#baldurs gate minthara

[moonselune]

hellooo!! I have a kinda odd req hehe

could you write for the female companions reacting to finding bard tav secretely training their fighting skills?

like, tav went out to the far edge of the clearing for some reason, and the ladies followed because like why not, lets go check if tavs doing good

they find tav singing, which like, pfft, obviously, but then in the middle of it, they just pull out whole fucking fighting techniques, obliterating a dummy they had like .. stole borrowed from Laez'el, while still humming their little tune during kicks and slaps as if it was the most normal shit ever

could u incorporate some kinda jiu-jitsu in there?? I adore the grace that comes with it, and feel as though it would be suit for an elegant (not) singer such as tav 💫

i know this is kinda weird i just adore the 'uninnocent innocent being' trope. (　・ω・)

not weird at all I love this trope too! Thanks for the request xox

Karlach:

The late afternoon sun was casting long, golden rays over the grove as Karlach wandered back to camp, her infernal engine thrumming softly in her chest. She hadn’t meant to follow you. Not exactly. It was just that you’d taken Lae’zel’s battered training dummy—something she’d been in the middle of repairing—and disappeared into the woods. That was strange enough, but Karlach had felt a familiar pull of curiosity mixed with concern. What were you up to out there?

Now, crouched behind a large oak tree, Karlach peeked around the trunk and found you standing at the edge of the clearing. A soft tune drifted through the air, your voice carrying the melody like a warm breeze.

"Oh, Y/N," she whispered aloud. "Singing to the dummy, huh? Classic you."

You swayed slightly with the rhythm of your song, your movements so fluid and natural they almost looked like a dance. But then, without warning, you stopped mid-verse. You reached out, gripping the dummy’s shoulder—and in the blink of an eye, flipped it over your hip.

Karlach’s jaw dropped.

You didn’t stop there. Before the dummy even hit the ground, you shifted your stance, your body moving with the kind of practiced grace she’d only seen in seasoned warriors. You dropped into a low sweep, pivoting on one leg to strike its base, sending it sprawling. Rising fluidly, you delivered a precise strike to the 'head,' punctuating the movement with a hum as if you hadn’t just obliterated a target.

The final flourish was almost poetic: you executed a spinning kick, your heel colliding with the dummy so hard it cracked the wooden stand beneath it. The dummy tumbled to the side, and you stood there, breathing lightly, as if the exertion hadn’t affected you in the slightest.

Karlach couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“WHAT IN THE HELLS WAS THAT?!”

Your head snapped toward her, your face flooding with color as you realized you weren’t alone.

“Karlach!” you stammered, your hands flying to smooth your tunic. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?!” Karlach stepped out from behind the tree, her arms gesturing wildly. “What are you doing? Since when do you know how to do… that?” She pointed at the now-defeated dummy, which lay pitifully on its side.

You crossed your arms defensively, cheeks still burning. “I’ve always known a little…”

“A little?!” Karlach let out a booming laugh, her tail swishing behind her. “Babe, you just took that dummy apart like it insulted your singing or something!”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting away.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you mumbled. “It’s just… I wanted to be able to help. You all are so incredible in battle, and I’m just…”

“You’re just what?” Karlach cut in, stepping closer. “The bard who keeps us inspired and alive? The one who holds this whole ragtag crew together?”

Your blush deepened, but you met her eyes. “I just thought… if I could be stronger—physically—I wouldn’t be such a burden.”

Karlach’s expression softened immediately. She reached out, her large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks gently.

“Love,” she said, her voice low and warm, “you’re never a burden. You don’t have to break dummies in half to prove your worth to anyone. But… I gotta admit, that was really impressive.”

You blinked up at her. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Mad?” Karlach grinned, her sharp teeth flashing. “Are you kidding? I’m proud as hell. But I am gonna need you to teach me some of those moves. Especially that spinny one—that was badass.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your earlier embarrassment melting away.

“Maybe,” you teased, poking her chest lightly. “But only if you promise not to tell the others.”

Karlach made a zipping motion across her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me, champ. But I’m not gonna lie—I’m gonna have a hard time not bragging about my badass bard babe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. Karlach pulled you into a tight hug, her warmth enveloping you completely.

“C’mon,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get back to camp before Lae’zel notices her dummy’s been… obliterated.”

You groaned, leaning into her. “We’re so dead.”

Karlach laughed, her voice echoing through the trees. “Eh, worth it.”

Minthara:

The woods beyond the camp were quiet, save for the faint notes of a melody drifting through the air. Minthara moved silently between the trees, her keen drow eyes tracking your figure at the far edge of the clearing. It was unusual for you to wander off alone, even more so to take Lae'zel’s battered training dummy with you. Curiosity piqued, Minthara decided to follow.

There you were, standing before the dummy, singing softly to yourself. Minthara paused, leaning against the trunk of a tree, watching. Singing to a training dummy wasn’t entirely out of character for you—your bardic inclinations often led to unusual displays of creativity—but she was puzzled. Why bring it all the way out here?

Her question was soon answered.

As the lilting tune fell from your lips, you suddenly shifted. Your stance became poised, your body a study in fluid motion. Without breaking the rhythm of your humming, you lunged at the dummy. Your movements were precise and graceful, your strikes flowing seamlessly into each other like a carefully choreographed dance. A swift kick sent the dummy reeling, followed by a series of rapid jabs and slaps that would have left a living opponent breathless. Then, with a pivot and a sweep of your leg, you brought the dummy crashing to the ground.

Minthara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as you continued, employing techniques she recognized as advanced martial arts. There was a particular elegance to your movements, a controlled power that belied the carefree melody you still hummed. You transitioned into a joint lock on the dummy, flipping it as though it were an actual opponent resisting your movements.

Finally, you stood over it, brushing your hands together as if dusting off invisible dirt, your song never faltering. She stepped out of the shadows, slow and deliberate.

“Well, well,” Minthara drawled, her voice low and laced with amusement. “What is this, my little songbird?”

You turned, startled to see her, but quickly recovered, flashing her a sheepish smile. “Oh, Minthara. Didn’t realize you were watching.”

Her red eyes narrowed, scanning you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“You’re full of surprises. I’ve spent this entire time believing you to be helpless in battle, reliant on your songs and meager spells for survival.” She gestured at the broken dummy. “And yet, here you are, demonstrating martial prowess that rivals even Lae'zel.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Well… it’s not something I show off much. I guess I like to keep it quiet.”

Minthara crossed her arms, her expression stern. “Quiet? Or concealed? Tell me, have you enjoyed allowing me to think of you as defenseless? A fragile thing in need of constant protection?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the accusation. “What? No, that’s not it at all—”

She cut you off, stepping closer, her tone sharp. “You’ve let me believe you were incapable of handling yourself. All this time, I’ve fought to shield you, thinking you needed me.”

You hesitated, then sighed, meeting her piercing gaze. “You do love being overprotective, Minthara. Don’t deny it.”

Her expression faltered, a flicker of realization crossing her face. “That is beside the point.”

