued to plague him.

The anguished face of the elder Baleen, his deathbed agony seared into Halsin's consciousness, refused to be extinguished. And with it came the crushing weight of the doubt. Had he made the right choice? Was he entitled to make this choice in the first place? After all, who was he to decide who lived and who died so deliberately?

The words of the elder’s son swirl in his mind once again, ringing even more true than they were before. He had saved Minthara even as she lay lifeless before him. Yet, he had taken the life of the elder, who had still clung to the thread of his existence. The bitter irony of it all gnawed at Halsin's very soul, leaving him wracked with a crippling self-doubt.

Halsin paused in his whittling, the delicate wooden figurine forgotten as he grappled with the turmoil within. How could he justify his actions? How could he live with the knowledge that he had unilaterally decided the fates of those he had encountered, when not even the gods are allowed to take such a direct approach? The responsibility weighed heavily upon him, a burden he had never sought to bear.

With a shaky sigh, Halsin stares at his work, his calloused fingers trembling. The tranquility of the moment had been shattered, replaced by a tempest of conflicting emotions that threatened to drown him. He closed his eyes in a silent prayer for the Oak Father, yearning for the clarity and conviction that had once guided his path.

So engrossed was he in the depths of his own heavy heart that he failed to register the soft footsteps approaching. It was only when he heard the sound of a liquid shaking inside a bottle — a sound utterly out of place — that Halsin finally looked up. He found Minthara standing there, leaning against the wall, a bottle of mead in her hand, sipping directly from it with her air of casual defiance. 

“I hope you don't mind," Minthara said, her tone measured as she gestured at the bottle. “I needed something stronger than tea.”

Minthara's words cut through the haze of Halsin's dark musings, jolting him back to the present. As he finally registered his surroundings, the first thing that caught his eye was her figure. Her new leather attire clung to her form, the intricate cuts revealing just as much as the garments he remembered from their past travels. The moonlight played across her dark skin, highlighting her fierce beauty and the proud, unyielding set of her bare shoulders. For a moment, Halsin could do nothing but drink in the sight of her, his heart stirring with a potent mix of… something… he couldn't quite explain, but was definitely much better than the misery he was in moments ago.

“What’s wrong with you, druid?” Her voice echoes in his ears, making him blink in a sudden burst of self-awareness. He was staring, and by her expression, it must have been in a very awkward way.

“There's nothing wrong.” He replied hurriedly, turning his attention back to the wooden figure he was carving, sliding aside in order to make room for her on the bench. Minthara settles herself beside him, offering the bottle, which he resignantely refuses. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sounds being the faint rustling of the carving knife, the liquid shaking inside the bottle at each sip, and the gentle lapping of the river below.

"Was it you?" Her question, sharp and accusatory, caught the druid off guard, his brow furrowing in confusion. What was she implying? Surely she couldn't believe that he had somehow orchestrated the events that had led to her current predicament. How could Minthara even entertain such a notion? He had played no part in her downfall, nor did he possess the means or the motivation to sabotage her in such a manner.

"No," he replied firmly, his voice carrying a note of genuine surprise and even a hint of offense. "I wouldn't even know how to reach you in the Underdark, let alone sabotage you."

The drow's brows furrowed as she scrutinized his face. Halsin held her stare unflinchingly, allowing the sincerity of his words to shine through. Halsin could see the signs of her exhaustion in her eyes and etched into the tight lines around her mouth. 

"I know,” she finally said, averting her gaze in a resolute yet disappointed tone. “Maybe I was just hoping for an easy answer, but there is none.”

Another moment of silence. Another large sip of the bottle. “Why would anyone go to such lengths?" she murmured, more to herself than to him, between large sips of mead. "Only to cast me adrift in such a peculiar manner, along with most of my important belongings? Nothing about it makes any sense."

Halsin turned to her, leaning a little closer on their shared seat, his expression softening with genuine concern. "I wish I had answers for you, truly.”

Minthara slowly shook her head, her gaze flickering from the bottle of wine to the landscape below, the frustration she felt very evident in the tightness of her posture. "I hate feeling like this," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lost. Weak. Helpless."

