#rolanweek

[keepyourstyle]

Did you write something for Rolan Week and post it on AO3? Then feel free to add it to the collection!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[abogwitchnamedsage]

Mister Rolan isn’t in a very good mood… (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

I hope everyone had a good Rolan Week! ♡ Here’s my (late and rushed) contribution!

Life happened and I was (very) far away from my computer to not finish this in time for Rolan Week, but for the sake of my feelings, let’s pretend it’s January 31st, a.k.a Day 3 of Rolan Week: Fight or Forgiveness!

Going into headcannon territory (cw alcohol/substance abuse), I don’t think Rolan’s affinity to drinking is isolated to the events of Act II—I really think Rolan intentionally escapes his problems through substances that affect his cognitive functions. He’s uniquely intelligent enough to be considered a prodigy, and that can be a burden when he’s stuck overthinking and overworrying. In other words, if his brain doesn’t slow down, he’s going to slow it down himself.

It’s an unhealthy habit, and he needs his siblings (and Tav/Durge) to help him find better days to distract himself…particularly ways that don’t end up with him starting fights at the tavern. (It doesn’t matter how well that boy casts fireball thunderwave — that wizard is going to be in the wrong side of a pissed off monk one of these days and get the weave kicked out of him!)

[kimberbohwrites]

Say Sorry (Rolan x Reader, Rolan Week Celebration)

I was not aware of Rolan week (not on social media in many places hah!) so in observation I combined a few themes into one special story.

Using Day 3 (Fight/Forgiveness) and Day 4 (New Years Day/Party) prompts with a sprinkle of the NSFW add on (trapped together/makeup sex).

It seems right to break my 4 months of writers block and not publishing for Rolan week. Massive credit to @sorceresssundries for beta reading this and giving me feedback/encouragement. HAPPY LAST DAY OF ROLAN WEEK!!!

SAY SORRY

Rolan x Reader

Word Count: 2,788

Explicit, MDNI 18+

Click here to read on Ao3 or continued under the cut

Warning: Smut (but not gratuitous smut), Enemies to Lovers, etc.

“Why are you always such an insufferable arse, Rolan?”

“Why are you such an intolerable busybody?”

Rolan spits the question back without a thought, his clever mind seemingly always ready with a quip or a jab. You groan in frustration, scrubbing your hands on your face with an exasperation that was felt by all around.

It was normal for people to see you and Rolan fighting, you’d been at it since the moment you’d met him in the Druid Grove.

It’s worse than ever now, the constant bickering putting a damper on the celebration going on around you both. You’d returned Rolan’s siblings, Cal and Lia, as well as the other capturing tiefling refugees and Deep Gnomes trapped within Moonrise Towers. It had been no small feat, considering the jail seemed to have been staffed exclusively by high level paladins and spell-casters. Not to mention you were already tired from rescuing Rolan from his own foolish attempt to save his siblings.

There were a few moments you hadn’t been entirely sure that everyone was going to make it back safely. The care of so many falling squarely on your shoulders was a burden you had attempted to manage with grace, but you were overwhelmed and anybody with a keen eye could tell.

It’s not that you’d expected Rolan to be grateful to you for the return of his family — especially after the harsh words he’d had for you when they’d been taken. Or how angry he’d been when you’d sent him back to the Last Light to sober up after the aforementioned foolishness. It would be ridiculous to imagine he was waiting to welcome you back with a warm hug.

You fight back the flush of warmth you feel at the idea of his arms around you, it’s silly, Rolan would sooner put his arms around you to strangle you than to embrace you.

It’s just you had maybe expected him to be, nicer? At least a little. But when you’d returned his siblings he’d curtly thanked you and tossed a pouch of gold coins your way, like you were his hired henchman. After a few drinks to calm down you’d circled back to him, to get a proper thank you and to give him his godsdamned gold back.

He’d had the audacity to taunt you.

“I’ve thank you once already, don’t be greedy”

Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was finally reaching your limit with his arrogance, either way that had been it for you. You just — snapped.

Which brought you back to the matter at hand. The last 20 minutes had been gone by with both of you fighting loudly at the bar, while his siblings could only look on.

“Busybody?! You’d be dead a few times over without me you idiot!!!”

