Chapter Text
"Seriously, soldier, we'll be fine! You need to rest."
You pout at Karlach's continued insistence, but you can feel yourself losing the battle against her iron will. "I don't need to rest, I need to make sure you idiots don't get yourselves killed!"
She laughs at that, loud and unapologetic as she always does, "I'll try not to take that personally, shall I?"
"Well. Not you , obviously. But I don't trust the others. Astarion and Laezel are liable to start swinging at the slightest inconvenience, and Gale's good at pissing people off."
Her raucous laugh continues, "I'll keep 'em in check, soldier," she lifts her hand up to her eyebrow in mock salute, before letting it drop, "you can count on me."
You sigh. Reasonably, you know they'll manage without you, but it feels wrong letting them.
Karlach, as if she can read your mind, speaks again. "Seriously, Tav. We'll be okay. And you deserve a break. It's been a rough couple of weeks."
You nod silently. She's right about that, at least.
When she doesn't say anything else, you sigh. "Fine. But please be careful?"
Karlach smiles wide, "you know me!" She claps you on the back firmly, and you're thankful that her touch is palatable now with the installation of Dammon's upgrade. You're sure the gesture would've burnt a few days ago. "I spoke to Jaheria, she's sorted a room with a bed for you. Get yourself a pint and then sleep!"
The idea of an actual bed is the final tip of the scales that seals your fate, so you nod and squeeze her arm in thanks. An actual mattress? A private room rather than a tent? You couldn't possibly turn your nose up at such a generous offering.
Karlach retreats to the gate of Last Light, where the rest of your companions are waiting for her, and they all leave together into the shadows. You let out a deep sigh, then turn and head into the inn.
The atmosphere is slightly less awful now than when you first got here. People perked up a bit when your party arrived, which you're both thankful for and absolutely terrified by.
Well. Some people perked up.
Your eyes land on the back of Rolan's head, and you feel your stomach knot. His earlier admonishments towards you are probably at least half of the reason Karlach and the others insisted on leaving you here.
You'd be lying if you said his words hadn't hurt. You never wanted to be a leader, never wanted people looking to you for guidance. You're trying your best. And you like Cal and Lia.
He doesn't care about how hard you're trying. It's a little hard to blame him, but it still hurts. You'd really hoped to be able to at least call him a friend.
There had been a moment, during the celebrations at the grove, that you wondered if you'd perhaps be able to call him more. Cal and Lia had left to get drinks, and Rolan had met your eye with a lopsided, boyish grin, and you'd been struck by how handsome he was. He'd made a joke about something and your faces had inched closer as you both laughed.
Then Cal and Lia had returned, and the moment had passed.
He won't even look at you now. As you slide up to the bar and ask Ike to pour you a drink, Rolan pointedly avoids meeting your gaze. You clear your throat in a way you hope seems casual, and from the corner of your eye you see his scowl.
"Rolan..."
"I don't want to talk to you. I've said all I need to."
You frown. "I know, but-"
He huffs, "I'm not interested in hearing your apologetic platitudes. You're hiding in here while your companions do all the work. Some leader you are."
You feel your blood pressure spike, and you turn to face him properly. He still doesn't look at you, but he squirms slightly under your attention. You can't help the bite that your words come out with.
"I never wanted to be a leader, you arsehole. I never asked for any of this. If you think you could do a better job, by all means be my fucking guest." He flinches slightly as you spit the words at him, but doesn't otherwise react, so the words keep spilling out. "And it's bold of you to accuse me of hiding, considering you've been sat here on your arse doing nothing but drink since we got here. You're more than welcome to hate me, but don't try and pretend you've somehow got the moral high-ground here."
You know the words are harsh, but you still find some satisfaction in the way his posture deflates. Knowing he might now feel a portion of the guilt he thrust onto you makes you feel a little smug. Ike places your drink on the bar, looking between the two of you nervously, and you thank him before taking your drink and leaving as quickly as you can. You don't spare Rolan a second glance as you ascend the stairs to find the bed you were promised.
The door shuts behind you and you click the lock firmly, leaning your forehead against the wood. You can feel the regret seeping in, so you down half of the pint of bitter ale and rub your temples.
He deserved that. He did.
