#emeraldweb

[m-for-musings]

Halsin x Minthara Fanfiction Masterlist

Here is a list of fanfictions of this rare (and crack) ship I love so much. I dug them all from AO3, some of them are mine (forgive the weird phrases, english is not my mother tongue).

You Know It Isn't Love - Halsin and Minthara take the Dryad test at the circus

The Bear Cage - Halsin, Minthara and Abdirak have a threesome BDSM fun (NSFW)

And There Was Only One Bedroll - Self-explanatory name (this one is mine) SFW

Sharing - Halsin and Minthara are tentmates (this one inspired me to write the previous one - SFW)

Now Lie in it - Tav convinces Halsin to stay despite Minthara (SFW)

deluge - Minthara gets Halsin out of the rain (SFW)

Something Wicked This Way Comes - Explores the relationship dynamics of those two, inspired me to write the next one (SFW)

Spider's Lyre - Minthara domme/Halsin sub (NSFW)

Whispers in the Dark - Fight that ends up in sex, also mine (NSFW)

Pet - This one requires a browser tradutor (NSFW)

Bearing it All - Halsin has humiliation kink (NSFW)

Honey Webbing - (my current WIP, not sure if it will turn NSFW or not. Here's the AO3 link to it, if you prefer reading there)

Edit: Honey Webbing is definetely turning NSFW.

(this shit became too long for keeping it at roman numerals, it would start to become silly)

(art by stormcall)

[m-for-musings]

Halsin in my fic be like:

[universalear]

We found ourselves in a strange place. #ValleyOfTheBirds #EmeraldWeb #albumcover #synth #newage #alltheworldsmusicever #utopia https://www.instagram.com/p/BvZ6qFdg6DA/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1wi533w1x7ih2

[one-track-daily]

Emerald Web Valley of the Birds (1981)

From the album: Valley of the Birds (Stargate)

[primallmusic]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by @primallmusic

Idea - off the Lost Conscious album #ambient #darkambient #darksynthwave #synthwave #darksynth #HOME #droidbishop #teslaboy #emeraldweb #traxx #experimental #flylo #shlohmo

[m-for-musings]

Joke's on you, I'm right between them 👀 🥪

Which side are you on?

[haynesworld]

Wishcraft: How To Get What You Really Want. The Best Of East West Bookshop. Published April 1988. Totally entertaining catalog of New Age stuff! $8 shipped. #NewAge #Tapes #EmeraldWeb

[m-for-musings]

IMAGES FORBIDDEN IN 236 COUNTRIES

[nsputnik]

Morning read. #broadcast #ghostbox #emeraldweb #shindig

[m-for-musings]

WIP WEDNESDAY

(I've seen @jellymellydraws doing it so I'm doing it too because I'm a copycat :D )

Minthara's eyes met his, their hardness tempered by a flicker of something more fragile, but still trying to hold her steely stare. "Spare me the motivational speech,” she said, the words laced with a familiar edge of defiance, although a lingering sadness could be heard underneath. “I never needed your pity, druid."  "It's not pity, Minthara," Halsin assured her, his voice gentle yet unyielding. "You single-handedly defeated a Cave Bear in combat and managed to imprison me. You almost destroyed my grove with little more than a bunch of drunk goblins under your command. You resisted a complete brainwash long enough for our companions to come to your aid, without shedding a single tear. Not to mention surviving the horrors that Orin got you through. More than once, I considered leaving the camp at night in the middle of the Shadowfell because the prospect of facing the hungry shadows seemed more reasonable than facing you, should you turn on me. You are one of the most fierce, strong-willed souls I've met in my entire life. For Sylvanus’ sake, I never pitied you. I was terrified of you.”

