#baldurs gate minthara | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonselune · 27 days ago

Note

I spy an open inbox 👀

Not going to lie, started playing BG3 about a couple weeks ago, and have binge read all your works. A few times over. They're honestly so fucking good!?

Got a request idea if you wouldn't mind? Tav is an aasimar, or just has wings in general, and wings that size would need a fair amount of work and effort put in to keep them clean. The ladies see them struggling, perhaps after a battle, and offer to help out not quite realising how sensitive their wings can be...

Cheers!

yesyesyesyesyesyesyes this is such a good idea and thank you so much that is so sweet! 🥹

Karlach:

The river was cold. Not unbearably so, but enough that your muscles ached from the length of time you had spent submerged.

You had been at this for what felt like hours—scrubbing, rinsing, repeating. The battle had been a mess. Blood—your own, your enemies', your companions'—had soaked into the pristine white of your wings, the viscous substance clinging to the feathers in thick, stubborn patches. Even with the river’s steady current working with you, it was a nightmare to clean.

You grit your teeth, reaching back awkwardly to try and scrub at the worst of it. The angle was awful, your arms burning with the effort, and yet no matter how much you worked at it, the blood refused to fully lift.

A frustrated groan left your lips.

"Need a hand, soldier?"

You startled, turning to see Karlach crouched at the riverbank, a lopsided grin on her face. She looked just as battle-worn as you felt—armor dented, skin smeared with dirt and streaks of dried blood—but the warmth in her molten eyes remained as bright as ever.

You sighed, shaking your head. "I’ve been at this forever and it’s still not coming out."

Karlach hummed, rolling up her sleeves. "Alright, shift forward a bit, let me in there."

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want her help—gods knew you did—but your wings were… sensitive.

Still, your arms were aching, and Karlach wasn’t exactly the type to take ‘no’ for an answer when she had her mind set on something.

So you swallowed your hesitation and nodded, shifting so that she could step into the river behind you. The water barely seemed to bother her, the heat of her infernal engine keeping the cold at bay.

"Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here," Karlach muttered, reaching out to cup one of your wings, her fingers grazing along the blood-matted feathers—

—and you jerked, a strangled sound escaping your throat.

Karlach froze. "…You good?"

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to relax. "Y-Yeah, just—gentle. They're… sensitive."

Her brow furrowed, and then a slow grin spread across her face. "Sensitive, huh?"

You groaned. "Karlach—"

"Relax, relax, I won’t mess with you," she chuckled, though the teasing lilt to her voice told you she definitely wanted to.

She adjusted her grip, this time much softer, and got to work. Her hands were large, calloused from battle, but careful as she dipped the tips of your feathers into the water, working through the stubborn patches of dried blood. At first, it wasn’t so bad—just the gentle sensation of her fingers combing through, rinsing and massaging away the grime.

But then—

"Fuck!" You arched sharply as her thumb pressed too hard into a particularly sensitive spot near the base.

Karlach immediately pulled back, hands raised in alarm. "Shit! Sorry! You okay?"

You shuddered, inhaling a deep breath. "Fine," you ground out, though your entire body was trembling.

Karlach narrowed her eyes. "That didn’t sound fine."

You exhaled sharply, trying to calm the heat creeping up your neck. "They’re fine. Just—like I said—sensitive."

She studied you for a moment, then a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face.

"Ohhhh, I see," she purred, reaching out again, deliberately ghosting her fingers over the same spot.

You whined, the sound entirely unintentional.

Karlach beamed. "Oh, that’s adorable."

You turned, glaring at her, face burning. "Karlach, I swear—"

She cackled, raising her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! No teasing—I'll behave."

You gave her a suspicious look but sighed, letting her continue.

This time, her touch was excruciatingly careful, her fingers barely grazing the sensitive areas, smoothing out the ruffled, freshly cleaned feathers. And, despite her earlier antics, there was an undeniable tenderness to it—a care that made your chest ache in an entirely different way.

Karlach wasn’t one for subtlety, but in moments like these, you saw just how gentle she could be when it mattered.

Once she was finished, she brushed a wet strand of hair from your face, smiling down at you with all the warmth of a summer sunrise.

"Better?"

