HARPERSHIGH: independent & semi-selective Jaheira from Baldur’s Gate series
A STUDY IN:Resilience, the weight of duty and loss, sense of responsibility, and the toll that decades of sacrifice, leadership, and personal loss can take on a person.
yeah, let’s ignore my ever-growing pile of drafts take that, the family stuff got me today
On a good day, Jaheira’s home was nothing if not a battlefield of pure, unrelenting chaos.
Jhessem had just cut her own hair — rather unevenly, from the looks of it — and was now wailing over the disaster. Fig, meanwhile, stood at the veranda, wooden sword raised like a seasoned warrior, demanding to see some imaginary credentials from whoever gets close enough.
Jaheira barely had a moment to breathe before she turned on her heel, swiftly scooping Fig up under her arm as if she were nothing more than a sack of grain. “Apologies, mighty soldier,” she said with exaggerated solemnity, “but I fear you take your post far too seriously.”
Fig squealed with laughter, kicking her legs but making no real effort to escape.
“Jhessem, wait for me in the bathroom!” Jaheira called over the noise. “I’ll be there in a moment!”
She scanned the room, eyes flicking from one child to the next. Where in the hells was Tate?
“Rion,” she called, spotting her eldest lounging at the table with her feet propped up, a book in hand. “Where’s your brother?”
Without so much as glancing up, Rion lazily gestured toward Jord, who was at the stove, carefully stirring dinner.
Jaheira sighed. “The other brother.”
Finally, Rion deigned to glance around, as if Tate might have magically appeared under the table or behind the furniture. She shrugged. “Dunno.”
Jaheira sighed through her nose. “Would you be so kind as to search for him?”
Rion smirked, flipping a page. “Is a nine-year-old too much for the great High Harper?”
Jaheira narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line. Damn the girl, testing her patience. “Gods, I don’t know who you take after.“
"Oh, certainly not you,” Rion said, grinning.
Jaheira rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Rion. Please.”
With an exaggerated groan, Rion dragged herself out of her chair, muttering something under her breath as she set off on her reluctant mission.
Jaheira finally set Fig down, who had been giggling all the while. She crouched, smoothing the child’s hair back. “New orders, soldier. Hold your position, keep watch, and do not let any intruders through until I return.”
“Yes, Commander!” Fig threw a hand to her forehead in a dramatic salute.
The High Harper finally turned her attention to the guest. “Just give me five minutes. Alright, maybe ten. I’ll be right back — but by all means, make yourself at home. Put your feet up, raid the pantry, start a small revolution, I don’t know. Just don’t burn the place down.”
Geraldus was far from the first Harper to be invited to the High Harpers home, far from it. Jaheira had held many a meeting with a select few among her ranks, he’d never expected he would become one of those ‘select few’. He still hadn’t considered he might have some worth to her; he’d assisted her in finding the Rashimaar, and helped defeat the Netherbrain alongside her, and was dating one of her friends. But, to him, he was just another one of her soldiers, he never thought she might consider him a friend as well.
Geraldus knew Jaheira had a home in the city, but that didn’t stop him from being surprised when he stepped foot in it for the first time. He hadn’t expected her to be so…. domesticated. Nor had he expected she would have children. Despite how nervous he was to be here, and despite how much he was trying resist, he couldn’t help but smile with mirth at the chaos playing out around him. It was strangely comforting to see the display, to see Jaheira more than just the High Harper, to see that she was just as much a person as he was. It honestly made him feel bad for having built up his expectations of her for so long.
He’d been so distracted watching Jaheira try to wrangle her children, that when she addressed him it almost startled him. “Er— y-yes, High Harper!” He responded, standing up straight as though he was about to be inspected by a superior commander. Habits die hard.
Even after Jaheira left, he couldn’t relax, in fact, he became even more anxious than before. She told him to make himself feel at home, but Jaheira clearly didn’t know what it meant to be introverted. Being left alone in someone else’s home, on the first visit no less, was an introverts nightmare. He stood there awkwardly, glancing around, it was only when he was sure no one was looking at him that he made a move to sit at the table. Other than sit in such a stiff way that it was probably painful to look at, he did nothing but wait for Jaheira to return.
Bold of him, really — bold of Harper Geraldus, to sit at their table like he wasn’t under intense surveillance. Sure, he had the Commander’s permission to be there, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t being watched.
Closely.