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part 20

Minthara found herself surprised by the ease with which Mera agreed to guide her back to the cavern. It was a stark contrast to their previous encounters, where the girl had been moody and openly resentful towards the drow. This time, however, Mera seemed eager to talk, though her topics — such as trivial teenage woes — struck Minthara as inconsequential. She spoke of her siblings, the pranks they played, and the latest gossip circulating among the villagers. It was clear that Mera was enjoying having someone listen to her, even if that someone was Minthara. The drow listened patiently, occasionally nodding or offering a brief comment to keep Mera engaged. The promise of the lyre had undoubtedly played a role in Mera’s willingness to guide her, but Minthara noted with interest how the girl’s demeanor had shifted beyond that. Gone was all the hostility and suspicion; after the distressful first-period night, there was a sense of gratitude and even camaraderie, however fleeting it could possibly be.

After the girl broke her fast, they made their way back to the riverbank. The morning air was cool and crisp, the scent of dew-covered grass mingling with the faint aroma of wood smoke from hearths. As they walked through the village, Minthara couldn't help but notice the flickering gazes and wary stares from the villagers – some curious, others openly distrustful.

Minthara stride with confidence, her chin held high, her steps purposeful as she led the way towards the riverbank. A group of children playing near the edge of the path pause their game, staring at Minthara and Mera as they pass by. A woman carrying a basket of freshly baked bread glanced up from her task, her expression guarded. A few men working on repairing a boat exchanged murmured words, their eyes following the duo.

Minthara noticed a sudden shift in Mera's demeanor. The girl's steps faltered slightly, and the drow could sense her growing discomfort under the scrutiny of the villagers' wary stares.

"Are you regretting walking with me already?" Minthara scoffed, a mocking defiance in her tone as she turned to face the girl.

"It's not like they don't stare at me when I'm alone either," Mera shrugged, her gaze on the floor, her voice tinged with resignation. “So I think the problem is me, not you.”

Minthara’s brow furrowed as realization dawned. Of course Mera, as a half-drow, would face the suspicion and wariness of the surfacers.

"Pay them no heed," Minthara stated firmly, her tone carrying her usual authority mark. "They stare because they know, deep down, that they are the inferior ones."

“That’s… Uh…” Mera blinked, taken aback by the harshness of Minthara's words. “I’m kinda used to it already… But... Well, thank you for trying to make me feel better.” Mera swallowed nervously, uncertain how to respond to Minthara’s statements.

“I’m not trying to ‘make you feel better’, child. I’m just stating an objective truth. They stare because they see a pair of drow,” Minthara continued sharply, “drow women, atop of that. They see how we’re different, superior in all matters, and that makes them uncomfortable. It is not your burden to make them understand, much less to get ‘used to it’. It is their burden to learn respect.”

Mera’s eyes widened in surprise at the drow's strange, unexpected… Well, one could call empathy. For a moment, the hard edges of Minthara's features seemed to soften, and Mera caught a glimpse of understanding in her gaze.

“Never show vulnerability,” Minthara instructed firmly, “never let them know that they have affected you. It only feeds their ignorance and strengthens their misconceptions.”

“I… I'll try.” The girl answered, uncertainty still lingering in her voice. “You know, I thought... I thought a full drow would look down on me… Well, for being a ‘halfie’ and all." Mera murmured.

Minthara's gaze trailed off, contemplating the girl’s words for a moment. "Yes, that might happen," she admitted. Back in Menzoberranzan, Minthara herself had been one of those people. A notion that now, stripped from her seat of privilege, seemed meaningless. "There are those who may see your mixed blood as a weakness, a taint. But in the Underdark, there are undeniably more ways for a woman to prove her worth than on the surface."

Mera frowned in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

“In the Underdark, your heritage might be questioned, but your actions speak louder than blood,” she declared, her tone edged with superiority. “Demonstrate your strength, your cunning, your resilience, and they will respect you. The surface dwellers are too weak-minded to see beyond their prejudices and adapt their narrow world views. Among the drow, this is not the case. Even the highest among the noble Houses must strive for perfection in all things to keep their positions intact, otherwise they risk losing all respect ever achieved.”