You nodded, still a little breathless. "Yeah… much better."

She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back with a grin. "Good. Now c’mon, let’s get outta this freezing-ass river before we both turn into icicles."

You laughed, shaking your head as she tugged you toward the shore, already rambling about how if you ever needed a wing massage again, she was more than happy to help.

And, despite yourself, you knew you might just take her up on that offer.

Minthara:

The battle had been a mess. It wasn’t just the blood—though there was plenty of that, soaking your clothes, your skin, and worst of all, your wings. It clung to the feathers in thick, dried patches, matting them together and making every movement unbearably uncomfortable. No matter how long you had been scrubbing at them, no matter how much water you poured over them, the stubborn mess refused to fully lift.

You sat at the riverbank, hands buried in the mess of ruined feathers, cursing under your breath as you tried to preen out the worst of the tangles.

"Are you still at this?"

Minthara's voice was thick with exasperation as she approached, arms crossed. She was fresh from washing up herself, armor cleaned, silver hair still damp from the water. She was as poised as ever, looking at you like you were an idiot for wasting so much time.

You sighed. "Yes, love, I am still at this."

She clicked her tongue. "This is ridiculous. Move."

Your eyes widened as she stepped behind you, her fingers already reaching for your wings.

"No—wait!" You twisted away, wings snapping up protectively. "They're sensitive."

Minthara rolled her eyes. "Grow up."

Before you could protest further, she grabbed hold of your left wing and yanked it downward, forcing it back into the water. You yelped, squirming against her grip, but Minthara was stronger than she looked, her warrior’s training giving her an unshakable hold.

"Minthara!" You flailed as she began ruthlessly scrubbing at the stained feathers.

"Stop whining," she said flatly, working her fingers through the tangles without an ounce of sympathy. "You act as though I am torturing you."

"You are!" You twisted in her grasp, glaring at her. "You wouldn't like it if I grabbed your ears like this!"

Minthara ignored you, still scrubbing away. Your eyes narrowed. Fine. If she wanted to play dirty, so could you.

With a smirk, you shot out a hand and flicked the tip of one of her long, pointed ears and gleamed when Minthara jerked.

You felt the sharp intake of breath more than you heard it—the way her entire body stiffened, muscles going rigid.

Slowly, she turned her head, ruby eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Don't you dare—"

You grinned. And then you attacked.

Your fingers latched onto both of her ears, rubbing and pinching, running along the sensitive edges just as ruthlessly as she had treated your wings.

Minthara screeched.

"Unhand me, you menace!" She tried to twist away, swatting at you, but you held fast, laughing as she flailed.

"You started it!" you shot back, wiggling your fingers along the sensitive ridges. Minthara snarled, breaking free just long enough to tackle you, knocking you both into the dirt. You wrestled like two unruly children, rolling across the riverbank—her hands in your wings, yours still attacking her ears, both of you shrieking and snapping at each other like rabid animals.

Then—

With one wrong move, one poorly placed shift of weight—

Splash!

You both hit the water. The cold river swallowed you whole, cutting through the heat of the fight and forcing you both to pause. When you resurfaced, Minthara was already standing, utterly seething, silver hair plastered to her face, armor dripping wet. You wiped water from your eyes and burst into laughter.

Minthara growled. "You—"

"You deserved it," you cut in, grinning.

She lunged, and you yelped, scrambling away through the water, laughing the entire time as she chased you.

Maybe your wings weren’t clean yet, and maybe you had just started another battle, but gods—this was worth it.

Lae'zel:

The battle had been brutal. Not just in the way all battles were brutal—blood, steel, the constant risk of death looming over every strike—but in the way it had stuck to you. Quite literally.

Your wings were an absolute mess.

Blood had dried into the feathers, turning soft plumes into stiff, clumped-together disasters. Bits of dirt and grime had worked their way into the delicate barbs, and no matter how much you scrubbed, no matter how much river water you dumped over them, you couldn't seem to get them clean.

You sat at the river’s edge, muttering curses under your breath, fingers plucking uselessly at the tangled mess. Your muscles ached, exhaustion settling into your bones. You had been at this for what felt like hours, but you refused to stop until you could at least fold them without discomfort.