“Idiot!?!?! How dare y— “

“Both of you, stop it right now or you’ll finish this fight at bottom of the lake,” Jahiera’s voice cut through the atmosphere like a keenly honed knife. Her lilting accent was beautiful, but did nothing to soften the steel in her words.

“And Rolan doesn’t even know how to sw-OOF!”

Cal’s joke was cut off with an elbow to the ribs from Lia.

Both of you pause with a jolt as the First Harper rounds on you with a light, menacing glare in her eyes.

“You are ruining the celebration, you can make it up to us by going to the basement for more wine.”

When neither of you move she waves her hand at you with a “go” to let you know she means business. With a flush of embarrassment on both of your faces you head out the side door of the inn as the party resumes behind you. Even your traveling companions seem glad for a break from you and the wizard’s constant bickering.

“She can’t boss me around, I am a wizard” Rolan mutters under his breath (so that Jaheira couldn’t possibly hear him) as his tail swishes with agitation in the night air.

“Let’s just get this over with”

You start forward with a huff, trying to keep a distance from the cantankerous tiefling. Trying not to think about how angry you are with him or how handsome he looks in the soft glow of Last Light Inn.

Handsome?! You try to shake that last thought away. You can’t seem to shake away the sense of excitement you feel though.

After a few minutes in awkward silence you arrive at the basement door, old and covered in sinister looking vines.

Rolan crosses his arms with a gloating smirk as if to say — “well go on, you push it open.”

With a roll of your eyes and a huff you shove at the heavy door trying to ignore the loosening tangle of shadow cursed vines. Feeling some sort of unknown mechanism under the plants, you take pull your hands back and kick the door the rest of the way open.

Taking no chances, you run into the basement quickly, pulling Rolan behind you before the heavy door can swing shut, you don’t want to put your hands on the door again if you can avoid it.

Having made it in quickly enough you allow the door to swing closed behind you both. A loud clanking sound follows the slam of the door, followed by a grating metal sound like old gears turning and finally the thunk of something snapping into place.

“Great, you just let the door lock behind us, didn’t you?!”

With no light in the basement, only Rolan’s hissed frustration lets you know he’s standing right next to you.

Your brain catches up to the moment, processing the feel of the mechanism and the sound the followed the door closing. A nervous flutter fills your chest as you realize that Rolan is right, you’ve locked both of you in a dark basement.

“I didn’t know it was the lock! It just felt creepy!”

“It… felt creepy?!”

“Well I didn’t see you pushing the door open!”

You hear an angry scowl in the dark and the sound familiar sound of dancing lights being cast. The light is so sudden in the heavy dark, that you flinch against the brilliance for just a moment.

“Spooked by a little magic?”

Rolan mocks you lightly with a laugh as he casts the spell up to the ceiling to illuminate the room. Though Rolan’s tone had been harsh, by the spell-light you can see on his face that he is more concerned than angry. You’d been through so much together in the short time you’ve known him, even the slight fluctuations on his face had become easy to read for you.

Before he can catch you looking, you glance away to take in the basement you’ve found yourself locked in. Moving back to the door to give it a hearty pull and push, confirming that the loud sounds you’d heard were in fact, some sort of locking mechanism. The basement is not the worst place in the Shadow Cursed Lands to be trapped with Rolan, but it’s certainly not the best either.

At some point, before the war and the curse, the Last Light must have been a bustling inn. The evidence of that lies in the decaying remnants of casks, crates, and various containers strewn about the place. Cobwebs loom heavy in the corners, cast more ethereal by the gloom that lingered on each strand of spider silk — blurred in the soft light of the simple cantrip.

“Zurgan, I bet she did this on purpose!”

Your past reverie is broken by Rolan cursing and muttering under his breath as he dusts off and tests a few mostly intact crates as chairs.

“You think she knew we’d get locked in the basement?”

“She’s more cunning that you realize”

“See this is your problem, you just don’t trust anyone” You breathe out with a frustrated sigh.

His tail shifts in agitation from where he sits on a crate and you fight the urge to grin.

“I would be more trusting, but how can I possibly trust my so-called hero to come bursting in uninvited when they’re also locked in here with me.”

You stare at him angrily. Rolan’s voice made every one of his cutting remarks that much more frustrating to you. The sound somehow stokes the fires of your anger and something deeper within at the same time, each word laced with taunting, spite, and a fire you couldn’t quite place.