“No, it’s exactly the point,” you retorted, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You thrive on it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much satisfaction you get out of guarding me like a dragon hoarding treasure.”

Minthara’s scowl deepened, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You are insufferable.”

“And you adore me for it,” you quipped, stepping closer to her. “Minthara, I never meant to deceive you. I just… I didn’t want to take away something that brings you joy.”

She studied you for a long moment, her golden eyes searching. Then, with a resigned sigh, she uncrossed her arms. “You are maddening, songbird.”

“And yet you love me.”

Minthara’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. “I do,” she admitted, her voice softening. “Even if you insist on testing my patience.”

You grinned and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You will,” she said, her tone regaining its edge. “Starting with another demonstration. I wish to see every technique you’ve been hiding from me.”

“Now?” you asked, glancing at the ruined dummy.

“Now,” she replied, stepping back and gesturing to the clearing. “And this time, no singing.”

You laughed, shaking your head but obeying. After all, when Minthara asked, you couldn’t refuse.

Lae'zel:

The clearing at the edge of the woods was quiet, save for the faint strains of a melody drifting through the crisp evening air. Lae'zel moved silently, her movements honed by years of Githyanki discipline, her sharp gaze locked on your figure in the distance. She had been curious when she noticed you sneaking away from camp with her broken training dummy. Lae'zel didn't believe in secrets—at least not when they came from you—and her curiosity outweighed her irritation at your appropriation of her equipment.

When she arrived at the clearing, she saw you standing before the battered dummy, humming a tune, your voice soft and lilting. Lae'zel frowned. Singing to a training dummy was strange, even for you. Still, she folded her arms and leaned against a tree, watching silently.

Then you moved.

With the grace of a dancer, you shifted your stance, your feet gliding effortlessly across the ground. You launched into a fluid series of attacks, every strike precise, every movement seamless. Your legs swept low, toppling the dummy, before you flipped backward and struck again with a powerful palm thrust. Lae'zel's eyes widened slightly as you transitioned smoothly into an arm lock, flipping the dummy as though it were an opponent resisting your control.

And the whole time, you kept humming.

Lae'zel’s frown deepened into a scowl. This was no ordinary display. You were using techniques she recognized as advanced martial arts, movements that spoke of training and discipline far beyond the carefree bard she knew. Her pride prickled, and her hands twitched, itching to act.

She didn’t hesitate. Stepping forward, she called out, her voice sharp and commanding. “If you think to test yourself, bard, you shall find no better opponent than me.”

You barely had time to turn before Lae'zel lunged. Reflex took over as you dodged her initial strike, countering with a swift kick that she deflected with ease. Her blade remained sheathed, but her strikes came fast and hard, testing your mettle with every movement.

You tried to hold your ground, countering her attacks with the techniques you had been practicing. For a brief moment, you thought you might impress her—until she caught your wrist mid-strike, twisted you effortlessly, and swept your legs out from under you. You landed on your back with a thud, her knee pressing firmly against your chest, her hand gripping your wrist like iron.

Her golden eyes bore into yours, her expression a mix of fury and curiosity. “Explain yourself. Now.”

You winced, trying to catch your breath under her unrelenting weight. “I—was training.”

Her grip tightened. “Obviously. Why?”

You hesitated, your face flushing. “I wanted to… to be better. To protect you.”

Lae'zel blinked, her scowl deepening. “Protect me? You are a fool. I am the superior warrior. I do not need protecting.”

“I know,” you said quickly, your voice soft. “But I care about you, Lae'zel. I hate the thought of you facing danger alone, of not being able to help you when it matters most.”

Her expression shifted, the anger in her gaze softening into something more unreadable. She studied you for a long moment before scoffing and releasing your wrist, though her knee remained firmly in place. “You waste your time. You are no match for me, nor will you ever be.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted with a small smile. “But I can still try.”

Lae'zel huffed, rising to her feet and pulling you up with her. “You are a fool,” she repeated, but her tone was less harsh. “Your efforts are clumsy, your techniques unfinished. But your spirit…” She paused, her lips twitching into a rare, begrudging smile. “Your spirit is not without merit.”

You grinned, brushing dirt off your tunic. “Coming from you, love, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Do not misunderstand,” she said, jabbing a finger at your chest. “You will not protect me. But if you insist on training, you will do so properly. Under my instruction.”

Your smile widened. “Does that mean you’ll teach me?”

“It means you will endure,” she said, turning on her heel and gesturing for you to follow. “Now, return my dummy to camp. We begin at dawn.”

Despite her brusque tone, you couldn’t help but notice the faintest hint of pride in her eyes as she walked away. And for that, every bruise was worth it.

Shadowheart:

The edge of the clearing was quiet except for the melodic strains of your voice carrying softly on the breeze. Shadowheart stood hidden among the trees, her brows knit in mild confusion as she observed you standing before a broken training dummy that clearly belonged to Lae’zel. Singing to it wasn’t entirely out of character for you—Shadowheart had seen you serenade stranger objects—but something about your focus held her attention.

You were humming a playful tune, your voice lilting and gentle, as if you didn’t have a care in the world. Then, without breaking the rhythm of your melody, you moved.

The shift was graceful, almost hypnotic. Shadowheart’s breath caught as you launched into a series of movements that seemed more like a dance than a fight. Your steps were light, deliberate, as you circled the dummy, and then—your arm shot out in a palm strike that cracked against the wooden surface. The dummy wobbled but didn’t fall, and you followed up with a spinning kick that knocked it clean off balance. Still singing, you transitioned smoothly into a series of intricate holds and flips, mimicking the motions of grappling an invisible foe with precision and grace.

It was elegant, fluid, and completely unexpected.

Shadowheart found herself riveted, her lips parting slightly as you executed a flawless takedown, your hands locking the dummy into a chokehold before you released it and returned to your feet in one seamless motion. The contrast between the peaceful tune you hummed and the deadly precision of your strikes left her both amused and… intrigued. She felt her cheeks warm as her thoughts turned decidedly less innocent.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, she stepped out from her hiding place, her arms crossed and her smirk coy. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

Your head snapped up, your cheeks flushing immediately at the sight of her. “Shadowheart! I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“No, I imagine not.” She strolled closer, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Here I thought you were sneaking off for some peaceful alone time. Instead, I find you… dismantling Lae’zel’s dummy with techniques I didn’t know you possessed.”

You glanced down, suddenly shy, your hands twisting nervously in front of you. “I—I didn’t want anyone to see. It’s just something I’ve been working on. You know, in case I need to defend myself.”

Shadowheart arched an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Defend yourself? Against what, exactly? Poor unsuspecting training dummies?”

You pouted slightly, which only seemed to amuse her more. “I thought it might be useful. Everyone’s always protecting me. I just wanted to—”

“To what?” she interrupted, stepping even closer. Her voice dropped, softer, more intimate. “Prove yourself? Impress someone?” She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over you appreciatively. “If that was the goal, you’ve certainly succeeded.”