"Enough."

The sharp command made you tense. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

"Lae’zel, I’m—"

"I am helping you," she stated, leaving no room for argument.

You groaned. "That’s really not necessary."

"You are failing," she said bluntly, stepping closer. "I do not waste time watching failure when I can fix it."

You winced, shifting your wings inward instinctively. "They’re sensitive."

Lae’zel scoffed. "Then you will endure. Hold still."

You wanted to protest, but you knew there was no arguing with Lae’zel once she had decided on something. With a sigh, you relented, unfolding your wings and waiting for the inevitable pain—Lae’zel was a warrior, not a healer, and gentleness was not her strong suit.

Except—

When her hands touched your feathers, they were… soft.

Careful.

She worked methodically, sifting through the worst of the blood and grime with surprising precision, her fingers plucking and smoothing with a patience you never would have expected.

It was oddly soothing.

The rhythmic motions, the slow drag of her fingers along your wings, the subtle warmth of her touch—it all melted into a steady lull, seeping past your exhaustion and settling into something comforting.

You felt your shoulders relax, your breathing slow. The weight of the battle, the stress of the aftermath—it all faded under her hands. You let your eyes slip shut, barely aware of how your body was beginning to lean forward, how your mind was drifting.

A sudden tug at your feathers jolted you awake.

You jerked, blinking rapidly, only to turn and see Lae’zel looking down at you, her usual sharp expression laced with something suspiciously close to amusement.

"You are falling asleep," she said.

You scowled. "You woke me up on purpose."

"I refuse to waste my efforts on an unconscious audience," she said smoothly, though you caught the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

You huffed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Sadist."

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. "Ungrateful."

Despite her words, she resumed her work, fingers gliding through your feathers once more—careful, precise, deliberate.

You sighed, but didn’t argue. Maybe she was right. Maybe you should be grateful. After all, not everyone got to witness a warrior’s hands turned gentle.

Shadowheart:

The battle had been long, drawn out, and far messier than you would have liked. The stench of blood and sweat clung to the air, thick and metallic, even after the fighting had long ceased. Your muscles ached, your clothes were torn, and your wings—your poor wings—were utterly ruined.

Caked in dried blood and dirt, feathers sticking at odd angles, they felt wrong. Every movement sent an uncomfortable pull through them, like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. You’d been sitting by the river for what felt like hours, scrubbing at them with trembling fingers, trying to fix the damage, but it was no use. The filth clung stubbornly, and the more you tried to set things right, the worse it seemed to get.

It was frustrating. Agonizing, even. You were close to just setting them on fire and being done with it when a shadow loomed over you.

"You’re making a mess," Shadowheart’s voice cut through the night, smooth and unimpressed.

You barely turned your head, still focused on the stubborn dirt stuck between your feathers. "I am the mess."

Shadowheart sighed, stepping closer. "Let me."

You hesitated, your grip tightening around one of your wings as if that alone could keep her from interfering.

"I can handle it," you mumbled, though you both knew it was a lie.

Shadowheart arched an eyebrow. "Really? Because it looks like you’ve been sitting here, struggling, and achieving nothing."

You grumbled under your breath, shaking out a wing in frustration, sending loose dirt and bits of bloodied feathers scattering into the air. Shadowheart made a small noise of disapproval before kneeling behind you.

"I’ve dealt with enough tangles in my hair to know when someone is fighting a losing battle," she said, pulling a small cloth from her belt and dipping it into the water. "Stop being stubborn. Just let me help."

Her fingers were already moving before you could argue, and—gods, her touch was careful, methodical. She smoothed over each feather, working through the worst of the dried blood with careful precision, dampening the barbs, untangling what had been twisted in battle.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react. Because the problem—the real problem—was that your wings were sensitive.

Not just in the way one might expect. No, it wasn’t just discomfort—it was something more.

The gentle drag of her fingers over the feathers sent shivers down your spine. The way she meticulously groomed each one, working through them with quiet patience, sent heat pooling in your stomach.

It was soothing. It was almost… intimate.

You bit the inside of your cheek, determined not to show any reaction. If she realized how sensitive your wings were—how utterly weak they made you—she would never let you live it down.