Relentlessly.
With the unwavering eyes of a true honour guard.
From behind the corner, Fig narrowed her eyes. She adjusted the napkin tied around her neck like a battle scarf, marched forward in heavy, dramatic steps, and unsheathed her wooden sword from the invisible seathe behind her back with all the flair of a seasoned knight.
She leapt across the room that was actually a little jump right next to his seat and pointed her sword straight at Geraldus.
“STAND ON YOUR LIVER!” she barked with all the authority her tiny lungs could muster.
Anxiously sitting in his seat, Geraldus had become so lost in his own thoughts that he’d become oblivious to what was going on around him. It was only when there was a little girl stood directly in front of him and shouting at him with a wooden sword pointed at his chest, that he was ripped from his thoughts and flung straight into what he could only describe as heart palpitations. Was he being dramatic? Probably, but she’d certainly given him a fright based on the squeal he’d let out. To her credit, this was probably the first time she’d actually scared someone. And thar knowledge was rather embarrassing…
Of course, it was only a small fright and it didn’t take long for Geraldus’ brain to catch up and realise there was no threat here. When it did, he brought his hand to his chest and cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from the embarrassment that came from being frightened by a little girl.
“Erm— I-” Oh but he had no idea what to say, how does one even respond to this situation— what did she say- 'stand on your liver’? What does that even mean??
He was thinking of this too practically, too much, this was a child. He should just play along.
“I-I mean no harm.” He lifted his arms, holding them up in surrender, and doing his best to sound scared—which wasn’t that hard for him to be fair.
YES! YES! SHE DID IT!
Fig felt her face stretch into the biggest smile ever. The grown-up man — an actual soldier — jumped back. He flinched. He was scared. Of her. It was just like Uncle Minsc said: evil shivered in the boots of justice!
……..or something like that.
She puffed her chest out right away, because heroes do that (very important hero rule!) and slid her wooden sword back into its pretend sheath.
“My honour forbids me from fighting against an unarmed foe.” She said, using the fancy voice. It was from her favorite book, the one Mom always read at night, and it was one of Fig’s favourite lines.
Then she zoomed to the nearest wall, grabbed a broom, and tossed it at the soldier. It clattered on the ground near his feet.
“Here! Take this! En garde!”
She pulled her wooden sword out again, making sure the motion was accompanied by a loud shhhing! between her teeth, and took a fighting pose. One foot was a little wrong and her arms were kind of wobbly, but it felt very cool and very brave.
Fig grinned, bouncing a bit on her toes. Ready. Very, very ready.
Khalid had been spacing out, his mind not fully aware of his surroundings due to his exhaustion. It was only when Jaheira spoke that he seemed to snap out of it— mostly, anyway.
“Hm? O-oh—um…” He had to pause to think. He hadn’t been avoiding sleep, it was just that his dreams had been particularly cruel as of late, making him keep waking up during the night. The longer he thought, the more he realised he couldn’t remember the last time he had a full night’s rest.
“I’m s-s-sure it couldn’t ha—have been that long ago.” He assured her, a tired smile gracing his face.
── .✦. ──
Jaheira exhaled sharply through her nose, hands flying to her hips, her stance all steel and impatience. “Khalid, that is not an answer,” she scolded, eyes narrowing as she took him in — his tired smile, the slight sway in his stance. “You are pushing too hard again. Do you think I will be impressed if you collapse from sheer stubbornness? That I will nod approvingly and say, ‘Ah yes, my husband, the insufferable workaholic, how admirable’?”
She took a step closer, her voice softer now, her hands slipping from her hips to rest on his shoulders. Her thumbs pressed into the tense muscles there, kneading, coaxing the tension from his body. “You need rest, my love,” she murmured, leaning in, her breath warm against his ear. “Why don’t you come to bed with me, hm?”
Then, after a pause, her tone shifted, just a touch of mischief on the words as she added, “Or, you can stay awake until you pass out, and I will have the pleasure of dragging your unconscious body to the tent myself. Your choice.”
She gave his shoulders a final, playful squeeze before drawing back, arching a brow as if daring him to test her stubbornness resolve.