Your blush deepened, and you looked away, trying to play off her teasing. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Oh, it’s far from nothing,” she murmured, her tone laced with both admiration and mischief. “I have to say, it’s quite… captivating. Watching you move like that.” She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. “And you looked so at ease. Singing while you fought. It’s rather… arousing.”

“Shadowheart!” you squeaked, your voice higher than you intended. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hide your embarrassment, but she only laughed softly, catching your wrists and pulling them gently away.

“Don’t hide from me,” she said, her voice dipping into something low and warm. “I like this side of you. Confident, graceful, capable. Why have you been hiding it?”

You hesitated, meeting her gaze. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Everyone’s so skilled already. And… well, I kind of like when you—when you fuss over me.”

She paused, her smile softening. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always so protective. It makes me feel… cared for.”

Shadowheart’s expression shifted, her teasing melting into something more tender. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing gently across your skin. “You are cared for. Deeply.” She leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft yet lingering, a silent promise wrapped in affection.

When she pulled back, her smirk returned, though it was gentler now. “But I’ll admit, I might enjoy seeing you take down a few more dummies. Especially if you keep singing while you do it.”

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. “Deal. But only if you don’t tell Lae’zel I took her dummy.”

Shadowheart chuckled, threading her fingers through yours. “Your secret is safe with me, my love. For now.”

Jaheira:

The forest clearing was tranquil, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the trees. Jaheira walked at a measured pace, her steps as silent as the breeze rustling the leaves. She had noticed your absence and decided to follow, curious as to what you might be up to. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she stopped, her brows furrowing slightly as she took in the sight before her.

There you were, standing serenely in the center of the clearing with Lae’zel’s broken training dummy. That, in itself, was not entirely unusual—Jaheira was used to your whimsical nature. You were humming a lilting tune, a faint smile on your lips, as if completely at peace. But then… you moved.

Jaheira’s eyes widened slightly as you shifted into an elegant stance. Your movements flowed like water as you began to circle the dummy, your humming never faltering. With a sharp exhale, you struck, your palm landing against the wooden frame with a resounding crack. The force of the blow was shocking, but it was the grace with which you followed through that truly caught Jaheira’s attention.

You spun on your heel, delivering a precise kick that sent the dummy teetering. Before it could recover, you swept its legs out from under it and dropped into a low stance, your hands poised as if prepared to grapple an invisible foe. Then, you transitioned into a smooth jiu-jitsu hold, manipulating the dummy’s limbs with practiced ease.

Jaheira stood frozen, equal parts impressed and bemused, as she watched you flip the dummy over your shoulder and pin it to the ground. Throughout it all, you never stopped humming, your tune as calm and unwavering as a lullaby.

When you finally stood, brushing your hands off with a satisfied sigh, Jaheira stepped forward, breaking the silence.

“I see you’ve been keeping secrets,” she said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to temper the accusation.

You jumped, spinning to face her, your cheeks flushing crimson. “Jaheira! Beloved, I—uh—it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” she replied, arching an elegant brow. “Because it looks like you’ve been hiding some very impressive skills. Care to explain?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very self-conscious under her discerning gaze. “It’s just… something I’ve been working on. For fun. And… well, to be a little less helpless.”

Jaheira crossed her arms, her expression softening just slightly.

“Helpless? You? Hardly. But I admit, I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who practiced martial arts in secret.”

You glanced down, your voice barely above a mumble. “I didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it.”

Jaheira sighed, stepping closer. “You are being ridiculous.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, her tone firm but kind. “There’s no shame in honing your skills. In fact…” She gestured to the dummy. “Your form was impressive, but your follow-through could use some work. That spin was elegant, but you left yourself open.”

You blinked up at her, surprised. “You were impressed?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But there is always room for improvement.”

Your embarrassment gave way to a shy smile. “Would you… show me? How to improve, I mean.”

Jaheira chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to ask twice, my love.” She moved to stand beside you, her movements deliberate and sure. “Now, watch closely. When you step into the spin, keep your guard up like this. It will make it harder for your opponent to counter.”

As she demonstrated, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest. Jaheira’s approval meant more to you than you had realized, and her willingness to teach only deepened your admiration for her.

After a few tries, you managed to replicate her movement, earning a small nod of satisfaction from her. “Better,” she said. “Now, again.”

You laughed softly, your earlier embarrassment forgotten as you focused on her instructions. Jaheira’s steady presence, combined with her gentle encouragement, made you feel capable—stronger than you ever had before.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, glancing at her as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Jaheira met your gaze, her eyes warm. “You don’t need to thank me. Just… promise me you won’t hide your strengths again. You’re far more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “I promise.”

“Good,” she said, a hint of playfulness creeping into her tone. “Now, let’s see if you can manage that spin without stumbling this time.”

This was so fun to write and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[moonbunecho]

Gale is still not used to have Minthara at camp yet lmao

Mizri and Minthara don’t lookalike at all but the similar hairstyle is a lil confusing for the others especially from the back

(First time having her in my team and i love her so much already)

[nukbody]

This is too funny after Moonrise Towers

[zorofly]

Minthara~

[aristenfromwarsaw]

The Warrior

[germanich]

[missamethysa]

Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior, Sheepthara?

Found out if you turn Minthara into a sheep and u put her in ur inventory u can save the tieflings, so this is now canon

[saigar-art]

The next my best girl in BG3

Shadowheart incoming!

[annqer]

it girl!!!!!!!!!!

[gaysindistress]

Things Minthara says

Minthara eyeing you up and down, chuckling in a teasing tone, “you wish to consult me now? Did the wizard not provide you with a sufficient answer as I predicted?”

Minthara having a mocking attitude when you ask her about her thoughts on your companions but her voice wavers for a moment and becomes softer when she says, “you…you are different than I originally thought. I did not expect that you would be the one to save me from Moonrise given our first interaction.”

Minthara rolling her eyes and groaning whenever Gale so much as breaths in her or your general vicinity.

Minthara ordering lowly as you approach a hook horror, “stay low, stay quiet, and whatever you do, do not leave my side. You may be formidable on the surface but this is the underdark.”

Minthara mumbling over her maps with a furrowed brow and tight set jaw.

Minthara glancing over at you when you call her name quietly and making room for you to look at the maps with her as she hums, “Our enemies are everywhere, my love. How should we proceed?”

Minthara moaning with a her head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed, and a crooked smile as you glide your fingers over her ears.

Minthara drawling, “perhaps you do not belong as our leader. Perhaps your place should be here; on your knees before me, striped bare, and willing to accept any pleasure I give you,” as she slips her hands in your hair and gathers the strands into her fist.

Minthara grazing her nails down your bound form as you wiggle against her, growling, “Scarcely worth the effort, my love.”

Minthara cradling your head in her lap, her hands pressing on your wounds, whispering with tears in her eyes, “Have no fear, you will survive this. You will fight another day.”

Minthara pretending to not understand why you slapped her shoulder in horror, “Enlighten me, my darling; was I wrong in my assessment that Gale has the aura of a third child about him?”