“Fine, next time I’ll just let you die”

It’s not true, you know it’s not. You’re foolish when it comes to saving people and that seems to go doubly so for handsome tieflings.

“What next time? We’ll probably die trapped down here.”

“I guess it will put me out of my misery from having to deal with you any longer”

Rolan jumps up to his feet with a huff and if you thought he was capable of it, you’d swear you’d offended him with your reply. You brush the thought aside and turn your attention back to the door. The vines from the exterior don’t reach inside the darkened basement and you can see that the door is heavy and thick — the wood somehow reinforced with metal bars.

You shove against it again, heaving with all your strength and once again it doesn’t budge.

“Can’t you just magic us out of here or something?”

Rolan sighs in response.

“I used the last of my magic with the lights, I need to rest before taking a crack at it.”

“Wizards” You groan.

“It’s not like I want to spend my evening trapped down here with the most irritating do-gooder in Faerun.”

“Right, because I’m coming out the winner spending my evening with a graceless ass who needs a nap before doing anything helpful!” You shout back at him. Anger now boiling up within you and finally erupting out.

“Just how am I graceless?” The way that Rolan locks in on that — you’ve touched a nerve. Like a sprung coil he lurches up from his makeshift seat, fists clenched in fury. He moves a step closer to you, like he’s holding himself back. Your mind reels in response, the air between you feels charged with a hundred unspoken truths.

Words escape you and in your anger your mouth only opens and closes, but no words are spoken. He searches your eyes with intensity, the kind that has always attracted you to him. Just once, those beautiful golden eyes of his stray down to your mouth and you swear you can see a blush darken his skin. Before too long, you fish the bag of coins out from a pocket within your skirts and toss them back at the man.

The bag hits him square in the chest with a metallic thud and he barely catches it before it hits the ground. He examines it curiously, rubbing at the tender spot left behind by their impact with him.

“Were you raised by wolves?” He sighs, “You’re mad because I paid you for saving my siblings?!”

He takes another step closer to you, his voice raised and proud as he glares down the bridge of his nose. You note the way he squares his shoulders back defiantly.

Your heart is racing in your chest so loud you’re sure he can hear, but you step forward so that only the smallest space separates you both. You can’t tell if you want to kiss or kill him as you look up meeting his gaze.

“I’m not courier, Rolan, I don’t work for you.”

“My mistake, it’s so hard to tell, what with the way you’re always following me around, doing stuff no one asked you to do.”

It all happens so quickly, your hands are on him, bunching up the fabric of his robes as you roughly push him back against the dusty wall.

You open your mouth to tell him off but it never happens. Your eyes meet his and then you’re lurching toward one another — closing that final distance as your mouths meet in a rough kiss.

He groans, almost growls with satisfaction as you meet and you feel it too, like some missing piece has been slotted in to place the moment your lips touched.

Catching his balance against the wall his arms pull you close to him, his hands roam your body hungrily, grabbing and squeezing Your mind reels from a potent mix of anger and lust, this is the last thing you thought would happen this evening and now you can’t stop. He is clearly pleased with this turn of events, his kisses are rough but deep, almost desperate.

You remember how this all got started, you pull yourself away just enough to speak and a small whine escapes the wizard as his eyes, brimming with need, meet yours.

“Say sorry”

You pant it out. Wishing your voice didn’t give away how much you need this, need him.

He grumbles and you feel his tail coil around your leg as he leans toward you again for another kiss.

“No” You command, “Say sorry, Rolan”

As you say it your hand winds around his back to the base of his tail, where you give a small tug when you speak his name.

The effect is immediate.

His breath hitches in his chest as his hips lurch toward yours seeking contact. Anticipating this you pull back, denying him the delicious friction.

“Uh uh Rolan, say it”

“Fine,” It’s immediate and urgent when he finally complies, “I’m sorry, just please, kiss me”

The blaze between you is an inferno as you rush back together, your bodies clinging tight as you kiss. Your hands roam each other’s bodies, dipping under fabric and peeling back what can be removed without breaking their embrace. Little gasps escape you both, swallowed up by the exchange of tongues and air. His skin trembles under your touch, little shudders that let you know it’s been some time since he’s felt this, had this.