Minthara watched as Mera processed her words, the girl's face etched with a mix of awe and thoughtful contemplation. “So stand tall," Minthara concluded, her voice softening slightly but still firm. "Do not let the surfacers’ ignorance sway you."

Mera nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. The drow's confidence was both reassuring and intimidating, but she understood Minthara's words, even if they were delivered in a way that made her a bit uncomfortable.

Minthara watched as Mera's demeanor shifted again; the girl was now walking by her side, slightly mimicking her own stride and defiant posture, her chin held high as she met the wary stares of the villagers. Minthara's lips curled into a satisfied smile at this sight. For some reason, she reveled in the idea of being a role model to the girl, someone to be adored and followed, even by one of a mixed bloodline. The thought of shaping this young half-drow into something formidable pleased her deeply.

“Good,” Minthara murmured, her voice low and approving. “You’re learning. Remember this feeling. Let it drive you, strengthen you.” She felt a surge of pride, imagining the day when the half-drow girl would fully embody the qualities she intended to instill in her, the prospect filling her with a prideful joy.

Minthara’s reverie, just like her smile, was short-lived as a sudden realization struck her: she couldn’t afford to linger on this feeling. Her time here was limited, and she wouldn’t be around long enough to properly instruct the girl and see the results of her tutelage. Unexpectedly, the thought of leaving this promising youngling unfinished gnawing at her.

Minthara's brow furrowed in frustration as she wondered why this idea troubled her so much. It was unlike her to care about a complete stranger, especially a metis who was, by sheer coincidence, barely a means to an end. The girl's future should not matter to Minthara. Yet, the frustration she felt puzzled her. Was it just the thought of wasting potential? Was there an attachment she hadn't expected? Minthara's lips tightened as she considered this. She could not afford to be attached, especially now that she didn't have her paladin powers anymore. Mera was not, and could not become, her responsibility. Taking a slow breath, Minthara pushed all these thoughts aside. She had a purpose to pursue — get revenge on her traitors and bring Lolth's demise — and she couldn't be distracted by such things.

As they reached the familiar cavern along the riverbank, Mera quickened her pace, the prospect of reclaiming the precious lyre clearly driving the girl even more eagerly forward. Minthara followed closely, her keen eyes scanning the area for any signs of a new danger or unwanted company.

"This way," Mera called out, her voice tinged with excitement as she led the drow to an alcove concealed behind huge rocks in the river. Brushing aside a tangle of vines and foliage, the girl revealed a rather large raft, its weathered wooden planks floating on the water, hidden from casual view. Just as the girl said, crates, a barrel, and a chest were tied to it, although some of the ropes seemed to be worn down.

"Everything’s just as I left it,” Mera explained, "No one's been near it, I'm sure."

Minthara nodded, inspecting the raft. The girl’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. "I'll go fetch the lyre," she replied, already turning to make her way deeper into the cavern. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Before Minthara could respond, the girl had sprinted into the shadows, her footsteps echoing against the damp, rocky walls. Alone now, Minthara took the opportunity to inspect the raft more closely, jumping into the waist-high waters to see what's inside the crates.

The drow carefully pried open the lids of the crates, her eyes surveying the contents. As Mera had claimed, it was filled with an assortment of items – clothing, jewelry, and various other objects.

But as she began to sift through the contents, a strange realization dawned on her. These were not random trinkets or supplies scavenged by raiders. These were her own belongings, items she had packed and brought with her on her journey back home.

Minthara's brow furrowed in confusion as she held up a familiar silk nightgown, the dark hues instantly recognizable. Nestled beneath it, she found the intricately carved leather diary she had crafted herself a couple years ago. A small terrarium lay beneath it, housing a small portion of minuscule bioluminescent mushrooms she cultivated back home. Piece by piece, she uncovered more of her personal effects.

Minthara's lips pressed into a thin line as she hastily flipped through the pages of her diary. She was searching for any clues, answers, or insights that could help her recall the events leading up to her brush with death, but the drow knew she would need to take the time to thoroughly read through the entries to piece together what had happened.