You feel better now.
Except you know you're lying to yourself.
You don't want to shout at him. You don't want to make him feel bad. You want to give him a hug and tell him how sorry you are that he's going through this.
But you don't. Instead you finish your drink.
You keep telling yourself that he deserved it as you lay back on the mattress, holding the still-cold glass to your forehead to battle the headache you can feel brewing. You eventually fall into a fitful sleep.
It's impossible to know night from day here, but when you wake you're reasonably sure by the dryness in your throat that it's the early hours of the morning. You drag yourself out of the bed somewhat reluctantly, the thought of a crisp glass of water being all that propels you forward.
The inn is quiet at this hour. There are a few people dotted around still, talking in hushed tones and nursing drinks or reading, but for the most part it's empty.
You can't help it, your eyes dart to where Rolan was. He's not there, which makes you feel a little better. Hopefully he's in a dark corner somewhere, sleeping off the drink.
There's no one tending the bar at this hour, so you round it and pour yourself a cup of water. It's as you raise it to your lips and take a sip that you notice there's a strange looking artefact sitting on the far end of the counter. You've never seen anything like it before. It looks like it's made of brass, with elaborate arching prongs surrounding a bright blue crystal in the centre.
Fuck it, you've never been one for minding your business. Besides, if it's sat out in the open it's basically begging to be touched, isn't it? You cast a sidelong glance around the tavern to check no one is looking and then sidestep towards it. As soon as you press your fingers to the cold metal, the gem begins to shine, and a projection is brought forth.
"Lia, Cal - if you see this, stay put ."
Rolan looks almost regal in the projection, a picture of strength and arrogance. His tone is commanding, firm and assured, and you wonder how he feels justified in that when-
Your words from earlier flood back to you without warning.
"It's bold of you to accuse me of hiding, considering you've been sat here on your arse doing nothing but drink since we got here."
Your heart drops. Oh.
The glass of water makes a loud clinking noise as you slam it onto the bar. The sound still rings through the air as you grab a sword leaning against the doorway and sprint out into the shadows.
In hindsight, you probably should've waited for your party to return. But how could you? You have no idea how long ago Rolan left that message. He could already be in trouble.
The shadows feel colder without the company of your companions, and you're immensely grateful for the pixie's blessing. The darkness grasps at your ankles, nipping like a dog at your heel, and the cursed foliage around you seems to be watching your every step. This place is awful and dangerous enough when you're travelling with your friends, never mind completely alone.
That line of thinking just brings you back to Rolan, though. Alone somewhere in the shadows, with no real combat experience and no pixie's blessing. He's likely got a torch or a dancing lights cantrip, but those don't fend off the curse nearly as well. The realisation makes the air feel even colder.
It's dark tonight. Darker than usual, that is. There's a dense fog across the land that makes it hard to keep track of where you came from. Rolan could be anywhere, and you can barely see 10 feet in front of you. Gods, you should've waited for the others.
And then you hear it. The unmistakable sound of Rolan's voice shouting an incantation, and the withering scream of a shadow creature falling. Wherever he is he's out of your eye-line, so you sprint towards the noise blindly.
For a man with little practice in a fight, Rolan is holding his own. He stands tall and confident in the face of the several creatures surrounding him, and you can see he's felled at least two of them already. But you can also see the hidden signs of his exhaustion. Some of his spells sputter as they take shape, and the dancing lights above his head flicker every time he casts. His arms - stretched out in front of him - shake with effort, and his usually perfectly pinned hair has fallen in places. Distantly, in the background of your mind, you let yourself admire him.
The loosing of his next spell, a magic missile that cuts through the chest of the creature closest to him, pulls you from your reverie, and you jump into the fray without thought. The shadow creatures screech and howl at the sting of your blade as they disintegrate around it, and just as one grabs at your arm you feel it's grip loosen as Rolan incinerates it, the heat beating against you.
When the creatures are dispensed and you're surrounded by nothing but their vestiges, you turn back to look at Rolan. He's already looking at you.
There's a long, charged moment where you both stand there staring at each other, panting to regain your breath, and once again you're struck by his beauty. He's shrouded in the cursed gloom, but his bright yellow eyes cut through the twilight. His hair is dishevelled around him, and the loose strands fly around him in the cold breeze. The cantrip above him illuminates him from overhead and casts an intense shadow on all of his features, and it makes his jawline look even sharper.