Layers of clothing are discarded on to the earthen floor with little care. One of your hands slides down the ridges on his chest with a lovers caress, toward the growing hardness you feel pressing into you.

“Wait” he urges breaking the kiss briefly.

You break away and step back, a look of concern painted across your face.

Before you can speak he reaches out and pulls you close again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his forehead presses against yours. His skin is smooth, except where the ridges of his horns form on his crown.

“Tell me you want this” He sounds almost downcast when he asks.

“I want you, please, Rolan,” Your heart races and you’re too turned on to care about begging.

His tail lashes out in excitement and he moves quickly, flipping your positions against the wall and pressing you back with a kiss.

He drops to his knees before you, his eyes glowing as he holds blazing contact with yours. You can feel his breath on your bare center as he pulls your leg up over his shoulder. His mouth connects and a gasp wracks your body as he drinks you in, licking and sucking with is own desperate groans. The vibrations from his sounds of delight drive you over the edge again and again.

The fight is long gone from your mind, harsh words replaced by bliss and the feeling of his skin against yours.

When he takes you against the wall in the basement, it’s quick and hard. His hips rough against yours as his tongue dances across your body, savoring your skin between kisses and nips. He finishes with a whimper, kissing you so sweetly it’s hard to believe that same mouth was spewing jabs at you not long ago.

You wrap up together on the ground in the discarded cloaks and robes, Rolan holding you tight against him as you catch your breath and await sleep or a rescue.

——

“You’d better get a drink now, there isn’t much wine left,” Jahiera laughs as she claps the shoulder of someone in the tavern. Upstairs the party has continued, people are glad for the break from the bickering.

“Wait, I thought you sent Rolan and Tav to the basement for more wine?” Cal questions, overhearing the Harper and approaching with concern.

“Don’t be silly, there’s no wine in the basement.” She laughs

Cal’s mouth hangs open as he realizes the meaning of her words, beside him Lia can only giggle at the joke.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them out in the morning when they get it out of their system.” Jahiera smiles reassuringly with a wink at Cal before continuing on her way.

—

Rolan Tag List: @schizophrenicdiamond @crowwolf @stuffforthestash @barbwillbrb @reverieblondie @purpleasters-inseptember @cchickki @tsabhira05 @beaneburrito @klea221 @honeybee-bard @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @orangekittyenergy @scandistar @detectivesergeant @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @halsinningiswinning @blckvchaos @forget-me-maybe

[keepyourstyle]

Thank you everyone that participated in Rolan Week!

I’ve had a rough couple of days but I’ll try and continue reposting everyone’s works tomorrow.

[velocitross]

Vigil’s Promise

Final day of Rolan week! “Before final battle / Promise”

Found on ao3 here! This one again is E!

“Summoned to Ramazith's Tower on the eve of their final battle, Vigil expects Rolan needs help with the tower's arcane artillery—but instead finds he has a far different need for them to fulfill.”

Decided to finish out Rolan week with some strictly non-canon Vigil/Rolan! Just for fun 😌 preview below!

-

“Then there’s something else I need to ask of you,” Rolan says. Vigil studies him, curious but unspeaking. “I was hoping . . . I’ve never . . . Oh, hells.” He clenches his teeth and addresses them with his eyes shut and his face turned away, his red cheeks flushing redder. “I’ve never been with anyone before. I’d like to be with you. Anything might happen, to either of us, in the days to come. I want to feel close to you before that happens.”

“Oh,” Vigil says, their eyes wide. They’re not certain what to make of this escalation—from realizing they do have feelings to Rolan, to the prospect of sleeping with him, all on an evening they’d anticipated going in a far different direction.

“Please.” Rolan bites the word out past gritted teeth.

They study him while he keeps his face studiously pointed away from them. Their eyes make a slow track over his body. They gaze at his broad chest, at the glimpse of his thighs in his brown trousers. They have always found the tiefling handsome, and they’ve often wondered idly about his body those nights in their bedroll when their mind has wandered to him. They lift their attention back to Rolan’s face and find his eyes cracked open, watching them assessing him. His cheeks are afire with a blush that’s busy crawling down his neck as well.

“Yes,” they say, in their soft, lilting voice. “All right.”

Rolan’s eyes flash open.

“Really?” he asks, in a tense, confounded tone.

Vigil smiles. “Yes.”