Mera emerged from the shadows, a triumphant grin on her face as she clutched the familiar lyre close to her chest. "I found it!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the cavern.

"Excellent, now help me out." she replied, her tone commanding yet warm. “Let's take my belongings back to your father's house.”

As Minthara continued to inspect the contents of the crates, a curious detail caught her eye. Aside from her personal belongings, there was no sign of the oars or poles typically used to navigate a raft. It was a subtle clue, but the absence of any means of propulsion just served to prove what she already deduced before – that she was left adrift in a deliberate act of sabotage. But it also indicated that someone else would guide her, or be on the other end to receive her. Now, the question to be answered, aside from who did it, was also who ordered it.

After both she and Mera took their places on the raft, the drow braced her uninjured leg against one of the large rocks lining the riverbank. With a powerful push, she propelled the raft out into the water, the current immediately seizing hold of it.

The current was calm enough today for them to be able to guide the raft to the shallow waters of the riverside, away from the fishermen’s area of work. Minthara was the first to jump out of it, reaching down and grasping the handle of a sturdy-looking barrel, hoisting it up and slinging it over her shoulder. The drow's muscles tensed slightly beneath the weight, but her movement remained fluid and confident. Shifting her grip, she then bent down and wrapped her free arm around the chest, lifting it with a barely perceptible strain. The weight of the chest pressed against her side as she straightened, and she could feel the curious stares of the villagers upon her. The sight of a woman of her stature effortlessly carrying a heavy barrel and chest was probably an uncommon one, and the onlookers' eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and weariness.

Minthara couldn't help but be amused at their reaction, though her expression remained stoic. These simple-minded folk had clearly underestimated her strength, a mistake they better learn not to make again.

Beside her, Mera struggled to keep up, the girl's face flushed with exertion as she lugged a single crate in her arms. Despite the girl’s obvious distress, not a single person stepped forward to offer assistance. The villagers kept their distance, their gazes wary and apprehensive, as if fearing the drow's very presence. Minthara couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation at their cowardice. Surely, the girl's lack of physical vigor was a liability, one that the drow would need to address in the future — if Mera ever meant anything to her beyond this moment, that is. Which was most unlikely. In any case, for now, Minthara had to focus on pressing on.

Upon reaching Halsin's home, Minthara carefully set down the barrel and chest, her muscles tensing briefly under the strain. Mera scurried to deposit the crate she had carried with so much sacrifice with a painful sigh, recovering her breath with labored gasps. Sparing a glance at Mera, Minthara nodded in the direction of the lyre, silently encouraging the girl to retrieve the promised prize.

"Go on, child," she murmured, her tone almost gentle. "I'll see to the unpacking."

Mera hesitated for a brief moment, her eyes darting between Minthara and the interior of the home. But the drow's unwavering gaze and the promise of the lyre were enough to spur the girl into action, and she hurried towards the veranda, her footsteps echoing against the wooden floorboards.

Left alone, Minthara sank down onto the well-worn settee, her fingers already reverently tracing the familiar contours of her leather-bound diary. The answers might lie within these pages, but lately she had acquired the habit of coding all her thoughts in seemingly dismissive and nonsensical entries. Decoding them would take time, and for a brief moment, she cursed herself for this practice.

< Part 19 | Part 21 >

[m-for-musings]

I was talking with my girlfriend about Honey Webbing and the following conversation happened:

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part 22 [THEY FINALLY KISS!!!]

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

Minthara.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

³ I tried to depict the Calm Emotions spell.