Khalid practically melted as she massaged his shoulders, letting out a heavy sigh as his eyes fluttered closed. Despite Jaheira’s often brash demeanour, she could sometimes, very rarely, be gentle, and had the magical ability to almost always soothe him when he needed it. He barely listened to what she was saying, just about dozing off where he stood before she squeezed his shoulders and stepped away. Almost as if a switch had been flicked, Khalid was no longer distracted from how tired he was, and the aches that came with exhaustion; the throbbing pain in his head, the soreness in his muscles.
He sighed, lifting his hand to his forehead and rubbing, as if it would get rid of his exhaustion. It didn’t, of course.
“S—sorry, what—what d-d-did you say, d—dear…?” If his more prominent stutter wasn’t enough of a sign he needed sleep, then his inability to listen definitely was.
She dared him to test her, and he tested.
Damn this man! He could be so insufferable! He wasn’t even listening! Jaheira narrowed her eyes, glaring at him with all of her frustration. Fine. Fine. If he refused to rest like a sensible person, then he’d just have to deal with the consequences.
Before he could stammer out another protest, she ducked down and hauled him over her shoulder, grunting at the weight but refusing to be deterred. Embarrassing? Maybe. Did she care? Absolutely not. Let the whole camp gawk if they pleased — this was her husband, and if he wouldn’t take care of himself, then shewould.
“You are the most stubborn man I have ever loved,” she huffed, marching toward their tent with determined steps, ignoring his half-hearted protests and the way he awkwardly tried to brace himself. “I should let you fall on your face and see if that knocks some sense into you!”
But even as she ranted, her hold was careful, her heart hammering in a rhythm that was far too fond for someone who was so mad.
Before Khalid could even realise what was happening, Jaheira had lifted him and thrown him over her shoulder like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes, he might have been attracted to it if he wasn’t so exhausted to realise it was happening. He struggled for a moment after gaining his senses, his arms and legs flailing as he tried to keep his balance, before he eventually settled down with a whine and let her carry him to their tent.
“Jaheira— oh-!” He sighed, letting his head fall in defeat and embarrassment. He could only pray to the gods that no one was watching, he could already hear the comments and the laughter if any of their companions saw. He was about to complain, but Jaheira had begun lecturing him before he could say anything. He knew better than to be scared by her threats, they were mostly empty, but then again she had already gone as far as to carry him, so he probably shouldn’t test her.
After they reached the tent and Khalid was unceremoniously dropped placed down on the bed roll, he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.
“Th—th-that was u-u-un—unnecessary, dear…”
“Well…” Jaheira huffed, unimpressed. “It would’ve been entirely unnecessary if you’d just cooperated from the start. But no, you had to be as stubborn as a deep rothé digging its hooves in the mud.”
With a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and affection, Jaheira moved closer, her hands already reaching for the fastenings of Khalid’s armor. “Honestly…” She muttered under her breath. “Sometimes getting you to rest properly is as tough as any battle we face.” Piece by piece, she helped him out of his gear, setting it aside. Then she pulled out the soft cotton clothes she had folded earlier — plain, comfortable clothes. “Here. No arguments.”
When Jaheira started stripping him of his armour, Khalid was still recovering from the embarrassment of being carried across the camp. He wasn’t being stubborn, or at least wasn’t trying to be, he was just too tired to think coherently, his logic was all backwards.
With a sigh, he took the clothes from her. “N-no arguments…” He repeated, begining to change his clothes. He did want to rest, he wasn’t avoiding it, he was just avoiding the dreams that came with it. It just happen to be that a nights sleep was collateral in that.
Now in the fresh set of clothes, Khalid wrapped his arms around Jaheira, resting his head on her shoulder. “You will stay, yes?” He asked, his voice a quiet whisper. “R-rest with me?”
It wasn’t until Khalid suggested that Jaheira realized just how tired she was herself. The realization made her wince. Sharply. After all that scolding about him neglecting himself, here she was doing the same… If not worse. Hypocrisy, thy name was apparently Jaheira.
“Someone has to keep watch.” She said, stubborn as ever. Only half a truth, and she knew it. Yes, a watch was needed, but not necessarily hers, not with a full camp and capable eyes all around.
She hesitated, just a heartbeat. Then her voice softened.
Jaheira leaned in, gently, fingers threading slowly through Khalid’s hair with care. “And besides…” She murmured tenderly. “I’d much rather be protecting you.”
“So sorry your husband died but that does mean I can finally make my clit kiss yours, pwease?”