You take a step towards him, and whatever spell that surrounds the both of you shatters. His face furrows into a scowl.
"Gods damn it all! I can do nothing right - not a damn thing!"
He's shaking, possibly with rage, possibly adrenaline. Possibly with the knowledge that he very nearly met his end.
"Rolan, what are you doing out here?"
You know the answer already, you're not sure why you ask. He answers regardless.
"I was looking for Cal and Lia! What else? Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. By you of all bloody people!"
You ignore his remark, "you were trying to help your family, Rolan. You're being too hard on yourself."
His response is muttered under his breath. "Or not hard enough."
You frown, but before you can argue he speaks again. He won't look you in the eyes, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Just... be on your way. I'll return to Last Light. I know when I'm outmatched."
He turns to leave and you reach out without thinking, grabbing his wrist and yanking him back. He looks at you in shock.
"Are you stupid? I'm not letting you go off on your own again. We're going back together."
His responding scoff sounds insulted, "brilliant, so you don't even trust me to walk on my own anymore?"
"That has nothing to do with it." You pause for a moment, hesitating over your words. "I was worried about you, Rolan. I didn't know if I'd be able to find you and-"
"Oh, so you didn't trust me to begin with! How reassuring!"
"Shut up !" His face falls at your outburst, but he doesn't say anything else. "I didn't know if I was going to be able to find you, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if the last thing I said to you was something horrible. Something I didn't even mean. So, for all the Gods' sake, don't wander off on your own again. Just..." You can feel a blush rising on your face, and you pray he can't see it in the low light of the evening. You drop your eyes to the ground. "Just... Let me look after you. Please?"
He doesn't say anything for a moment, so you look back up at him. His eyes flick back and forth between both of yours, as if searching for something, and finally he sighs.
"Okay."
You let out a breath. "Okay."
He snorts. "Okay."
You can't help snorting back, and shake your head at him in disbelief.
The both of you stand there for another moment, and you suddenly realise that you're still holding onto his wrist. You clear your throat and drop it, nodding decisively.
"Okay." He snorts at you again, but you ignore it. "I'm pretty sure the inn is that way."
He quirks an eyebrow, "pretty sure?"
You respond with an affirming noise and he snorts once more, "well, that's reassuring."
You glare at him. "Well, I'm incredibly sorry." You begin walking and he follows. "I wasn't paying too much attention when I legged it towards the sound of you getting your ass kicked."
He lets out a real laugh at that, which is both surprising and delightful. You can't remember if you've ever heard him actually laugh. It's bright and clear and somewhat musical, and the smile he wears with it suits him much more than his usual scowl.
"Is that what it sounded like? I rather hoped it was more like a remarkable wizard teaching some abominations their place."
It's your turn to snort at him now, "if that makes you feel better."
He chuckles, and you slip into silence as you fall into step beside each other. It's silent for a long while before you speak again.
"I wanted to-"
"I should really-"
You both stop, turning to look at each other, and he laughs.
"Sorry, sorry. Ladies first."
"I wanted to apologise. For the way I spoke to you earlier. That wasn't fair."
He shakes his head, burying his hands in his pockets as he continues walking with you. "Not at all. I was rude to you first, I should be the one apologising."
" Ah , so you admit I was rude?"
He laughs, "well, calling me a useless drunk isn't the nicest thing I've ever heard you say, but I suppose it wasn't entirely undeserved."
You frown, "I'm pretty sure I didn't-"
"Not quite in those words, no, but I rather think that was the gist. Regardless, there's no apology necessary. I've been incredibly unfair to you."
You shrug, and your steps echo in the silence. "Not really."
You can hear the frown in his voice, "Tav, I mean it I-"
He cuts himself off as you come to an abrupt stop.
"Tav?"
You look around and sigh. "Rolan. We've gone in a circle."
"We have?"
"We have."
You can see his confusion, "how can that be possible?"
You sigh deeply. "I don't know. This place is weird, and the fog is too dense. I have no idea where we're going. All I know is that we walked past that tree stump earlier."