< Part 21 |

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part VIII

After Minthara’s harsh speech at the rooftop, Halsin occupied himself in the kitchen for the rest of the morning. But the drow’s parting words still ring in his ears throughout his work. He couldn't deny the disquiet that her critique had stirred within him, the troubling doubt that had taken root in the back of his mind. As a druid, Halsin prided himself on his connection to the land and his newfound ability to guide his community with wisdom and compassion. But Minthara's sharp observations had laid bare the vulnerabilities he had, until now, chosen to overlook. They did occasionally have some issues with bandits, but they did not face any sizable armies of raiders. Yet. What if she was right? What if some of the nearby cities decided that they were nothing but a source of resources ready for the ripe, or even yet, to absorb into their own domains? Would Thaniel's protection be enough to stop an army? Did Minthara underestimate the power of nature, or did he underestimate the hunger for conquest? Was the village's lack of defenses because it didn't need it, or was it a false sense of security that had lulled them into complacency?

Halsin's brow furrowed with concern as he considered her words, the harsh reality they conveyed. The more he thinks about it, the more clear it becomes that the potential for disaster could indeed lurk on the horizon, instead of being merely fruits from the drow's paranoia. Minthara's callous demeanor and uncompromising views had often rubbed him the wrong way, but in this instance, he couldn't deny the merit of her concerns. The safety and well-being of his people were his responsibility, and he could no longer afford to ignore the risks that may lay ahead.

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat drew Halsin's attention away from his work. "I see you've been busy," Minthara remarked, her tone carefully guarded, though the slightest hint of curiosity crept into her words. Halsin was so engrossed in his culinary preparations and his silent rumblings that he nearly jumped when he saw Minthara at the doorway. Quickly regaining his composure, he turned to face the drow, trying his best to spread a smile across his features, in order to conceal the worried frown he wore for the last hours of the morning.

"Ah, I didn't hear you come in," he said, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better.” He pauses, noticing a faint hint of curiosity in the way she observed his continued culinary ministrations. "I'm just getting ready for a special meal - it's Mera's first birthday with us, and I wanted to surprise her. You’re more than welcome to the celebration tonight, if you’d like." The druid's eyes sparkled with pride as he spoke of his family, though as he observes Minthara long enough he can’t help but feel a twinge of concern, recalling their previous conversation. Still, he had dwelled over it enough, and right now he was determined not to let that cloud the joyous occasion, at least for a little while. 

Halsin gestured to a nearby chair, and with a silent nod, Minthara settled, her posture still guarded. “Can I interest you in a taste?" He offered, holding out a spoonful of the rich, aromatic stew he had been tending.

Minthara eyed the spoon he had offered, her brow furrowing slightly with hesitation. For a moment, he wondered if she would refuse the taste, half-expecting a dismissive wave or a needle retort, but to his surprise, she leaned forward and tentatively sampled the savory broth.

"It's... good," Minthara conceded, her tone measured, yet Halsin caught a fleeting spark of approval in her crimson gaze. "Though it could use a bit more spice to truly elevate the dish."

Halsin fought back a smile. Her feedback was not entirely unexpected – Halsin knew his cooking style tended towards the more subtly seasoned end of the spectrum, far away from the spicy tastes of the Underdark culinary.

Minthara's gaze shifted away as she reached for a cup, filling it with fresh water from a nearby jar. Her tone was coolly detached as she spoke, "How many children are under your care again?"

Halsin's brow arched as Minthara's question caught him off guard. "Well, I had quite a full house lately," he said, glancing around the kitchen as if to collect his thoughts. "Let's see… At the moment, I have only nine of them living with me here in the house."

Minthara's eyes widened in surprise, nearly choking on the sip of water she had taken, the information seeming to catch her off guard. However, the drow composed herself quickly, her features settling back into their usual stoic expression.

"Nine?" she murmured, a hint of incredulity in her tone. Clearing her throat, Minthara continued, "I see." She paused, finally drinking the rest of her water. She takes a while to speak again. "I might accept your invitation and take the opportunity to meet them tonight, during the celebration."

The druid couldn't help but feel a twinge of bewilderment at Minthara's sudden interest. When he had first offered to introduce them, the drow had seemed outright dismissive of the idea. Yet now, she was requesting a proper meeting, her tone almost matter-of-fact.