Shadowheart worked in silence, carefully arranging the feathers back into place. The rhythmic motion, the warm press of her fingers, the soft scrape of nails along delicate nerves—it was too much.

You could barely think, barely breathe.

And then—

A sharp tug.

Shadowheart plucked a loose feather, and before you could stop it, a choked, strangled sound tore from your throat—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

Your entire body went rigid.

Shadowheart paused.

You felt her hesitation, the stillness of her fingers. Then, slowly, slowly, she turned her head to look at you, her expression shifting from confusion to realization.

And then—

She grinned.

A slow, wicked smile stretched across her lips, the kind of expression that meant trouble.

"Oh," she said, her voice rich with amusement. "Oh."

Your stomach dropped.

"That’s interesting."

You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure. "No, it’s not."

Shadowheart twirled the plucked feather between her fingers, her grin widening.

"No?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Are you sure? Because you sounded like—"

You turned, leveling a desperate glare at her. "Don’t you dare."

She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. "Tell me, love," she murmured, her voice thick with mischief. "What happens if I actually try?"

A fresh wave of heat surged through you, and you clenched your fists. "Shadowheart—"

She hummed in thought, ignoring you completely. "Such useful information," she mused, almost to herself, as if already plotting ways to use it against you.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. "I hate you."

Shadowheart pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, her lips soft against your skin. "No, you don’t."

And you knew—with absolute certainty—that the next time you ended up tangled in the sheets with her, you were doomed.

Jaheira:

The camp had long since settled into a quiet lull, the remnants of the day's battle left behind in blood-streaked weapons and exhausted bodies. You had been victorious, but it had not been an easy fight. Your muscles ached, your wounds burned, and worst of all, your wings were filthy.

Caked in blood, dirt, and gods knew what else, they felt heavy behind you, the weight of them throwing off your balance. It was the kind of discomfort that sent a persistent shudder up your spine, a lingering wrongness you couldn’t just ignore. So, instead of crawling into bed like any sane person would, you had stationed yourself by the fire with a bucket of water, scrubbing at the mess with a grimace.

The process was tedious, slow. The barbs of your feathers were stubborn, sticking together in clumps, refusing to come clean no matter how much you worked at them. The dried blood had set in deep, and the more you scrubbed, the more it felt like you were fighting a losing battle.

"You know, most people go to bed after a fight like that."

You glanced up to see Jaheira standing nearby, arms crossed, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. Her hair was unbraided for the night, cascading over her shoulders, and her tunic was loose and untied, signaling that she had already been preparing for sleep.

"You’re still awake," you pointed out.

She let out a soft snort. "Because you are still awake."

You sighed, flicking water from your fingertips. "Go to bed, Jaheira."

She ignored you, stepping closer, her sharp eyes scanning the state of your wings.

"Hells, you made a mess of yourself," she murmured, reaching out before you could stop her. Her fingers ghosted over your feathers, feeling the damp weight of them, before she clicked her tongue. "You’re going to be here all night trying to clean these."

"I have to," you grumbled, shaking out one wing. Water droplets scattered everywhere, catching the firelight. "I can’t sleep like this."

Jaheira hummed in thought. Then, before you could protest, she knelt behind you and pulled the bucket closer. "Then let’s make this faster."

You stiffened. "Jaheira—"

"You can complain all you like," she said breezily, dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out. "Or you can sit still and let me help."

You hesitated, but when she fixed you with that pointed look—the one that left no room for argument—you sighed and relented, settling forward to give her better access.

She worked efficiently, methodically, much like she did with everything else in her life. Her hands were firm, wiping away the dried blood, straightening ruffled feathers with practiced ease. It was nice, actually. Comforting. She had always had a way of making things seem easier, even the worst of wounds, the hardest of days.

And then—

A sharp jolt ran through you as her fingers lingered just a bit too long at the base of your wings. You sucked in a breath, your shoulders twitching involuntarily.

Jaheira paused. Then, in the most infuriating way possible, she did it again.

"What—" you started, twisting your head to look at her.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "Are your wings sensitive?"

Heat flushed through your face. "No."

