#rolanweek

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.

—

-

They walk through the open wrought iron gate and up the entry path toward the manor. The party goers have spilled out into the gardens to either side of the path and stand about laughing and talking. Dammon frowns at their fine attire and shakes his head as they climb the steps toward the manor’s open doors.

“I’m underdressed,” he sighs.

“Oh, hush.”

They step through the doorway together. The concern in Dammon’s face eases out into awe as he gazes wide-eyed around the manor’s main hall. Rolan puts on a show of seeming unimpressed, though in truth he’s rarely seen such splendor, not even in the most tastefully adorned areas of Ramazith’s Tower. The marble floor has been polished to a mirroring shine; it reflects the motions of the people above in a vague play of shadow and light, as though they stood and danced upon a sheet of clear ice.

Warm white light falls from an enormous crystal chandelier suspended two stories overhead, and glowing golden lanterns climb the walls along the grand curving stairways leading up. Mouth-watering savory aromas of cooking meat and sweeter notes of pastry scent the warm air inside.

“Gods above,” Dammon murmurs. They’ve come to a stop in the entryway, forcing several other entering couples to part around them. “All this for the new year?”

“It’s quite the occasion when you have the money to celebrate it,” Rolan says.

“I can see that.” Dammon breathes a disbelieving chuckle. “It feels a little like I’m dreaming.”

“Well, we shouldn’t just stand here all night.” Rolan slips his arm through the blacksmith’s. “Let’s make an appearance.”

They do draw a few stares as Rolan leads Dammon out onto the marble dance floor: two tieflings striding out as though they belong here, Rolan in his high-collared red and gold-threaded robes, Dammon in his neat brocade vest and pants and the silk cravat Rolan had lent him and helped him tie.

They clasp hands and merge with the dancers, tails knocking into the calves and ankles of the people around them. The string quartet plays an elegant song into the high acoustics of the room. Rolan studies the people around them as he dances close with Dammon, the blacksmith doing the same over Rolan’s shoulder. Dammon is underdressed, judging by the tailored coats and exquisite fabrics adorning everyone else around them.

Rolan brings his attention back to Dammon and smiles. The other tiefling’s skin glows in the radiant light, and his eyes sparkle with it. He smiles back. Rolan slips his hand around Dammon’s waist and pulls him closer. He leans in toward him until their noses brush.

“You are the most stunning person here,” Rolan murmurs into the warm space between them.

I spat so much unnecessary vitriol to your face through the short time I’ve known you. How you haven’t left me to wallow in my own self pity like at Last Light Inn or leave me to continue the rest of my studies and to endure my deserved “teachings” from my master, I would call you mad to go to such lengths. But now I have come to understand. I would have done the same if our roles were reversed. I would have already snapped at you like I am now long overdue from you. Could you and would you forgive me if I were to lay myself bare before you come morning. Like the paladins before their sworn liege or your wizard companion for the goddess of magic. Do you even wish to hear them spoken from such an ill tempered man? Honestly I am no man at all.

My claw reached out to tuck away a rogue lock. For what did I deem my sharpened fangs at you? The way you always followed behind me, ever asking me if I was doing alright, wishing to have a private word over some trivial conversation and at the latest of the night pointing up at the stars saying that is where I would belong. I would chastise you for calling me dead like those fading stars.

You would just shake your head profusely. There were many wizards out there but you believed I would outshine them like the ever twinkling light of distant stars. I would happily tell you “of course who wouldn’t I be but become the greatest wizard.” In the back of my mind I would call you foolish, for you to believe I could be such a thing. “No matter where you are Rolan,” the brilliance of the night reflected in your gaze. “You can’t help leave people in awe if not with your presence but that fiery burning heart of yours.” I withdrew my claw from ever reaching you.

I said all those vile things for my own selfish pride and coming from my own incompetence. What would Cal and Lia say if they saw us now? Wherever they are waiting outside Baldur’s Gate. Their sorry excuse of an older brother couldn’t save them, protect them and can’t simply give them a proper home to call their own. Well it’s in my blood to be a wretched hellspawn to the ones I have grown fond of and have come to love. To my first love and to my other fellow kin, why was I gifted these fortunes for to live such a life?

I watched on as the stars grew ever dimmer. The rolling clouds have come by blocking the rest of the trickling light through the window. Stubbornly and defiantly the moon still chooses to peek through despite the weather, guiding the stars to find their place. What have I come to learn as I passed through this plane? There is deep sorrow looking on at an endless bleak night. With no light above to guide and to comfort those far away below. A blurred silhouette against the rest of existence is a hard life to live.

The night would still be night without a moon but the stars will long for them. They would never know so till they meet. The night would still be night with a lone moon but the absence of stars is apparent against the empty sky. They find themselves searching for them as they move across the horizon. The night would be complete with the brilliance of the stars and the gentle presence of the moon.

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.