"I must admit, I'm a bit surprised," Halsin said cautiously, casting a curious glance in Minthara's direction. "When I mentioned them lately, you didn't seem particularly interested. What's changed?"

Minthara's expression remained impassive, her crimson gaze steady. "I will not be staying much longer," she said, her gaze meeting his own. "And as you mentioned, today is your daughter's birthday. I may as well indulge myself and see the substantial flock you've gathered under your roof."

Halsin blinked, processing her words. There was an underlying pragmatism to her reasoning, but he couldn't help but sense there might be more to it than she was willing to let on, as always. Was this a genuine gesture of interest, or merely a fleeting whim?

"Well, then, I'd be honored to introduce you to my family," he said, already making mental preparations to gather them all together. Halsin felt a swell of fatherly pride at the prospect of introducing his children to Minthara, a former ally (although merely circumstantial at the time) and one of the saviors of Baldur's Gate. Particularly for his daughters Mera and Fren, who faced so much prejudice due to their drow heritage, this could be a valuable opportunity to show them that a drow had been among the heroes who saved not only the city, but the entire realm. Although Halsin knew all too well that Minthara might not be the ideal role model he would choose for his girls, that was a conversation to be had another time. For now, a boost in his daughters' self-esteem and sense of belonging was the priority.

< Part VII || Part IX >

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part 19

The sizzling of vegetables and the aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the kitchen as Halsin tended to the morning meal. He had woken up from his trance a bit earlier today, so he found himself tending to the day’s home activities. His movements were methodical, a familiar routine that provided a sense of grounding amidst the chaos of the last few weeks. Halsin stood at the hearth, but his mind was elsewhere, consumed by the troubling thoughts swirling within. He thinks about how he should help Baleen's family with the funeral preparations, or should he keep his distance for now to avoid inflicting them more pain? He also thinks, now that he had time to process the events of the past nights, about the memory of that dream, that re-played out vividly in his mind, and the intimate encounter with Minthara that had unfolded in his subconscious hleaving him profoundly unsettled. 

Halsin paused, his brow furrowing as he contemplated the possible root of this intrusion. He couldn't help but wonder if the drow's words while under the effect of the painkiller had somehow seeped into the deepest recesses of his mind, manifesting in this… odd manner.

With a heavy sigh, Halsin tried to focus his attention back to the pan. It was not the first time he had found himself drawn to his foes, a realization that troubled him deeply. Despite not considering her any longer an enemy in the proper sense of the word, it was a fact that, in his youth, he had bedded almost as many adversaries as he had slain, a fact that he often grappled with, his moral compass constantly at odds with his desires.

It was in these disturbing introspective moments that the druid could no longer ignore the void that had taken root within his life. This void had grown more pronounced after the arduous battles he had faced alongside the group who would become the saviors of Baldur's Gate, from the relentless struggle to lift the Shadowcurse, all the way up to Baldur's Gate to vanquish the Elder Brain. Halsin's fingers tightened around the worn wooden spoon, a subtle tremor running through his hands, as he realized that what he feels right now it's a profound solitude that left him, in a very real sense, touch-starved – craving the warmth and comfort of another's embrace, the tender caress of a lover's hand.

But how could he be so lonely, if he is surrounded by people all the time? His children, his students, his neighbors, his protegés… Yet no romantic partner. The druid's mind drifted back to the troubling dream. Could it be that his subconscious was trying to fill the void, to find some semblance of companionship, even in the most unlikely of places? Or was it simply a reaction of his psyche at his… peculiar carnal impulses? Halsin shook his head, his expression utterly troubled, as if to physically dispel the thoughts that threatened to consume him. It was better to not delve into such… strange introspection. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't escape the lingering disquiet that had taken root within him. The dream, and all that it implied, would continue to weigh heavily on his mind.