They fold his other hand into theirs. Rolan gazes up at them.

They slide their gentle grip up his forearms until they’re gripping elbows and standing close. Rolan’s eyebrows hitch upward and his eyes close as Vigil leans down. They hesitate halfway to him, gazing at his furrowed brow and waiting lips, then touch a gentle first kiss to his mouth. The tiefling’s lips are firm and tense at first, but they yield to Vigil’s second exploratory press. He kisses them back, awkward and faltering, and then shies away.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not sure how to do any of this.”

“I’ll teach you,” Vigil says.

He studies them, and after a second he nods.

“All right. Teach me.”

They lean down and capture his lips again.

*

[graysparrowao3]

Rolan Meets with a Therapist

Had this character work piece in drafts, a day late but I thought it could maybe fit the 'Confession' prompt, given Rolan's unexpected admission.

It's the first time Rolan and this therapist have met. He's not sure if he can trust them and doesn't want to be there. The therapist is not described, but they are not a tiefling.

Rolan shifted in the chair. It was supposed to be comfortable, with thick cushioning and a deep seat. He crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Placed one ankle up to rest on his opposite knee. Back down. Leant down on an elbow on the arm of the chair. Rolled his shoulders and sat so his spine was straight against the chair back. He placed his hands awkwardly on his lap. Hopeless.

“What brings you here today?” 

Rolan looked away, gazing vaguely at the wall as though it would make him less conspicuous, less blatantly one of only two people in the room.

“It wasn’t my suggestion.”

“Whose was it?”

“Cal and Lia’s.”

“Who are Cal and Lia?”

“They are…” Ridiculous. What the Hells did they expect him to say? “We’ve known one another a long time. Cal says we’re family.”

“I’m more interested in what you say.”

They could be interested in what he said all they like, didn’t mean he actually had to say anything. Gods, who did they think they were? They’d only known him for mere minutes. They held a silence briefly, and Rolan felt a bristle of irritation, his knuckles tense. Why didn’t they say anything? What about what he had said demanded such a judgmental moment of reflection? And why were they so afraid to say whatever asinine thoughts they were having? They could be interested in what he said all they like, didn’t mean he actually had to say anything.

“If it wasn’t your suggestion to come today – what made you decide to come?”

“It’s not the worst thing I could be doing with my time.” Rolan shrugged, his eyes wandering derisively around the room, obvious in his disinterest. Perhaps a little too obvious.

“You could have chosen something else. Why choose this?”

“They – Cal and Lia – they thought it might be of some benefit.”

“How they think of you means a lot to you.”

“They… are close to me.” He offered after some consideration. “They didn’t have to be.”

Surely that would satisfy them. But as he saw their mouth open, follow-up question ready on their lips, apparently not.

“In what way do they think it may be beneficial?”

“The past few months have been… difficult. They thought it might help to…” Rolan’s nose creased as he finished the unpleasant sentence, “talk about it.”

“What made the past few months difficult?”

Rolan scoffed. As if they really expected him to explain it all. 

“Oh, just a few events that I rather didn’t happen.” He waved dismissively, emphasizing his nonchalance and indicating they needn’t enquire further.

“Events?” Damn it.

“We’re from Elturel.” Rolan said pointedly, surely that was self-explanatory enough. “Then there was a few… setbacks on the way to Baldur’s Gate. Not to mention a rather unpleasant appointment once we got here.”

“Setbacks?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“And you said there was an appointment, that it was unpleasant?”

“That was certainly one word for it,” he muttered.

“Got any more?”

“Disappointing. Infuriating.” He crossed his arms. “Concluded.”

“Would you like to talk about Elturel?”

“What is there to say?”

“You tell me.” He stared at them, conscious of the strands of hair that had fallen loose from the knot and tickled his cheek. He tried to surreptitiously fix it, and their infuriatingly watchful eyes studied him as he tucked the wayward hair back and over the points of his ears.

“I’ll damned well wear my hair as I like.” He snapped. Not that it was any of their concern what he did with it. They’d hardly understand.

No, they wouldn’t fucking understand.

They gave no indication otherwise. They didn’t even seem upset that he had raised his voice, which made Rolan’s irritation bristle further.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the sense that you don’t trust me. I want to let you know I wouldn’t expect you to – you’ve known me only a few moments, and I’m asking about deeply personal, potentially painful things. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to – and I get the impression you’d rather not share. So, I wonder how we could use our time together today?”