Jaheira’s smile widened. "Oh? So if I do this—" she dragged her fingers over the delicate part of your wing again, her nails just barely scraping against the nerves—

You jolted, letting out something between a choked gasp and an undignified squawk.

Jaheira laughed.

"Jaheira," you hissed, your feathers bristling.

She was grinning now, absolutely delighted. "Oh, this is fantastic," she said, her voice rich with amusement. "You’re telling me this whole time, you’ve been this easy to mess with?"

"You are insufferable," you grumbled, trying to shift away, but she followed, her hands still working at your wings, this time with far too much deliberate teasing.

"You should have told me sooner," she continued, chuckling. "Think of all the arguments I could have won with this knowledge—"

You let out a strangled noise as she pinched at a particularly sensitive spot, your wings twitching on reflex. Jaheira doubled over, laughing so hard she nearly fell.

"You are a child," you accused, scowling as you fought to get your dignity back.

Jaheira wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her grin still wide. "Oh, I am so using this against you."

"You would," you grumbled, fluffing out your wings indignantly.

Jaheira pressed a quick kiss to the back of your neck, still laughing. "Oh, love," she murmured against your skin. "You have no idea."

This was so fun to write, I loveeee the wings mod for bg3 although I always use the cambion ones for some reason ahaha. Hope you guys enjoyed this! -Seluney

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

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moonselune · 5 months ago

Note

I love the concept that plays with how blank a slate Tav is and what that could mean. Like think of a high charisma (bard) Tav who goes through the entire plot carefully conceiling their own struggles and traumas so to not loose focus on helping everyone else first.

A Tav who, till the late game, carefully side stepped ever sharing a shred of their sad life with the group so not to risk loosing respect as leader. Until their romanced companion’s own quest is finished and the companion suddenly realized they don’t know A Thing about the love of their life.

Que intervention as they insist Tav lean on them as well.

Oooooo this is such a cool concept!!! I wrote little snippets of it with the ladies because I just needed to see it in action ahaha, and also i wasn't sure if this was a request or a sharing thoughts situation, but either way thank you!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach’s laughter usually lit up the camp like a second sun, warm and untamed. But tonight, as she sat next to you, her smile was hesitant, her brow furrowed in thought. The fire crackled between you, casting flickering light over her troubled face. Her quest was over—the engine in her chest hummed quietly, no longer a constant threat, and for the first time in years, she could dream of a future.

With you.

And yet, now that the battlefields were behind you and her own burdens were lifted, Karlach realized something startling: she didn’t know you.

She knew your jokes, your way of rallying the group when morale dipped, your quick wit and even quicker blade. But you’d always deflected questions about yourself, about your past, in such a charming way that no one ever pressed.

Until now.

“You’re quiet tonight, soldier,” Karlach said softly, nudging your shoulder with hers. Her voice was light, teasing, but her gaze held a deeper intensity.

“I thought you’d enjoy a bit of peace,” you replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

She tilted her head, studying you. “Peace? Sure. But not silence. C’mon, you’ve got me curious.”

“Curious?”

Karlach nodded, leaning back on her hands. The firelight danced in her eyes. “Yeah. We’ve been through hell together, fought gods and monsters, and you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger. But I just realized... I don’t know anything about you. Who you were. Where you’re from. What keeps you up at night.”

You laughed nervously, brushing off her words with a joke. “What keeps me up? You, snoring like a troll after a good meal.”

But Karlach wasn’t laughing. Her hand reached out, warm and steady, to rest on your arm. “I’m serious. Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?”

For a moment, the mask slipped. Your smile faltered, your shoulders tensed, and you looked away. “Because it’s not important.”

Karlach’s grip tightened, grounding you. “Bullshit.”

The word hit harder than any blade. You glanced back at her, meeting her gaze, and saw nothing but unwavering determination.

“You’ve carried all of us, soldier,” she said, her voice softening. “You’ve been there for me, for everyone, without ever asking for anything in return. But you don’t have to carry it all alone. Not anymore.”

The weight of her words was unbearable. You opened your mouth to deflect again, to joke, to lie—but Karlach was relentless.

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Let me be there for you, the way you’ve been there for me. Please.”