Halsin's gaze drifted to the window, where the first golden rays of dawn were just beginning to peek over the horizon. Why now? Why her? It could have been literally anyone else, at any given time. He traveled alongside her some time ago, yes, but there were much more people with them. Also, Halsin now lives in an ever-growing village, fully populated with all sorts of people. Surely there were a bunch of villagers that he finds attractive and possibly reciprocate the feeling, who would be interested in engaging in a relationship, be it casual or otherwise. So, why…?

A soft rustling sound caught his attention. Halsin turned, his gaze falling upon the familiar figure of Minthara, standing in the doorway. The drow’s expression was inscrutable as always. Halsin couldn't help but wonder if she even remembered the things she had said a couple nights ago – the startling admission about her intentions at the goblin camp, the mocking jests that had so thoroughly unsettled him.

"Good morning," Halsin greeted, his tone cautious, yet cordial. He wondered if he should broach any subject, to ask Minthara about her talk with the girls, or ask if she recalled the events of that night. But the prudent part of him hesitated. Instead, Halsin gestured to the simmering pot, offering Minthara a silent invitation to join him for the morning meal. The druid's gaze remained steady, trying not to betray none of the questions that swirled within his mind.

He watched as Minthara silently made her way to the table, lowering herself onto the bench with a subtle grace that belied her wounded condition. A good sign, the druid mused; an indicative that the spell took the desired effect. With a gentle gesture, Halsin served her a steaming cup of tea. The drow accepted it with a brief nod, her fingers curling around the warm ceramic as she brought the cup to her lips, taking a slow, contemplative sip.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "Are your wounds healing well?"

The drow paused, her fingers tracing the bandages on her leg. "The pain is negligible now," she replied, her tone blunt and detached. Tilting her head slightly, she added, "Your... ministrations were adequate, I suppose.”

Halsin couldn't help but detect the begrudging gratitude in her words, and he felt a flicker of relief wash over him. "I'm glad to hear it," he murmured, offering her a small nod.

Minthara took another sip of tea as she studied him. "In that case, I suppose I can relinquish your room back to you," she said, "I'll take the couch instead."

Halsin raised a hand, shaking his head slightly. "There's no need for that," he assured her. "You should rest comfortably while you recover. The couch will suit me just fine."

Minthara arched a brow, but she didn't protested. "As you wish," she conceded, a touch of guarded respect in her tone.

Halsin couldn't help but study her, his gaze searching for any hint of recognition, any sign that she recalled anything unusual. Minthara's features remained impassive, but there was a slight fidgeting of her hands, a subtle shifting in her posture that betrayed an underlying unease.

“Thank you for tending to Mera in such… delicate matter.” Halsin ventured, his voice laced with a hint of gratitude. “It can be a difficult moment for one as young as she is.”

“It is only difficult because you, surfacers, make it difficult.” Minthara's response was tinged with a touch of disdain.

Halsin nodded thoughtfully. “I dare to say that I agree. Among druidic circles, there is much less fuss about various aspects of the body’s natural processes in general.”

The two fell silent for a moment, the only sound was the soft sizzling of the vegetables in the pan. Halsin's focus had drifted, and as a result, the vegetables had begun to brown, nearing the point of being completely overcooked. Jolted back to the present by the telltale sounds, the druid quickly shifted his attention to the stove, deftly removing the pan and its contents before they could be ruined. Halsin could feel Minthara's piercing gaze upon him as he worked, her silent observation heightening his awareness and causing a slight tension to creep into his movements.

"Why waste such a powerful spell on someone you hate?" Minthara finally spoke, her voice laced with a hint of accusation. "Why not just let the infection spread, and bury my corpse somewhere? Be honest, don’t patronize me with that ‘compassion’ talk again.”

"We’ve had this discussion before, haven't we?" Halsin met her challenging stare unflinchingly, his brow furrowed as he let out a short sigh.

"Have we, druid? You said we could discuss this once the haze cleared from my mind.” She pauses, taking a sip of her tea. “Well, the concoction's effect has long faded. Let us speak now.”