Minthara gripping your wrist tightly as you try to leave her tent one night and staring at you with wide pleading eyes, murmuring, “I did not intend to imply that you’re a distraction or that my feelings for you are. You must know that you give me strength and courage to continue this fight. Without you, I do not know where I would be.”

[poofroom]

Drows just chilling in underdark

FULL

[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt. 14)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Matron!Minthara x Wife!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight part nine part ten part eleven part twelve part thirteen

CW: Blood, labor

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The darkness enveloped you like a heavy shroud, suffocating and inescapable. Yet, in the stillness of unconsciousness, a spark ignited. A memory surfaced, sharp and vivid, pulling you into its embrace. It was a quiet morning—a day that had begun with an air of peace, so unlike the tumultuous nature of life in the Underdark. You recalled it now with a clarity that was almost painful, the moments unfolding as if they were happening anew.

The day began with a faint discomfort in your abdomen, an ache that slowly crescendoed into something impossible to ignore. You had stirred from restless sleep, instinctively placing a hand over the swell of your belly. The realization struck you immediately: the time had come.

“Minthara,” you called softly, your voice steady despite the building tension.

Minthara was at your side in an instant, her sharp crimson eyes scanning you with an intensity that had always been as comforting as it was unnerving.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and anticipation.

“It’s starting,” you murmured, struggling to sit up.

For a moment, Minthara’s stoicism faltered. A flicker of something—perhaps excitement, perhaps fear—crossed her face before she composed herself.

“Then we’ll make this perfect,” she said firmly, rising to summon the midwives and healers. Her commanding voice echoed down the halls, cutting through the morning silence with an authority that brooked no argument.

When she returned, she was no longer the composed and calculated second of House Baenre. She was a woman driven by purpose, her every movement deliberate as she helped you settle back against the cushions.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked, her hand brushing yours in a rare gesture of tenderness.

You managed a wry smile, despite the pangs of pain beginning to intensify. “Do I have a choice?”

Minthara smirked, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry. “Not even Lolth herself could stop this now.”

The midwives arrived shortly thereafter, carrying armfuls of supplies and radiating calm efficiency. Yet Minthara refused to fade into the background, her presence an unyielding force as she orchestrated the room.

“You,” she barked at a midwife fumbling with a basin, “if you drop that, I’ll see to it you’re strung up by your ankles. And you—fetch more towels. Now.”

Her commanding tone was matched only by the unwavering support she offered you.

She was at your side, her hand gripping yours firmly as she leaned down to murmur words of encouragement. “You’re strong. Stronger than anyone. You can do this.”

The hours stretched on, a blur of pain and effort. Your body ached with exertion, and every fiber of your being seemed to burn. Yet Minthara remained steadfast, her presence a lifeline as the world around you faded into the singular task of bringing new life into existence.

“Breathe,” she urged, her voice cutting through the haze. “You’re doing beautifully. Soon, our child will be here. The heir of House Baenre.”

“Minthara,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “shut up about the heir.”

Her laugh was unexpected—a bright, genuine sound that momentarily eased the tension in the room.

“As you wish,” she said softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “No titles. No heirs. Just us.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a sharp cry pierced the air. Relief washed over you like a wave, banishing the pain and exhaustion. One of the midwives approached, cradling a tiny, squirming bundle wrapped in soft fabric.

“She’s here,” the midwife said, her voice reverent as she placed the infant in your trembling arms.

You gazed down at the baby, her tiny features scrunched in indignation as she wailed. Tears pricked your eyes, unbidden and unstoppable.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Minthara knelt beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder as she looked down at your daughter. There was a softness in her expression one that even you had not seen before, a vulnerability that spoke of unguarded joy.

“She’s everything,” Minthara murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a moment, in that memory, the world was reduced to the three of you. The weight of House Baenre, the expectations of the Underdark, and the shadow of Lolth all faded away. It was just you, Minthara, and Lythaera—a family, untarnished by the harsh realities that awaited beyond this room.

But reality began to intrude, the warmth of the memory fracturing like a fragile pane of glass. Pain flared in your abdomen, sharp and insistent, pulling you from the comforting embrace of the past. The cries of a newborn faded into the low murmur of voices and the sterile scent of the infirmary.

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the infirmary casting long shadows across the room. The faces of healers swam into view, their expressions etched with concern as they hovered around you. The pain in your abdomen was a dull, throbbing reminder of your vulnerability, a stark contrast to the strength you had felt in that memory.

“She’s awake,” one of them said, their voice cutting through the haze of confusion clouding your mind.

You tried to move, but your body felt heavy, unresponsive. The pain in your abdomen was a dull, throbbing ache, and every breath felt like an effort. Slowly, your gaze focused on the faces around you, their expressions a mix of relief and worry.

“What… what happened?” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

“Please, don’t move,” one of the healers urged, their hands gently pressing you back down as you struggled to sit up. “You’ve been through a lot. Let us take care of you.”

Your mind raced, fragments of memory and present blurring together. The warmth of the past lingered like a ghost, a bittersweet balm against the cold reality of your current state. But as exhaustion pulled you back under, one thought lingered, clear and persistent.

Lythaera.

The world swam into focus in jagged pieces—voices murmuring in the background, the sharp scent of medicinal herbs hanging heavy in the air, and an unrelenting ache deep in your abdomen that made every breath feel like a battle. Awareness came slowly, dragging with it a suffocating sense of dread that seized your chest. Something was wrong.

You tried to sit up, the movement clumsy and strained as your arms gave out beneath you. A hand pressed gently but firmly against your shoulder, guiding you back down.

“Mistress, you mustn’t move,” a healer said urgently, their voice calm but insistent. “Your body is too weak. You need rest.”

“Lythaera…” The name spilled from your lips in a broken whisper, barely audible. You tried again, your words slurred and heavy with the lingering effects of sedatives. “Lythaera… Kyorlin…”

The healer exchanged a worried glance with their colleagues. “She’s delirious,” one muttered.

But you weren’t delirious—you were desperate. The weight of Kyorlin’s betrayal pressed down on you like a stone, the memory of his blue eyes—a traitor’s eyes—seared into your mind. You struggled to form coherent words, to make them understand, but all that escaped were fragments. “Kyorlin… traitor… Lythaera…”

You clawed at the blankets covering you, trying again to push yourself upright despite the fiery pain in your abdomen. The healers moved quickly, their hands firm as they tried to restrain you without causing further harm. “Please, Mistress, you must stay still. You’re in no condition to—”

“Lythaera!” you cried, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your cheeks. The panic was overwhelming, a suffocating tide that drowned out reason and pain alike.

The door to the infirmary burst open, and Minthara stormed in, her eyes wild with alarm. She pushed past the healers, her sharp gaze locking onto your tear-streaked face.

“What is happening?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the chaos.

“Minthara…” you gasped, reaching out for her like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline. “Kyorlin… he’s Seldarine… Lythaera’s not safe!”