And so, with her hand warm against your arm and her eyes locked on yours, the dam broke. You told her everything: the choices you’d made, the people you’d lost, the sacrifices that had carved deep scars into your soul. You spoke until your throat was raw, until tears blurred your vision, until the weight you’d carried for so long began to lift.

When you finished, Karlach pulled you into her arms, her infernal heart humming quietly between you.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered, her voice fierce with conviction. “Not anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the gathering. It was one of those rare quiet nights when the group could let their guard down after a day of relentless fighting and tension. You sat slightly apart from the others, leaning on a log with your lute resting against your lap, fingers idly plucking a soft tune. The others laughed and chatted, the mood light for once, a reflection of a recent victory in defeating Orin.

Minthara was a commanding presence at the center of the gathering, her voice cool and measured as she recounted a story of conquest from her youth in the Underdark. You watched her with quiet admiration, a small smile on your face. Her victory had brought her a visible sense of satisfaction, and you were glad to have helped her achieve it. But as the group began to disperse for the night, she approached you, her sharp golden eyes intent.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight,” she said, sitting beside you on the log. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a probing edge to it.

You shrugged, still plucking at the lute strings. “Just enjoying the peace. It’s not often we get nights like this.”

Minthara frowned slightly. “You say that as though peace is a luxury you cannot afford.”

You hesitated, the music faltering for a moment before you resumed playing. “We all have things we’re dealing with,” you said lightly, deflecting as you always did.

She narrowed her eyes at you, clearly not satisfied with the answer. “Do we now? I suppose it’s convenient that you always seem to deal with them in private. A leader who asks for nothing of their allies, who gives so much and reveals so little.”

You chuckled softly, trying to play it off. “I’m just a bard. Stories and songs, that’s all I have to offer. It’s better if I focus on everyone else’s happiness. That’s how we keep moving forward, right?”

Her hand shot out, catching your wrist and stilling the lute’s strings. The sudden silence was startling.

“Enough,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “Do not insult me by pretending you have no burdens of your own. I have watched you—carefully, closely—and I see the cracks beneath your mask.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding. Minthara had always been astute, but you hadn’t expected her to press the issue like this.

“I… it’s not important,” you murmured, avoiding her gaze. “Not compared to what everyone else has been through.”

Her fingers tightened around your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make her point. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I cannot handle your truth? Or do you think so little of yourself that you cannot share it?”

Her words hit harder than you cared to admit. For so long, you had poured your energy into being the strong, charismatic leader your companions needed, smoothing over conflicts, supporting their struggles, and offering unwavering encouragement. But you’d never let them see the darker parts of yourself.

Minthara’s gaze softened, her hand loosening on your wrist but not letting go. “You have been my rock through my darkest moments, my most trying battles. Yet I realize now I know nothing of what lies beneath the surface of the one I call my heart. Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you more than anyone. But I—” You paused, struggling to find the words. “If I start talking about it, it’ll feel real. And I’ve worked so hard to keep it buried. To keep it from interfering with everything we’re trying to do.”

Her expression was unreadable for a moment, but then she moved closer, her presence warm and grounding.

“You are not alone anymore. Whatever demons haunt you, they will not diminish you in my eyes. If anything, they make you stronger for having faced them.” She paused, her voice softening. “But strength is not refusing to lean on others. Strength is allowing those who care for you to share the weight.”

Her words broke something open inside you, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. Slowly, you set the lute aside and took a deep breath. For the first time, you began to speak—not with a practiced deflection or a half-truth, but honestly. You told her about the losses that had shaped you, the scars you carried, and the fear that if you let others see your pain, they would lose faith in you as a leader.

Minthara listened intently, her hand never leaving yours. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer platitudes or solutions. When you finished, she reached up to touch your cheek, her fingers brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“You are more than I ever imagined,” she said softly, her voice full of conviction. “And I am honored to carry your pain with you.”

Her words were a balm, and as you leaned into her touch, you felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time in a long while, you weren’t carrying the weight alone.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel was never one for subtlety. It wasn’t her way, and it wasn’t what drew her to you. What drew her to you was your strength, your decisiveness, your ability to unite a group of misfits and drive them toward a common goal. In you, she saw a leader worth following—and eventually, someone worth loving.