There's a long pause before he speaks again.
"So... What now?"
"Honestly?" You sigh again as you look off into the distance, seeing nothing but dense mist. "We can either keep going and hope we find the inn, or we can camp out here until the fog lifts a bit."
He looks scandalised, "camp? Out here ?"
"Well. It wouldn't really be camping. We don't have any supplies. Or a bedroll. Or a tent. It's more like... Sitting down and waiting."
He grimaces. "Sounds delightful."
You shrug, "it's up to you."
When you look at him again, he looks conflicted, but eventually he nods. "Very well, I suppose staying here is better than getting ourselves more lost."
You nod in agreement. "Wise choice."
It's not like you didn't already know this, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that Rolan is not a patient person.
You managed to find a spot with a rock outcropping that made a good enough shelter. The problem is, for both of you to fit under it, it's a little cramped. But you didn't want either of you sat out in the open where anything could spot you, so you'd reluctantly backed up to the wall and against Rolan's side.
It's a bit maddening, being this close to him. His scent fills your nostrils (he smells like the weave and something musky, like sandalwood), which is incredibly distracting, and up close you notice he's covered in freckles. They cover his cheeks and forehead and climb their way up to his ears. He's also taken his hair down, which is frankly rather rude of him. It looks soft.
What's ruder is the fact that he literally cannot sit still. His legs bounce where they're stretched out in front of him, and every few minutes he adjusts his posture with a loud groan.
When his leg starts bouncing again for the umpteenth time, your hand shoots out and grabs his knee on its own accord to hold it down. He jumps at the contact and whips his head towards you, and the look of alarm he's wearing would be funny if he wasn't driving you insane.
"Rolan. If you don't stop fidgeting, I'll stop you myself."
He frowns. "I can't help it."
You arch an eyebrow, "right, so you want me to hold you down for the rest of the evening? Because I will."
His face flushes and he shakes his head no, so you withdraw your hand. You feel his body relax next to you.
"You may as well try and get some sleep. I can keep watch and wake you up when it's safe to move."
He clears his throat, "that won't be necessary. I'm fine."
You scoff. He's definitely not fine, he's been wiggling around since you both sat down. You tell him as such and the blush rises back to his cheeks.
"I'm not- That's not why I'm-" He sighs "I'm fine ."
"Ah, yes. People who are fine usually writhe around like worms."
He scowls at you, but doesn't say anything. At that moment you feel a shiver rip through you, and his face softens with concern.
"Are you okay?"
You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself, "I'm fine."
He pulls a face at you and crosses his arms. "Ah, yes. People who are fine usually shake like leaves."
Okay, in fairness, you walked right into that one.
"I'm okay, honestly. I'm just a bit cold."
You hadn't really thought about it when you left the inn, hopped up on adrenaline, but now you're sat here you've begun to realise you're not dressed for the chill. You're wearing a pair of light trousers and an old sweater with holes in the sleeves; the clothes you sleep in. It was fine when you were racing around looking for Rolan and fighting shadow creatures, but now that you're sat still with your back up against rock the cold is seeping into your body.
Rolan looks you up and down a few times, then makes a noise of frustration. "Gods, I'm sorry. I should've thought to- I haven't got enough magic left to cast anything to keep you warm."
"It's fine, I'll manage. Besides, you're like a furnace."
It's true, you can feel the warmth from his body where his arm is pressed up against yours. You've been trying not to think about it, but it's getting harder to focus on anything else.
There's a moment of silence, and a look of hesitation in Rolan's eye, before he lifts the arm that's against you and instead wraps it around your shoulder. You flinch.
"What are you doing?"
He's blushed again. "Well. We- tieflings, that is- we naturally run hotter. And I got you into this predicament, so the least I can do is stop you from catching pneumonia."
You try desperately to think of an argument that stops him pulling you closer, but you come up empty. You're cold and he's warm, and he smells nice and his hair looks soft, and you are a weak, weak woman.
When you don't say anything else, he tentatively stretches his arm back around your shoulder, and places his hand there awkwardly. You pull a face at him.
"That can't be comfortable, your wrist is at an angle."
He shrugs, which makes you sigh. You grab his hand where it rests on your shoulder blade and manoeuvre yourself so that you're resting your head against his chest. You wrap his arm around you and push yourself against him. He freezes.