Minthara froze, her expression darkening as the meaning of your words sank in.

“Kyorlin?” she repeated, her voice sharp with suspicion. You nodded frantically, your movements jerky and uncoordinated.

“I saw him… his eyes… blue… he’s a traitor! Where is Lythaera?” Minthara's grip on your hand tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Your voice, raw and desperate you demanded, “Bring her to me!”

Minthara hesitated for the briefest of moments before daring to answer.

“I gave her to Kyorlin,” she admitted, her voice low and measured, as if testing the weight of her own words. “He was supposed to take her to Lesaonar and Melinoe’s quarters. I thought she would be safe with him.”

Her admission hit you like a physical blow, and you shook your head violently, fresh tears streaming down your face. “No....No! No!"

The panic in your voice seemed to snap Minthara out of her momentary stillness. Her expression hardened, and she turned sharply to one of the guards stationed nearby.

“Find him,” she ordered, her voice cold and commanding. “Find Kyorlin and bring Lythaera back. Now.”

But before the guard could move, a scream ripped from your throat as a sudden contraction tore through your body, sharp and unrelenting. You doubled over in pain, clutching at your abdomen as the healers rushed back to your side.

“She’s in labor!” one of them shouted, their voice rising in urgency.

“No, no, no!” you wailed, your body trembling as another wave of pain wracked you. “It’s too soon! Please… not yet!”

Minthara was back at your side in an instant, her hands steady as they gripped yours.

“Focus on me,” she commanded, her voice fierce but laced with an edge of desperation. “You need to stay calm. We’ll find Lythaera, but you have to focus. Do you hear me?”

But her words barely penetrated the haze of agony and terror that consumed you.

“Bring her to me!” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you tried to push past the healers’ restraining hands. “I need her! Lythaera!”

Another contraction hit, and you screamed, the sound raw and primal as it echoed through the room. The healers worked frantically around you, their hands glowing with restorative magic as they tried to stabilize you.

Minthara’s jaw tightened, her usual composure cracking as she barked more orders. “Double the search! I want every corner of this compound searched. He will not leave with her!”

Your mind spiraled deeper into panic and pain, torn between the life fighting to enter the world too soon and the daughter you could feel slipping further away. Minthara’s assurances, the healers’ efforts, the guards’ movements—all of it blurred into chaos as you screamed again, your body convulsing with the force of another contraction.

Minthara had never felt anything like this before. The moment the word 'traitor' left your trembling lips and you screamed Kyorlin’s name, her world tilted. The cacophony in the infirmary—the cries of the healers, your anguished screams, the frantic orders barked to the guards—blurred and muffled, as though she had been submerged underwater.

Her chest tightened, her heart pounding an erratic, suffocating rhythm against her ribs. Her breath hitched as she stared at her own hands, watching with rising horror as they began to tremble uncontrollably.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to falter.

Minthara gripped the edge of the infirmary bed to steady herself, but her knees buckled, and she stumbled back. Every instinct screamed at her to act, to take control, but her body betrayed her. Her lungs refused to draw enough air, and the room seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing in as her vision blurred at the edges.

She could still hear your cries, distorted but piercing, cutting through the haze: 'Lythaera! Bring her to me!'

Each scream from you drove a dagger of guilt and fear deeper into Minthara’s chest.

“I—” she tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her voice was gone. Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her out of the infirmary and into the corridor beyond. She stumbled against the stone wall, gasping for air, her hand clutching at her chest as though trying to still her racing heart.

The sounds of the infirmary faded behind her, but your screams lingered, haunting and relentless.

“Minthara!”

The sharp, familiar voice pulled her from the fog. Melinoe stood a few paces away, her brows knitted in concern as she took in Minthara’s disheveled state. She closed the distance quickly, her hands reaching out to steady her.

“What’s going on?” Melinoe demanded, her voice low and urgent. “What happened? Why is Y/N screaming like that?”

Minthara opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her throat tightened, her breaths shallow and ragged. She shook her head, her trembling hands clutching at Melinoe’s arms as though anchoring herself to something solid.

Lesaonar appeared in the doorway of the infirmary, his face pale as your screams echoed behind him. Without hesitation, he pushed past the healers and entered to see you.

“Minthara, look at me,” Melinoe said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Breathe. You need to focus. Tell me what’s happening.”

Minthara’s lips trembled as she finally managed to choke out, “K-Kyorlin…”

Melinoe’s eyes narrowed. “What about Kyorlin?”

Minthara swallowed hard, her voice shaky and uneven. “He’s… he’s the traitor. He’s Seldarine. And—and he has Lythaera.”

Melinoe’s eyes widened, her grip on Minthara tightening as the words sank in. “He what?”

“I gave her to him!” Minthara’s voice cracked, and her body shuddered with the force of her guilt. “I thought—he said he would take her to your quarters, Y/N was hurt. I didn’t—I didn’t trust him, but I let him take her! And now—”

Minthara’s voice broke entirely, and her knees nearly buckled again. Melinoe caught her, holding her upright as her breathing grew more erratic.

“Minthara!” Melinoe barked, her tone sharper now, cutting through the haze of panic threatening to consume her. “Stop! Breathe! You are Matron of this house, act like it.”

Minthara gasped, her chest heaving as she tried to obey. Melinoe's eyes darted around and she snapped at any nearby servants wanting to look at the Matron in this state. She leaned in to whisper in Minthara's ear.

“In through your nose,” Melinoe instructed, demonstrating. “Hold it. Now out through your mouth. Slowly. Do it with me.”

Minthara struggled, her breaths hitching and uneven, but Melinoe didn’t let go.

“For your wife,” Melinoe said firmly. “For Lythaera. For your unborn child. They need you. You can’t fall apart now.”

Those words struck something deep within Minthara. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to focus on Melinoe’s steady presence. In through her nose. Hold. Out through her mouth. Slowly.

Her trembling began to subside, her breaths gradually evening out. The chaos inside her dulled, the suffocating weight in her chest easing just enough for her to think again.

“That’s it,” Melinoe said, her voice softer now. “Good. Keep going.”

Minthara nodded shakily, her composure not entirely restored but enough to steady herself. Her mind cleared just enough to let the severity of the situation sink in fully.

“Kyorlin has her,” Minthara repeated, her voice firmer this time, though still laced with guilt. “And Y/N's screaming because… the baby is coming, she's giving birth. Too soon.”

Melinoe’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a grim line. “Then we need to act fast. I’ll find him. I will take a troop into Menzoberranzan, I will tear apart the city to find them, this is my promise to you Matron.”

“I—” Minthara’s voice faltered, but Melinoe interrupted her.

“You’ll stay here,” Melinoe said firmly. “Your wife needs you. Lythaera is a child of Baenre, this kidnapping is merely a right of passage for her. She will be okay."

Minthara nodded, the trembling in her hands finally ceasing as she watched Melinoe stride purposefully down the corridor, her resolve unshakable. Minthara inhaled deeply, steadying herself as she re-entered the infirmary.