But as you sat by the campfire one evening, spinning a tale that had the others laughing and cheering, Lae’zel watched you with narrowed eyes. She noticed the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your voice faltered when someone asked about your own past, and how deftly you redirected the conversation back to them. You had thought she would have been too wrapped up in her own victory that day, that she was finally free of Vlaakith's lies, a new champion found in Prince Orpheus. But you were wrong.

It wasn’t until the camp was quiet, with only the two of you lingering by the dying embers, that she decided to confront you.

“You wear your mask well,” she said bluntly, sitting across from you.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Mask? I wasn’t wearing one during the performance.”

Lae’zel huffed, her sharp yellow eyes locking onto yours. “You know what I mean. You speak of others’ pain as though it were your own. You rally us with words that stir the soul. But when it comes to you...” She leaned forward, her voice low and accusing. “I know nothing of the one I call ‘commander'. The one I love.”

You hesitated, your usual arsenal of witty retorts suddenly failing you. “Lae’zel, I—”

“Do not lie to me,” she cut you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “I see it in your eyes, in the way you deflect. You think yourself clever, but I know what it is to hide weakness.”

Her words struck a chord, and for a moment, you considered brushing her off. But the intensity in her gaze—equal parts frustration and concern—kept you rooted in place.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter than usual. “What I’ve been through... it’s not important. The group—you—come first. Always.”

Lae’zel’s expression softened, though her resolve didn’t waver. She stood and moved to sit beside you, her hand reaching out to grasp yours. “Do not belittle me by suggesting that your struggles are insignificant. You are not some faceless pawn on a battlefield. You are my partner. My heart beats for you.”

Her words undid you. The walls you’d so carefully constructed began to crumble as she continued, her voice gentler now.

“You have carried the burdens of us all. It is time you shared your own.”

The floodgates opened. Slowly at first, then all at once, you began to speak—of the losses you’d endured, the sacrifices you’d made, and the fear that admitting any of it would shatter the respect the group had for you. Lae’zel listened without interruption, her grip on your hand unwavering. When you were done, she pulled you into her arms, her strength a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

“You are stronger than you know,” she said softly, her voice near your ear. “And you are not alone. Not anymore.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe her. To trust someone else. To share the pain.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart was patient, but only to a point. She’d fallen for you—not the bard’s mask you wore so expertly, but the glimpses of vulnerability you let slip when you thought no one was watching. Yet those moments were fleeting, and every time she tried to delve deeper, you sidestepped her with the same charming ease you used on everyone else.

It wasn’t until her personal quest had come to a bittersweet end—when she finally felt free from the shackles of Shar’s influence—that she realized the gaping hole in her knowledge of you.

You sat by the edge of the camp, tuning your lute under the pale light of the moon. Shadowheart approached quietly, her steps soft on the grass. She didn’t speak until she was sitting beside you, her gaze fixed on the instrument in your hands.

“You’re always playing for others,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “Have you ever written a song for yourself?”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of unease in the sound. “I prefer to leave the self-indulgent ballads to others.”

Shadowheart turned to you, her expression serious. “Why?”

You hesitated, your fingers stilling on the strings. “Because it’s not about me. It’s about... helping. Inspiring. That’s what matters.”

Shadowheart sighed, her frustration evident. “You’re deflecting again.”

Your shoulders tensed, and you looked away, your usual charm faltering under her unwavering gaze.

“I’m fine, Shadowheart,” you said, though the words rang hollow even to your ears. “Really. There’s nothing to—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. “I’ve spent my life serving a goddess who demanded I suppress everything I was. I know what it looks like when someone is hiding their pain. And I know how much it hurts to carry it alone.”

Her words struck a nerve, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her eyes.

“It’s easier this way,” you admitted quietly. “If I focus on everyone else, if I don’t talk about it... then it’s like it doesn’t exist. Like it doesn’t matter.”

Shadowheart reached out, her hand gently brushing against yours. “But it does matter. You matter.”

You glanced at her, the sincerity in her eyes threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

“What if... What if I tell you, and you see me differently?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “I already see you, even if you don’t realize it. You’ve given so much of yourself to this group—to me. Let me give something back.”