There's a long moment where you wonder if you've overstepped a boundary, but then he's sinking himself down against the rock so you can better lean on his chest, and pulling you tight against the side of his body. There's a moment of hesitation before you feel him rest his chin on the top of your head.
His scent and warmth wraps around you and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. His chin on the top of your head is a comforting weight, and being surrounded by him like this feels... intimate. You like it.
"I'm sorry, Tav."
You frown, but don't move. "For what?"
He swallows heavily. "I really was unfair to you. It's not your fault Cal and Lia were taken. You're the only reason any of us made it this far in the first place. I lashed out at you."
You give a small shrug, as much as you can without shaking his arms from around you. There's a moment, and then he's moving anyway, turning to face you and holding both of your shoulders.
"Tav, I mean it. It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry."
His eyes are piercing and you struggle to look away despite how intense his gaze is. You shrug again, hoping you don't betray how much his attention affects you. "You were right. I'm not a leader. I just wanted to do what felt right, but I've put people in danger in the process."
He shakes his head, "I wasn't right. The best leaders are the ones who didn't choose it. They're the people everyone follows because they believe in them." One of his hands comes down and grasps yours, and you feel your breath hitch. "People believe in you, Tav. I... I believe in you."
You don't know how to reply to that, so you don't. Another shiver rips its way through your body, and Rolan wraps both of his arms around you and brings your head back to his chest.
"For warmth, of course." He says it softly.
You nod. "Of course." Your voice comes out quiet and breathless, and you feel Rolan shudder minutely.
A voice in the back of your head tells you that you're walking a fragile line, that you're slowly inching your way over it. That once you cross it there's no going back. The warmth of his embrace must be clouding your judgement, though, because you find you don't care.
Rolan's twists his head slightly, and instead of his chin resting in your hair it's his cheek. You feel him rub his face softly into your tresses and it's such an intimate gesture that you feel your heart start beating in your throat. You press your skull up against him tentatively and you hear his breath catch in his chest against your ear.
You adjust your position so that his cheek is pressed against your temple instead. You can feel his breath grazing the tip of your ear, can hear the moment the pace of it staccatos.
It's like a slow dance, the way you both slowly inch towards each other. Your cheek is pressed against his now, and you tilt your head slightly to the side and glance your lips along his cheekbone. You feel his eyes flutter shut as his eyelashes brush against your temple, and you hear his slow exhale.
He turns his head, and you're both face to face. There are only centimetres between you, and his breath passes across your lips.
When he closes the final distance, pressing his lips against yours in nervous, chaste kiss, it feels like the inevitable conclusion that you've been dancing around since you met him. You feel yourself trip and fall over that proverbial line, and as you land squarely on the other side a wall comes up behind you in your mind's eye, preventing you from ever returning to where you were before.
It's only several seconds, but it feels far longer before he pulls away.
He's far enough from you that he can look at you properly, and his eyes scan your face wildly. He's shaking slightly, as if he's terrified of your reaction; as if he hasn't faced cultists and shadow-creatures and come away unscathed.
As you stare at each other, you consider the consequences and implications of this. The complicated predicament you'll be putting yourself in if you entangle your life with his in this way, the unknown and the uncertainties of your life, of your future and potential lack-there-of. You think about his apprenticeship, and the diverging paths you're undoubtedly destined to take. It would almost certainly be a mistake to let yourself slip into whatever this is becoming.
You kiss him anyway.
You feel all of the tension leave his body. He makes a small noise of contentment and you use the slight part of his lips to part your own and deepen the kiss. He makes a very different kind of noise at that, and it runs through your whole body.
You can't resist sliding your tongue into his mouth, and he makes another noise that has your gut wrenching as his arms tighten around you. It turns heated and frantic as you breathe into each other, and when you trail a hand over his cheek and down his neck he shudders and moans.
When you eventually have to pull away for air he chases you, and you can't help but chuckle at him. You see the flush spread over his cheeks and he opens his eyes, clearly embarrassed, but too far gone to say anything about it. His lips are shiny from your spit and his eyes are hooded, and you can't help but lean back in to taste him again. It earns you another low moan from the back of his throat.