The chaos within felt like a physical force pressing down on her. Healers moved quickly around you, their voices low and urgent, as they prepared for the premature birth. You lay on the bed, writhing in pain, your cries cutting through the air and stabbing at Minthara’s heart.

Her eyes flicked to Lesaonar, who stood near you, his face pale and stricken. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he looked as though he might shatter under the weight of his emotions. When he turned toward Minthara, his voice broke.

“Minthara,” he choked, his words heavy with disbelief and betrayal. “Is it true? Kyorlin… he’s the traitor?”

Minthara’s jaw tightened, her throat thick with suppressed emotion. She hated the pain in his voice, hated the betrayal she had to confirm. But she met his gaze with unwavering certainty and gave a sharp nod.

“Yes,” she said, her tone resolute despite the turmoil inside her. “It’s true.” Lesaonar’s breath hitched, his entire body trembling as he took a step back.

“No… it can’t…” He looked away, his lips pressed tightly together as if trying to hold back a scream. Minthara stepped forward, her voice cutting through his despair.

"Lesaonar.” Her tone was firm but not unkind. “I know this is hard, but right now, you need to focus. Your sister,”—she gestured toward you on the bed—“needs us to act. I need you to act. Melinoe is leading a troop into Menzoberranzan to track him down. Go. Help her.”

Lesaonar hesitated, his gaze darting back to you. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and his jaw worked as he struggled to form words. Finally, he gave a sharp nod.

“I’ll bring her back, no mercy.” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with determination. Without another word, he turned and left, his steps hurried as he headed toward Melinoe.

Minthara’s chest heaved with a deep breath, but before she could move to your side, a healer touched her arm.

“Matron,” the healer said quietly, their expression grave.

“What?” Minthara snapped, her patience worn thin.

The healer’s voice was soft but firm. “The situation is critical. The child is far too early, and your wife is weak from her injuries. If this continues… there’s a strong possibility that only one of them will survive.”

The words hit Minthara like a dagger to the chest. Her vision blurred for a moment, but she blinked it away, her composure hardening like steel.

“Then save her,” she said instantly, her voice as sharp as a blade. “Save my wife.”

The healer hesitated, their eyes dropping to the floor. “Matron, it’s not a choice we can make. The outcome may be beyond our control.”

Minthara’s fury flared, her voice cutting through the room. “You will do everything in your power to save her. Do you understand me? I will not lose her. If she dies, all of you will be fed to the spiders.”

The healer nodded solemnly, bowing their head. “We’ll do all we can, Matron.”

As the healer moved away, Minthara strode to your bedside and dropped to her knees beside you. Her hand trembled as she reached out, brushing the sweat-soaked hair from your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain and fear, and you managed a faint, tearful whisper. “Lythaera…”

Minthara gripped your hand tightly, her other hand pressing gently against your swollen abdomen.

“We’ll get her back,” she promised, her voice soft but fierce. “I swear to you, my love, we’ll get her back.”

You sobbed, your body trembling as another contraction tore through you, wrenching a cry from your lips. Minthara leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your temple.

“You’re strong,” she murmured. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You’ll get through this. Do you hear me? You’ll get through this.”

The healers moved around her, their hands deft as they prepared for the imminent birth. But Minthara stayed rooted at your side, her gaze locked on your face. For the first time in her life, the indomitable Matron of House Baenre felt helpless. And yet, she refused to let despair take hold. The pain etched on your face stabbed at her heart, and when your glassy, tear-filled eyes focused on her with a flicker of lucidity, she leaned in, desperate for any word you might manage.

“Minthara…” you rasped, your voice trembling and weak. “Go to the chapel…”

Minthara stiffened, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice laced with worry. “I’m not leaving you.”

You tightened your grip on her hand with surprising strength, and the look in your eyes burned with a determination that shook her.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “what the healers are saying. I know what’s happening.” A tear slid down your cheek, and Minthara instinctively wiped it away. “Please… go to the chapel. Pray to Lolth.”

Minthara’s expression hardened. “No,” she said firmly. “I won’t leave you. Not now.”

“Minthara.” Your voice was weak, but the command in it was unmistakable. You met her gaze, and she could see the plea there, but also something else—something you weren’t saying aloud. “You have to go. You have to pray to her. Please.”

Minthara hesitated, her heart twisting in her chest. She could sense the unspoken intent behind your words, but she didn’t question it. With a reluctant nod, she stood.

“I’ll go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you hold on, do you hear me? You hold on.”

Without waiting for a reply, Minthara spun on her heel and sprinted from the infirmary, her boots echoing loudly against the stone floors. The corridors blurred past her as she made her way to the chapel. Her thoughts raced, panic clawing at the edges of her resolve, but she focused on her purpose. By the time she reached the ornate doors of the chapel, her chest was heaving with exertion.

Minthara pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside. The air was thick with incense, the silken webs draping the walls shimmering in the faint light of faerie fire. She fell to her knees before the grand statue of Lolth, the Spider Queen’s many eyes seeming to pierce through her.

For a moment, she hesitated. Prayer had never been her strength. That was always you—your faith unwavering, your devotion inspiring. But now, Minthara drew upon your resolve, channeling the strength you had shown her time and again.

“Mother of Chaos,” Minthara began, her voice shaking but growing steadier with each word. “Lolth, my Queen, I come before you not in doubt, but in fury.”

She bowed her head low, her hands clutching the edge of the dais as she continued.

“Eilistraee has dared to lay her hand upon your chosen house. She has sown discord, stolen your loyal descendants, and struck at the heart of your dominion.”

Minthara’s voice grew louder, her words laced with venom.

“She has struck my wife, your child, the Mistress of House Baenre, with this treachery. She has taken Lythaera, one of your own, to mock you. To mock us. And now she seeks to undo us!”

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on, her words flowing like a tide.

“Show her your wrath, great Lolth! Let her and all who would defy you know the cost of crossing the Spider Queen! Bring your chaos, your vengeance, down upon them! Show them why we kneel only to you!”

When her words ceased, the chapel fell into an oppressive silence. Minthara’s heart raced as she knelt there, her forehead pressed against the cool stone. For a moment, dread crept in. Had Lolth ignored her? Was her prayer insufficient? Was Lolth simply relishing in their agony?

Then the ground beneath her hands trembled. A faint, almost imperceptible vibration at first, growing into a distinct rumble. The air seemed to shift, the incense swirling unnaturally. Minthara lifted her head, her breath catching as the eyes of the Spider Queen’s statue glowed faintly red, as if alive.

A voice—not spoken but felt—reverberated through the chamber, cold and commanding. It was not words, but Minthara understood the message nonetheless: You have been heard.

Tears pricked at Minthara’s eyes, though whether they were from relief, awe, or fear, she couldn’t tell. She bowed her head once more.

“Thank you, my Queen,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

As the vibrations subsided, Minthara rose to her feet, steadied by the knowledge that Lolth had listened. She turned and sprinted back toward the infirmary, her determination renewed. Whatever mania would follow, she would face it. You needed her, and she would not fail.