So she had not forgotten, after all. The druid felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. Torn between worry and bafflement, Halsin struggled to maintain his calm demeanor. How much did Minthara recall? And more importantly, how would she use that knowledge against him?

Halsin drew a deep breath, steeling himself to meet Minthara's gaze. With a slight frown, the druid resigned himself, prepared to face the drow's incoming taunts and jibes.

"I would not be the man to let one of the saviors of Baldur's Gate perish," he replied, striving to keep his tone even and matter-of-fact, though a hint of annoyance crept in. He paused briefly, serving the freshly cooked meal. "Besides," he continued, "despite all the animosity between us, you have never let me down in combat before. Against your better judgment, I suppose. So, you can see this as reciprocity, or even retribution, for old times' sake.”

The druid fell silent for a moment as he studied Minthara's features once more. "Are you satisfied?" he asked, his words tinged with a faint note of challenge.

"Satisfied?" she scoffed, the word dripping with a mixture of derision and reluctant respect. "No, I'm not satisfied. Although… Your reasons are sound, I'll give you that." She paused, her gaze fixed on Halsin, in contemplation. The druid held her stare, refusing to back down, even as the weight of her scrutiny threatened to unsettle him. 

For a fleeting moment, Halsin found his gaze drawn to Minthara's features, despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral demeanor. As the drow sat across from him, the morning light filtering through the window cast a warm glow on her features, highlighting the edges of her expression. Halsin couldn't help but notice the delicate arch of her brows, the striking contrast of her dark skin against the brightness of her light hair. Even visibly exhausted and weary, there was an undeniable allure to Minthara's appearance – a feral grace that captivated the senses. Halsin felt a flutter in his chest as his eyes traced the elegant line of her jaw, the curve of her lips. He chastised himself for this wayward admiration, but in this moment, he could not deny the raw beauty that radiated from the woman who was, for all effects, his adversary.

“Is something the matter?” Minthara raised an eyebrow, and Halsin felt his cheeks flush with warmth as Minthara's piercing gaze fixed upon him, her keen eyes seemingly picking up on the slight shift in his demeanor. He cursed himself inwardly for allowing his composure to slip, even for the briefest of moments. 

Clearing his throat, Halsin quickly averted his eyes, focusing his attention back on the food before him. "Nothing is the matter," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of unease. "I was simply... lost in thought, that's all."

But Halsin knew it was a poor attempt at deflection. Minthara was not one to be easily fooled, and he could feel her scrutinizing him, as if she was searching for the truth behind his words. The druid shifted uncomfortably under her penetrating gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the clutery in his hand. If she indeed found it, she didn't say anything. Minthara's expression remained frustratingly stoic as she silently resumed her meal, her movements almost casual. Halsin watched her warily, half-expecting her to pounce on his weakness, to twist the knife and mock his discomfort.

But the drow said nothing, content to simply eat her breakfast as if nothing untoward had occurred. The kitchen fell into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the gentle clink of her clutery against the ceramic bowl and the quiet crackle of the fire. Halsin found himself holding his breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited, with bated breath, for Minthara to make her move. Yet she remained infuriatingly composed, leaving him to grapple with the turmoil of his own mind.

Minthara finished her meal in silence, the bowl scraped clean. With a soft sigh, she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.

"I will be out with Mera in the morning," she announced, locking eyes with Halsin. "Do not wait for us for lunch."

"May I ask where you're taking my daughter?" he inquired, his brow furrowed in a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Minthara's lips curled into a faint smile, the expression both enigmatic and unsettling. "We're merely going for a walk," she replied cryptically, before turning and making her way towards the door.

Halsin watched her go, torn between relief and unease. Was this a gesture of goodwill, or did the drow have something else in mind? He couldn't help but worry for Mera's safety, even as a part of him felt oddly reassured by Minthara's apparent willingness to spend time with the girl. With a heavy sigh, the druid resigned himself to the uncertainty.

< Part 18 | Part 20 >