Rolan scowled. Sighed. Alright. Fine. It’ll make the time go quicker, at least.

“There was… an incident. As we traveled from Elturel to Baldur’s Gate. Several, actually, though one does stand out.”

“Ok. Why does that one in particular stand out?”

“Cal and Lia, they were…” He took a deep breath. “They were taken.”

“Taken.” They nodded slightly. “What was it like – when they were taken?”

“It was…” Rolan’s brow creased up as he recalled the memory. “It was dark, naturally, what with the blasted Shadow Curse.”

“That’s what the environment was like. What was it like for you?”

“It was…”  Rolan stared at the wall as though he might burn a hole in it to escape. “Bloody horrendous. I could have abandoned the children and saved Cal and Lia. But if I save Cal and Lia, the children are captured. More likely killed. In front of me. I would have to watch them die as I step out of the way. Could you live with that?”

“It sounds like you decided you couldn’t.”

“I don’t know if I decided it. Surely that would make me a monster, deciding to leave them to the cultists. But how could I face them and tell them I left the children to die? Lia would flay me alive, and Cal, well, I don’t even want to think about how disappointed he’d be.”

He finished his sentence. They didn’t respond. They made him sit there, wallowing in his own pity. Sitting in the discomfort until it warmed his cheeks and dried his mouth. His head felt hot, and still they sat. Looking at him. He ground his teeth together, held his breath until he burst out of the silence.

“What was I supposed to do?” He glared at an unspoken accusation. “I get to bear witness to the slaughter of children or hear the screams of my family as they are dragged away, not knowing if I’ll ever see them again, how lucky I am!”

He threw his hands into the air, then rubbed his aching temples, sullen face sinking into his palms. His shaking breath heaved as he sat, his shame the only sound.

“You said family.”

Rolan picked up his head. “What?” 

“You said ‘or hear the screams of my family’.”

Yes. He had.

Shit.

“They’re…” He swallowed. “I don’t know what I’d do without them. I nearly lost them, do you understand? I thought there was nothing I wouldn’t do for them, and I let them be taken. But what else could I do? And if they hadn’t been alright, if they hadn’t survived… what would I have done?”

“You care about them a lot.”

“I do.” He said softly. Then breathed. In. Out. He damn well wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of tears. “There. Are you happy now?”

“Does it matter to you if you’ve made me happy?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“Are you happy?”

“I…” He had no idea. He wasn’t even sure what he intended to say, what he was supposed to say. “I’m not sure that it matters.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things. Cal and Lia are taken care of, and I achieved what I set out to – or I’m on track for it, at least.”

“And what is it you wanted to achieve?”

Rolan surprised even himself by taking a moment to think about it.

“Peace,” he settled on. “No hiding. No ridicule. No running. No Gods damned goblins, no Gods damned bandits. No fucking bigots or saviors. No pitying or suspicious eyes – no eyes to look down at us at all, really. We’re damned well worth that at least.”

He wiped the side of his fingers hastily just above a cheekbone, switched directions.

“I have a tower now, would you believe. A bona fide wizard’s tower. Rather a swift kick up the ladder. And it was quite the kick.” He choked on a self-protective chuckle. “Joke’s on them, I suppose. Hard for them not to look up at me now.”

They let him sit in that moment, in that realization for as long as he needed.

“We’re coming towards the end of our time together. How was today for you?”

He shrugged, hoping it would distract from a sharp sniff.

“It could’ve been worse. Not quite sure what the point of it all was.”

Though, he thought that maybe he’d come back for another session.

Maybe.

[tealfling]

RolanWeek

Day 3: Fight or Forgiveness

Both? It's Act 2 y'all. Coren did not have a good time.

“Thank you,” Cal’s gentle voice once again interjected his siblings arguing. “For saving me. And these two idiots.”