The chaos she expected upon her return was conspicuously absent. The once-noisy infirmary was eerily quiet, save for the occasional murmur of the healers. Minthara’s eyes scanned the room frantically, expecting the worst.

And then she saw you.

You lay on the bed, still gasping, still in the throes of labor, but the air around you had shifted. Your half-lidded eyes glowed with an intense, demonic red—a light so fierce it cast faint shadows across your face. The healers stood back, murmuring prayers under their breath as they watched you, their expressions a mix of awe and fear. Lolth was with you.

Minthara approached cautiously, her gaze fixed on you. She reached your side and dropped to her knees, taking your hand in hers.

“My love,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Your lips moved faintly, forming her name, but no sound came out. Yet the glow in your eyes seemed to burn brighter as if in response to her presence. Minthara clenched your hand tightly, her chest heaving with relief and fear.

The air in the infirmary grew heavier as your cries of pain tore through the room, each one reverberating with a pulse of raw, unrestrained magic. Minthara held your hand tightly, her knuckles white as she murmured reassurances, though her voice was nearly drowned out by your screams. The Spider Queen’s influence had clearly taken hold, and the atmosphere was charged with something far beyond mortal comprehension.

As you cried out again, the pulse of magic surged through the room like an invisible shockwave. It sent the healers staggering back, their instruments clattering to the floor. For a moment, it seemed harmless—a simple burst of power—but then the true horror began.

One of the healers, a middle-aged drow woman, froze mid-step. Her body convulsed violently, and she collapsed to the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream. From her nose, her ears, and her mouth, tiny black spiders poured forth, their legs glistening with ichor as they scuttled across the floor.

Gasps and cries of alarm filled the room as more healers dropped to the ground, their bodies writhing in agony. Spiders erupted from their orifices in a grotesque cascade, the arachnids skittering across the infirmary as chaos erupted.

Minthara’s instincts took over, and she rushed to the nearest fallen healer. She knelt beside the body, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examined them. The drow’s lifeless face stared up at her, and Minthara saw it: their eyes, now clouded in death, were not the deep crimson of Lolth’s own but an abhorrent blue.

Her stomach twisted in disgust and fury.

“Seldarine,” she hissed, her voice like venom. She stood up quickly, her gaze sweeping over the room as more bodies hit the floor, spiders spilling from their mouths and scattering into the shadows.

“Keep working!” she barked at the surviving healers and midwives, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “Do not stop, no matter what happens. Focus on your Mistress!”

The remaining healers—those untouched by the magic—snapped to attention, their fear overridden by years of discipline. They returned to your side, their hands steady as they examined you and worked to manage the labor.

The midwives stepped forward, their expressions grim but resolute. One of them, an older drow with deep lines etched into her face, leaned over you, her hands gently pressing against your abdomen.

“The contractions are increasing,” she announced, her voice calm despite the carnage around her. “The baby is coming.”

Minthara stayed close, her gaze darting between you and the remaining healers. The culling, it seemed, had done its work—those who had writhed and died in agony were all revealed as Seldarine infiltrators, their light eyes betraying their treachery. The survivors, loyal to Lolth, worked with renewed fervor, ignoring the corpses of their false comrades scattered across the floor.

You let out another piercing cry, your body arching with the force of a contraction. Magic pulsed again, but this time it seemed to settle, its destructive wave dissipating as if satisfied with its gruesome work. The midwife met Minthara’s eyes and nodded.

“It’s time,” she said firmly. Minthara leaned over you, her hand still clutching yours.

"You’re almost there,” she whispered, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “You’re going to make it. Both of you will.”

Despite your exhaustion and the haze of pain, there was a flicker of determination in your glowing red eyes. The Spider Queen’s presence loomed over you both, her will entwining with your fates.

The room seemed to warp and fade around you as you strained, your cries of agony reaching a crescendo. Then, at last, the moment came. You felt the final, unbearable contraction ripple through you, and with a wet, shuddering release, the child entered the world. You gasped, your body trembling as you collapsed back onto the blood-soaked bed.

There was no crying.

The silence was suffocating.

Your head lolled to the side, and your glowing eyes dulled as the edges of your vision darkened. You tried to reach for the child, to demand to see them, but the overwhelming exhaustion swept you under, and consciousness slipped away like sand through your fingers.

The healers moved swiftly, immediately cutting the umbillical cord, their faces pale but determined as they whisked the small, limp form of the newborn away. Minthara stood frozen for a moment, torn between you and the child. Then, as if propelled by a force greater than herself, she followed the healers, her heart pounding in her chest.

The voices of the healers were hushed but frantic as they carried the babe to a side chamber. Minthara's sharp ears caught snippets of their conversation:

“The skin… too pale…” “…not breathing…” “…too weak to survive…”

Her heart lurched in her chest as she pushed past the small group, desperate for a glimpse of the child. She caught sight of them—a small, frail body, pale as moonlight and smeared with blood. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her confidence faltered. The child looked so fragile, almost ethereal, like they belonged to another world entirely.

Suddenly, a healer turned and stepped directly into Minthara’s path. Before she could react, the healer’s hand darted out, and with a swift, practiced motion, they tore open her tunic with a scalpel.

“Explain yourself!” Minthara snapped, her voice a venomous growl as she glared at the healer. Her hand instinctively reached for the hilt of her blade, but the healer raised their hands in a placating gesture.

“Matron, please, trust us,” the healer said quickly, their tone desperate but firm. “This is the only way.”

Before Minthara could argue further, the healer pressed the tiny, bloodied babe against her bare chest. Minthara stiffened, bewildered, but the warmth of the fragile body against her skin rooted her in place.

The healers began to chant, their voices weaving an ancient incantation that filled the room with an eerie, otherworldly resonance. The babe, still silent and still, seemed to respond to the chant. Thin, shimmering strands of silk began to manifest, wrapping around the child like a cocoon.

Minthara stared in awe as the silk wove itself tighter, forming a protective sling that clung to her chest. The babe’s chest rose slightly, then fell again. A tiny sound—a whimper, then a gasp—escaped the child’s lips.

Then came the cry.

A wail, high and sharp, pierced the air, and Minthara’s heart swelled with relief and joy. Tears pricked her eyes as she looked down at the cocooned babe, their cries growing stronger with each breath.

Her hands instinctively cradled the child, her healing magic from her oath flowing from her palms into the tiny body. The crimson light of Lolth’s blessing surrounded them both, and Minthara felt an unshakable sense of purpose. She was their lifeline, their protector.

The healers collapsed one by one, their energy drained from the ritual. One of them, barely able to sit upright, looked up at Minthara and spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“This… was a miracle,” they said. “The Spider Queen willed it. Without her blessing, this would have failed.”

Minthara nodded, her lips curving into a small, fierce smile. “Lolth’s will is absolute,” she murmured.