*cue puppy eyes*
Anyways. If Nine-Fingers was in the previous games, she and Jaheira would kinda have beef with each other. Like Astele would just enjoy pissing her off simply cause she can’t flirt with her cause she has a husband.
Now, Khalid ded and Astele has an opportunity to hit it raw with her favorite milf.
The dull silence was the moment was enough to be cut by a knife as the party watched their faithful leader in all four before the harsh transportation ceased. The very avatar of Bhaal ends its torture as Lyra was back in her half elven form. Coughing and wheezing, the Sorcerer found herself breathing heavily.
“Get…out…of me! I can still feel it…oh gods!”
A bitter taste of iron emerged from her mouth as she began to spit up blood.
Jaheira’s breath caught in her throat. For a terrible moment, the world narrowed to nothing but the sight of Lyra collapsing, her form shifting back, leaving her gasping and broken on the ground. The silence was suffocating, thick with the horror of what had just transpired.
Then, the blood.
Then, Jaheira moved.
She surged forward, dropping to her knees beside Lyra, hands trembling but resolute as they cupped her face. “Lyra,” she breathed, her voice low but edged with desperation. “Look at me.” But Lyra’s eyes were unfocused, lost in something distant and terrible, her breaths shallow, erratic.
Jaheira swallowed hard. No. No, no, no. Not her. Not again. Jaheira had already lost too much, and she’d be damned if she lose Lyra, too.
She pressed her forehead against Lyra’s, her hand weaving the familiar gestures of the Healing Word spell. “You are here,” she said firmly. “You are with me. Bhaal is nothing. He does not own you.”
One hand slid down to grip Lyra’s, squeezing tightly, trying to offer her at least a shred of tether to reality. “Breathe, my heart. Just breathe. I have you.”
Jaheira wasn’t leaving. She would never leave. If Bhaal wanted Lyra, he would have to claw her from Jaheira’s cold, dead hands. And even then, she would fight him every step of the way.
There was a heaviness in her chest like everything was building up. It was taking everything in Lyra to not fall over at that very moment. It was like time had slowed down and she could only hear mumbles in the distant, as though she was tracked under water. It was not until she could feel the contact of her forehead against Jaheira’s that her sense slowly came back to her.
The deep crimson in her once blue pupils slowly faded back to her usual warm pair. The panic in her feature faded away to pure exhaustion but…she was here. She was safe. “I’m…sorry. Did…did I…hurt anyone?” She asked in her hoarse tone as her hand fought against the drowsiness to return the squeeze on Jaheira’s hand as she leaned into her touch. How? How could she treat her as normal when she was just…that? When she saw the fear on their friends’ eyes? If this is what Bhaal strived for…Lyra didn’t want it. She never wanted it.
She could only recall faded flashed with her short time as the Slayer. It was as though she was living in a nightmare, never able to control anything. Completely in a state of paralysis. All Lyra saw was red.
Jaheira knew that no reassurance was ever enough after a shift like that. A Bhaalspawn’s mind did not settle easily; it recoiled, circled, searched for damage left behind. And every time, it hurt her all the same.
“Did I… hurt anyone?”
Jaheira cupped Lyra’s face, firm but gentle, guiding her gaze upward until those unfocused eyes met her own — anything to keep her lover from noticing the bruises blooming along Jaheira’s arms, the ache she would deal with later. “We’re okay.” She said softly, without hesitation. “We’re okay, my love.”
She pressed her forehead to Lyra’s. “You’re safe. Focus on resting now. You need to recover your strength.”
Jaheira moved with care then, easing Lyra back against a bedroll, adjusting her cloak around her shoulders, keeping her warm. A murmured word, a familiar druidic incantation — and clear water blossomed into existence in her cupped hands, cool and fresh. She brought it to Lyra’s lips slowly, patiently, letting her drink at her own pace.
“That’s it…” Jaheira murmured, thumb brushing a soothing circle against Lyra’s wrist, counting the pulse there. “Breathe. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
the thing about the world getting hotter due to climate change is that brazil has definetly been feeling it for MANY years now. like summer gets progressively worse every year. and i do mean years i dont remember my childhood being this hot and my parents agree. but it feels like world wide i only saw people talking about it when global north countries began feeling it.
How do you feel about personal blogs following your rp blog?
They’re more than welcome!! I love to have people who I can yap about Jaheira, I love my little coven of Jaheira friends and we could even drag @yeehawitsjakee to the RP world XD