Coren turned to him. Trying to give him a side smile even though her every muscle screamed. They were safe in Last Light. And that’s all that mattered. “There's no need to thank me, Cal. It was the least I could do after–”

“And humble, too?” Lia interrupted. Coren hugged her arms tighter around her shoulders. No. She was glad they seemed to be in such high spirits after just being released from the Moonrise dungeon. But she couldn’t say her mood reflected theirs. Her head pounded. Feeling light-headed and nauseous. And her neck…

“She has no cause to be humble,” Rolan announced. The sound of his voice cut through her making her recoil. They hadn’t spoken to each other since her party stumbled upon him in the midst of the Shadow Cursed Lands. “She’s brought us back together,” Rolan professed, “a task I failed miserably at.” Coren sunk into herself more, guilt sitting uneasy in her stomach. “You went out of your way to help us, it’s only right you get something in return.” Rolan reached into his side pouch. When Coren dared to look up, to her utter disgust, saw a coin purse in Rolan’s hand. “Here,” he said thankfully, “I hope it helps.”

Bile churned within Coren. “I don't want your coin, Rolan,” she sighed. Her voice raspy and with no energy to argue with Rolan anymore. “You'll need it in Baldur's Gate anyway. Good luck with your apprenticeship. Sorry for all the trouble,” she added, turning away defeated.

“Hey, soldier,” Karlach called. As Coren’s head turned back to look over her shoulder, her hair slipped back revealing an angry purple bruise in the perfect shape of a hand around her throat. Rolan's jaw clenched. “I’ve got Halsin,” Karlach continued, “let him take a look at you.”

Coren turned to face her two approaching companions fully, leaving the siblings to stare at her back and exchange worried glances. “I'm fine, really, Karlach. There's no need to waste your spells on me, Halsin. I'll just sleep it off.”

Halsin’s brow knit with concern. “No doubt you know how to weather the worst storms, little Lightning Bug, but you are looking worse for wear. If you don’t mind my saying.” Coren nodded, she knew she looked like shit.  “I think we would all feel a little better if you allowed someone to assess your injuries. At least allow me to alleviate the pain.” His large hand tenderly swept back more of her navy hair further revealing the deep bruise on her throat. Even Halsin's gentlest touch made Coren hiss in pain. 

Rolan was struck with guilt, but something else knotted inside him when the large druid ran his thumb along the sorceress’ jaw.

“Serves me right for picking a fight with the Warden in her office. Turns out, I've been letting myself get rusty at close quarters combat.” Coren shrugged, waving Halsin off dismissively. “Lesson learned. Next time I feel like being choked out and tossed around by a big, angry tiefling woman, I'll ask Karlach to do it,” she forced a laugh looking up at her fiery friend. “Can I go sleep off my shame now?”

Karlach shuffled closer, “Come on, soldier, don't be like. She cracked your head on the dungeon wall. I’m surprised you're not down to one horn like me. Come on, let Halsin make sure you aren't any more scrambled than the worm has us.”

Beside Rolan, both Cal and Lia tensed. Cal leaned over to Lia, “I thought that sound was the gnome’s hammer.”

“Astarion gave me a potion. I'll live. It's fine,” Coren said flippantly, “I just really want a bath and some sleep now.” 

“As you wish,” Halsin lamented. “But I would prefer you spend the night here. In one of the room’s Jahira offered while I tend to Art’s wounds.”

Coren sighed. “Fine.” She pushed past her companions as the two of them and the tiefling siblings watched her ascend to the second floor of the inn.

There was almost no wind here. No comforting up draft. Only darkness and despair. The wood of the railing of Last Light Inn’s balcony creaked beneath Coren’s feet. A second healing potion and bath had helped her body feel better, but sleep still eluded her. 

Rolan was right. All of this was her fault. If she hadn’t said anything. If she had traveled with the refugees. Her people. If she hadn’t gone to the creche. If she had been with them instead of cowering away from the Shadow Curse by playing around in the Underdark. How many lives would have been spared? This was all her fault. Their deaths. Their blood, was on her hands. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Coren might have saved the few from Moonrise, but that would never–

“Zurgan!”

A hand warm gripped Coren’s wrist, jerking her off the balcony. She couldn’t catch herself and landed face first in someone’s chest wrapped in their arms.

“What in the damned Hells do you think you're doing?” Rolan gripped her shoulder’s angrily, shaking her.

Coren hissed in pain causing Rolan to release her, but not drop the accusing glare from his face.

“Nothing!” she bit.

“That didn’t look like nothing! People do not stand on balconies to do nothing!”