The babe was secure, cocooned in silk that clung to Minthara like an egg sac to a mother spider. She stood tall, her chest rising and falling with determination.

The thought of you suddenly snapped her back to the warning—the dire prediction that only one of you might survive this ordeal. She turned, her heart heavy, expecting the worst.

But there you were.

You stood at the other side of the room, your silhouette framed by the flickering torchlight. Blood trickled down your legs, pooling at your feet in a stark testament to the ordeal you had endured. Your body swayed, breath labored, yet your glowing red eyes burned with an unearthly intensity. The sight was both horrifying and mesmerizing, your form transformed into something almost eldritch, radiating Lolth’s dark power.

Minthara’s breath caught in her throat. “By the Spider Queen…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

You met her gaze, your voice hoarse but steady. “She heard you,” you said, each word laced with pain and resolve.

Minthara moved toward you, cradling the cocooned babe close to her chest. She didn’t need to speak; the look in her eyes, a mixture of reverence, love, and fear, said everything.

You stagger forward, each step unsteady, yet propelled by an indomitable force within you. Blood stains your legs and robes, trailing behind you as if marking the path of a warrior returning from battle. Minthara, clutching the silken cocoon to her chest, moves to meet you halfway, her movements cautious yet desperate.

When you reach her, you raise a trembling hand and gently place it on the silk sling. The cocoon pulses faintly under your touch, warm and alive. Tears blur your vision as you lean forward, pressing your lips to the cocoon with a reverence so profound it silences the room. The faint cries of the babe within are muffled by the layers of silk, but they are there—a testament to survival, to Lolth’s will.

You draw back, your blood-red eyes turning to the healers who are still frozen in shock.

“The child,” you rasp, your voice raw but filled with authority. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

The lead healer stammers, her hands wringing nervously. “A… a girl, Mistress. Another daughter.”

The words wash over you like a balm. Another daughter. Another blessing from Lolth. You close your eyes and nod, a faint, exhausted smile gracing your lips.

“Of course,” you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else.

With a deep, shuddering breath, you turn on your heel, your movements purposeful despite your condition. Minthara’s brow furrows, and she calls after you, her voice edged with worry. “Where are you going?”

“To get Lythaera,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “She needs to meet her sister, after all.”

The room stills at your words, the sheer determination in your tone stopping everyone in their tracks. Minthara’s eyes widen, and she steps toward you.

“They haven’t retrieved her yet,” she says carefully, her voice strained. “Kyorlin still has her.”

You stop in your tracks and slowly turn to face her, a small, enigmatic smile tugging at your lips. Your glowing eyes lock onto hers, and you repeat, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m going to get my daughter.”

Minthara takes a step back, momentarily thrown by your confidence.

“You’re bleeding still,” she protests, gesturing to the blood soaking your robes. “The healers need to check you over, ensure your body is fine—”

Her words stop you cold, as if grounding you back to the reality of your body. Your hand instinctively rests on your abdomen, and for the first time, you acknowledge the lingering pain and the necessity of the healer’s work. Your shoulders sag slightly, and you nod, allowing yourself to be led back to a clean bed.

The healers, though terrified of you in your current state, rush to your side. They work quickly, their hands practiced despite the lingering tension in the room. Minthara stays close, the silken cocoon still strapped securely to her chest. The babe stirs occasionally, the faint pulse of the silk reassuring her that the child is alive and stable.

As they work, one of the healers speaks hesitantly to Minthara. “The silk cocoon… it is unique. Sacred. When the child has stabilized enough to survive, she will break through it on her own. It could take hours, days… perhaps even weeks. But she will emerge when she is ready.”

Minthara listens, her eyes never leaving you as you lie there, your breaths labored yet steady. She nods solemnly. “Then I will protect her until that moment comes.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Lythaera lay unconscious on a narrow, uneven bench within the dimly lit confines of a safehouse on the outskirts of Menzoberranzan. The air was stale, filled with the acrid scent of moss and mildew, and the faint trickle of water echoed from somewhere in the distance. Her small form was swaddled in a simple cloak, her delicate features slack in an unnatural stillness. Around her, the extremists bickered, their voices low but tense, their heated debate punctuated by the occasional sharp hiss of frustration.

“This is madness,” one of them muttered, pacing back and forth. His hand rested nervously on the hilt of his blade, his eyes darting to the dark entrance of the safehouse as if expecting pursuit at any moment. “We can’t stay here long. The matron and her brood will come for her. For all of us.”

“The surface is the only way,” another snapped, her tone insistent. She leaned over a rough-hewn table, her long, slender fingers tracing a crude map. “The quicker we get there, the safer we’ll be. They wouldn’t dare follow us into Eilistraee’s domain.”

A younger extremist, a woman with wide, uncertain eyes, glanced toward Lythaera. “But… she’s just a child. She’s never seen the sun. The surface… it’ll burn her skin, blind her. She’ll suffer.”

Kyorlin, standing in a shadowed corner, stepped forward, his presence commanding silence. His eyes—tinged with the same unsettling blue that betrayed his allegiance—gleamed in the dim light.

“Eilistraee will protect her,” he said firmly, his voice steady with conviction. “I will protect her. This child is our future, a symbol of what we fight for.”

His words carried weight, but the room remained tense, the undercurrent of doubt unspoken yet palpable. The extremists returned to their argument, their voices rising in intensity as they debated their next steps.

In the midst of the chaos, no one noticed the small crystalline spider that skittered silently into the safehouse. Its translucent body caught faint glimmers of light, each delicate limb moving with eerie precision. It crept closer to Lythaera, its many eyes glinting with an otherworldly intelligence. It paused briefly at the foot of the bench, its mandibles clicking softly, a sound too faint for the distracted extremists to hear.

The spider climbed deftly onto Lythaera’s robes, weaving its way into the folds of the fabric. Once nestled within, it settled itself against her chest, as if anchoring itself to her. The faint chittering ceased, and the spider remained utterly still, blending seamlessly into her clothing.

The crystalline spider was more than just a creature; it was a message, a harbinger. These spiders, sacred to Lolth, had once been your salvation when you were young and alone. This spider’s presence was not random. It was a sign, a declaration: Lolth is watching. Lolth is coming. And worse than that, so were you.

As the extremists’ argument grew louder, the spider’s presence went unnoticed, its role quietly solidifying. It pulsed faintly with magic, a silent promise to its matron: her child was not alone.

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Woweee, this was intense hence why it took me so long to write aha. I am not an expert on giving birth or labor so it may not be entirely accurate but i really tried my best. Also poor minthy, she's going through it - you on the other hand, goddamn. This was partially inspired by that scene in HOTD where Rhaenyra just firms walking those steps after giving birth bcs spite.

Let me know what you thought of this down below, every like, comment and reblog is cherished and I love you all. Happy Holidays! -Seluney xox

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[blackulax]

Thank you Larian for the best patch in any game

[nukbody]

How do you feel knowing picking one of them over another will end in your death sentence

[sanriowendigo]

I love baldurs gate sm

[aristenfromwarsaw]