Her words were the final push you needed. Slowly, haltingly, you began to speak—about the traumas you’d buried, the fear of letting anyone see the cracks in your facade, and the constant pressure to be everything to everyone.

Shadowheart listened intently, her hand never leaving yours. When you finished, she shifted closer, wrapping her arms around you in a tender embrace.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” she murmured. “Not anymore. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into her comfort, the weight of your secrets finally beginning to lift.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The campfire burned low, crackling faintly in the still night air. You sat alone at the edge of camp, your lute balanced across your lap, fingers idly plucking a soft melody. It was your usual way of winding down after a long day, the gentle music serving as a balm not just for yourself but for your companions. Tonight, though, your mind was elsewhere, the notes faltering now and then as memories you worked so hard to suppress bubbled unbidden to the surface.

Across camp, Jaheira watched you with a quiet intensity. She had spent decades in the company of adventurers, soldiers, and leaders, and she recognized the signs of a burden carried in silence. Even if the freshly recruited Minsc was determined to fill that silence with his usual babbles. You, the charismatic bard, the glue that held this strange, volatile group together, had always been an enigma. You soothed tensions, inspired courage, and tended to the wounds of body and soul without ever revealing anything of yourself.

It hadn’t bothered her before—not in the heat of the crisis, when every moment was a battle for survival. But now, Jaheira found herself uneasy. The realization struck her that despite all her time at your side, she knew little of the person she had grown to love. And it gnawed at her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

She rose from her seat, approaching you with her usual confidence, though her expression softened as she drew nearer.

“You’ll wear your strings thin at this rate,” she teased gently, nodding toward your lute.

You glanced up, offering her your practiced, easy smile. “Ah, but music soothes even the most restless soul. Should I not share it?”

Jaheira’s lips quirked upward in a small smile, but her gaze was piercing. “Perhaps. But who soothes you, bard?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers stilling on the strings.

“I—” You laughed lightly, deflecting. “I’m fine, Jaheira. Don’t worry about me.”

She crossed her arms, her emerald eyes narrowing. “You’ve said that every time someone’s asked. And yet, I can’t help but notice that ‘fine’ is all you ever claim to be. Do you expect me to believe that a life as tangled as yours comes without scars?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she cut you off, sitting down beside you and placing a firm hand on your arm. “Enough. You’ve carried the weight of everyone else’s troubles, including mine. You’ve fought for us, bled for us, and offered comfort whenever we’ve needed it. But not once—not once—have you shared even a fragment of your own story. Why is that?”

The weight of her words settled over you like a shroud, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her gaze. “I… I didn’t want to distract anyone,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than usual. “There was so much to do, so much at stake. If I started talking about my own problems, it would have… I don’t know, shifted things. Made me seem weaker. Less of a leader.”

Jaheira’s hand tightened on your arm. “Weakness? Do you think I’d see you as weak because you’re human? Because you have wounds that haven’t healed?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s not that simple. I had to keep everyone together. If I faltered—if I let anyone see how badly I was struggling—what would’ve happened to us? To you?”

She sighed, her thumb brushing absently over your sleeve. “You’ve spent so much time tending to others, you’ve forgotten how to let someone tend to you. But that’s not leadership; that’s martyrdom.”

Her words cut deep, striking at a truth you’d been avoiding for so long. Slowly, you looked up at her, and the concern in her gaze nearly undid you. “Jaheira… I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start here,” she said simply, placing her other hand over yours. “Start with me. You’ve given so much of yourself to everyone else; now let someone give something back.”

And so you did. Haltingly at first, the words spilling out in a jumbled, unpracticed mess. You told her of the choices you regretted, the people you’d lost, the nights spent lying awake under the stars wondering if you’d ever be enough. She listened without interruption, her hand never leaving yours, her presence steady and grounding.

By the time you finished, your throat was tight and your shoulders felt lighter than they had in years. Jaheira leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her expression filled with an affection that made your heart ache.

“There,” she said softly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laughed shakily, a tear slipping down your cheek. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

She smiled, the warmth in her eyes chasing away the last shadows of doubt. “It takes one to know one.”

As she pulled you into a gentle embrace, you realized she was right. For the first time, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else, to let go of the mask you’d worn for so long.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

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