Coren stood there flabbergasted. “What? Did you think I would jump? Seriously? I’m not sure if I’m more offended that you thought I would jump off a shitty two story balcony or that I would be injured from a fall from a shitty two story balcony! I can Fly you dumbass,” she spat.

“Well-I,” he stammered.

Coren realized her hands were still supporting her on his chest and quickly shoved herself off him. “What the fuck do you even care? You hate me.” That probably wasn’t true and she knew it But she was so angry. And so hurt. And she could never hate him. But maybe her heart would hurt less he hated her.

“What?! No- I,” Rolan started.

“What? Like it isn’t true?” she scoffed.

“It’s not!” Rolan shot.

“Yeah, okay. You don’t have to pretend-”

Rolan growled, then threw his hands up in frustration. “You infuriating little witch! Would you just allow me to speak?”

“Why!?” Coren snapped. “What more could you possibly have to say to me, Rolan? You were right. This is all my fault. Cal and Lia were captured because of me! The other’s died! Because of ME!” She exploded. Distant sounds of thunder echoed overhead. “So you don’t have to say anything. I-” her eyes stung as she tried to hold back the tears.

For a moment, neither said anything. Rolan closed the gap between them again, slowly reaching to take her hand in his.

“But I do have something to say,” he said gently, “Something very important, you need to hear. Coren, please look at me,” Rolan tugged her hand up so she turned. “Firstly, I’m sorry. So sorry. I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped us anyway. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Rolan,” Coren began to protest.

“No, you went out of your way to help us. I have Cal and Lia back because of you, Coren. For that, I am truly grateful.” He cupped her smaller hand in both of his. “And if my attempt at monetary thanks offended you, I meant no disrespect,” Rolan insisted. “Please forgive my earlier behavior. It -uh- it seems to have given you the impression that I hate you, and that is not the case. You are, however, insufferable.” 

Coren rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it that way,” she teased. “How could I refuse your apology?”

[velocitross]

A Fortress Together

Rolan week day 6! “Confession or Kiss”

Found on ao3 here!

“On a snowy night nearly a year into their relationship, Rolan finally expresses just how deep his feelings for Dammon have grown.”

My final thunderforge offering for Rolan Week, and one I really love! it’s nice to occasionally write and edit a fic where I can read it afterward and be completely, deeply satisfied with it.

It’s been very dry and depressing here this winter so I just wanted something with cozy, snowy vibes! Preview below.

-

The night deepens outside. By now the snow will lie in a muffling blanket over the streets, untouched and untrodden until morning. It drapes across the windowsill outside Dammon’s bedroom window, and beyond it the ghostly moonlit flurries continue to fall in a vague and whirling impression of motion. A silence pervades the house from outside, pushing in with a strange kind of pressure.

A lantern on the wall casts a slight flicker of orange light over them in Dammon’s bed. The blacksmith lies with a book propped on his bare chest, Rolan lying with his head on the other tiefling’s shoulder. Dammon reads and Rolan stares at the words uncomprehending; his mind wanders elsewhere. Every so often an errant gust of wind blows snow against the window in a burst of muffled taps, and the intrusion of the outside world makes the bed and blankets feel even warmer. Rolan nestles closer to the furnace of Dammon’s body.

Nine months. Nine months since that day in a light spring snowfall when he and Dammon had spoken the truth of their feelings for one another and their relationship had begun. Nine months learning one another, some rocky moments mostly borne of Rolan’s inexperience with relationships and compromise, always smoothed over by Dammon’s easygoing, accommodating nature and Rolan’s willingness to apologize and grow. Dammon has allowed Rolan to set the pace every step of the way.

Dammon shifts the arm beneath him and lifts his hand to stroke his claws through the wizard’s hair. Rolan murmurs at the touch. The blacksmith strokes him, steady and soothing, in the way that always puts Rolan to sleep.

He’d marveled once at Dammon’s ability to adapt in any scenario. How complete he is, how self sufficient, a fortress unto himself. He marvels at it again now, with an accompanying pang of deep gratitude for his place in the man’s settled and comfortable life.

He feels safe with Dammon. And he feels something else, a hard squeeze of his heart he’s been feeling more and more often lately, lying together in his bed or Dammon’s or thinking about him throughout the day.

“I love you,” Rolan says.

*