“You are none of those things," he said firmly, "You've survived so much already, this is just another challenge, one you will overcome.”

Minthara scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Spare me the motivational speech,” she said, the words laced with a familiar edge of defiance, but there was an underlying sadness to it. “I never needed your pity, druid." 

"It's not pity, Minthara," Halsin assured her, his voice gentle yet unyielding. "You single-handedly defeated a Cave Bear in combat and managed to imprison me. You almost destroyed my grove with little more than a bunch of drunk goblins under your command. You resisted a complete brainwash long enough for our companions to come to your aid, without shedding a single tear in the process. Not to mention surviving the horrors that Orin got you through. More than once, I considered leaving the camp at night in the middle of the Shadowfell because the prospect of facing the hungry shadows seemed more reasonable than facing you, should you turn on me. You are one of the most fierce, strong-willed souls I've met in my entire life. For Sylvanus’ sake, I never pitied you. I was terrified of you.”

Minthara's eyes widened, and for a moment the fierce drow, always in control and projecting strength, seemed taken aback by Halsin's words. Her expression shifted from surprise to something softer, her usually guarded exterior cracking to reveal a look of genuine appreciation.

For a moment, they held each other's gaze, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. Halsin’s feelings, that had been simmering beneath the surface, now surged to the forefront, impossible to ignore. He leaned a little bit closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch her hand, half-expecting her to flinch away.

But she didn’t.

The next thing Halsin knew, they had closed the distance with a sudden, almost desperate movement, their lips capturing each other in a fierce, hungry kiss. Halsin's arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer as she responded with equal intensity. The kiss was a collision of emotions — trepidation, respect, and a burgeoning desire that neither could deny any longer.

Halsin's heart raced as Minthara's hands began to travel along his neck and chest. The tension was overwhelming, stirring a primal urge within that threatened to overpower him. His skin started to prickle, the edges of his vision blurred as his body instinctively began the process of shifting into his bear form. Minthara abruptly pulled away, the sudden separation jarring him back to his senses, gasping as he struggled to maintain his elven form at all costs.

"I... I'm sorry," Halsin stammered, his voice thick with apology as he fought to regain control over his shifting. "Sometimes, when the blood runs hot enough..." He trailed off, his words catching in his throat, unable to fully articulate the inner battle he faced. The frustration and despair mingled on his features, a plea for understanding in his gaze.

Minthara's expression was a mix of exasperation and composed curiosity as her eyes bore into his, probing the depths of his turmoil with an intensity that left him feeling utterly exposed. “I’m flattered I have that effect on you.” She tilted her head slightly, as if weighing his words, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. "But tame your inner beast, Halsin," she commanded, her voice firm and unyielding. Halsin felt a shiver run down his spine, both from her words and the intensity of her gaze. Then, to his surprise, a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Unless you want me to tame it for you," she added, her tone carrying a seductive edge that left him momentarily breathless.

Halsin watched as Minthara turned away, her movements smooth and commanding, her back straight, hands clasped behind her like she owned every step. There was something about the way she spoke, how she moved — it sent a shiver through him, one that he welcomed. Every word she uttered seemed to press down on him, but in a way that he craved, as if the weight of her authority was exactly what he needed in the moment.

"I'll be in your quarters," she said, her gaze flicking over him like she already knew he wouldn’t refuse. And she was right. "Do not keep me waiting."

Halsin watched Minthara’s figure disappear, his heart pounding, his breath ragged as the primal urge surged through him. The bear within clawed at the edges of his mind, its raw power threatening to take control. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, desperately trying to focus on steadying the rhythm of his breathing. His fists clenched, nails pressing into his palms, grounding him in the present. He whispered a prayer to Sylvanus, seeking guidance, and as his hand rose to his chest, a soft light flickered at his fingertips. He placed it against his heart, and an unseen wave of tranquility washed over him³. His face, once taut with the strain of keeping his instincts at bay, gradually softened. The storm inside him ebbed, and he imagined the bear retreating, its growls quieting to a gentle hum.

With the beast slipping back into the shadows of his mind, Halsin braced himself to face Minthara once more.

³ I tried to depict the Calm Emotions spell.

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