He raises a hand to curl into your hair, grabs a handful as he threads his fingers through it, and the noise you make is frankly embarrassing, but it only serves to encourage him. In the next moment, he's dragging you into his lap with your legs straddling his hips, and positioned like this you can kiss him deeper. His other hand grips your hip firmly and you mewl into his mouth, and in response he moans and grinds you down into his clothed length. You run your hands up and down his chest, and one hand wraps around the back of his neck to hold him to you. He keens at the touch.
A loud cracking sound splits through the air.
You both jump away from each other, eyes frantically searching the other to see who hurt what, only to realise the noise is coming from somewhere nearby. Breaking branches. Footsteps.
You leap out of Rolan's lap and crouch next to him, peeking round the edge of the rock wall. You can't see anything, but the noise is getting closer. When you turn to Rolan, his features are hard, and he nods at you decisively as he moves to crouch with you. He comes up beside you, glances out in the direction with the noise. He brings a hand up to clutch your chin, directs it slightly more to the right, and points between a set of trees in the distance.
Whatever he sees, you can't. It's far too dark, and the fog is still a little too thick for you to see through. When you shoot him a confused look, he mouths to you in response.
"Harper."
You frown at that, and quirk an eyebrow questioningly, hoping he can deduce your question: 'Shadow-curse victim?"
He seems to catch your meaning, and he turns back to the tree line, squinting and leaning forward slightly. The movement results in him baring the column of his neck to you, and despite the fact you try, you fail spectacularly at wrenching your eyes away. His skin is smooth and unblemished, in contrast to your own body which you know is covered in a variety of scars and marks. You're overwhelmed by the urge to lean forward and suck a bruise onto his pulse point, which you just barely manage to resist. Not the time .
He turns back to look at you and you flick your eyes up to his in what is unfortunately a very conspicuous manoeuvre. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he juts his chin towards the harper in the treeline and whispers; "I think they're friendly."
You nod at that, turning away to look in the direction of the harper, who you still can't see. You can feel Rolan's eyes on you, and with a bolt of arousal shooting through your body you wonder if he's looking at you the way you looked at him moments ago.
You clear your throat. "Hello? Is someone there?"
Rolan leans in and whispers into your ear, and you feel goosebumps raise over your skin. "They've turned this way, they're making their way over."
"Tav?" The mystery voice calls out from the shadows. "Is that you? Karlach sent me."
You breathe a sigh of relief at the confirmation of the stranger's allegiance, and with a pat on Rolan's shoulder you stand and begin walking to the voice. You try to ignore the fact that Rolan practically clings to your side, and the small blossom of hope that brews in your chest.
"That's me." You can see the harper now, a light skinned dwarf with slicked back brown-auburn hair who you recognise as one of the men that guards the gate of the inn. "She'll have sent you out on a rescue mission, then."
He laughs. "She did indeed. Said the fact the both of you-" he nods towards Rolan "-were gone wasn't a coincidence. Her words were something to the effect of 'if that smarmy idiot has gone off to get himself killed, she's probably followed him.'"
You flush, but don't say anything. There's no real defence you can muster, considering the fact she's pretty much spot on.
Rolan jumps in for you. "Well, I'm thankful for the intervention. I owe Tav my life. We were waiting out the fog, I don't suppose you can guide us back to the inn?"
The harper nods, "certainly can. It's not all that far, but keep your wits about you. The critters out here are feral."
The first thing Karlach does when the pair of you find her at Last Light is flick you between the eyes.
"You bloody moron! How did I know you'd be off canoodling with this prick, hm?"
You can feel yourself going red, but you puff your chest out defiantly anyway, "I went to help him!"
The gleam in her eyes and smirk on her lips tells you she's been spending far too much time with Astarion, "I'm sure you did! Bet he was real grateful for your 'help', weren't you wizard?"
Rolan scowls, but his cheeks look darker than usual. Instead of saying anything, he storms off.
Karlach laughs, but you feel your stomach sink. He doesn't even look backwards at you. Clearly he's come to his senses, now that he's out of mortal danger, and remembered that he hates your guts.
You sigh, and shake all thoughts of Rolan from your mind. "Go on then, K, tell me what you found."