#tw: lorroakan

[underdark-dreams]

[ch1] - [ch2] - [ch3] - [ch4]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.5

Ramazith's Tower undergoes a change in management.

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Oral Sex, NSFW | Word Count: 5.5k [Read on AO3]

Rolan had fought battles with Tav before. So why did he feel such a pit of anxiety in his stomach?

Perhaps fighting gave him too much credit. The goblin camp’s ambush on the Grove, the ghouls descending on Last Light Inn the very morning after she’d returned his siblings to him…they’d never really battled side-by-side before. He’d always found himself somewhat on the backfoot around her. 

Today would change that, and there was no more time for those past missteps. Lorroakan could put up a stiff fight when crossed; he was sure to be irate at being denied the Nightsong.

Dame Aylin, Rolan reminded himself. She was a person, after all, not another relic for an archwizard’s hoard.

The Weave required his total and complete concentration this morning. Anything less might put Tav in danger, and that was unthinkable.

As such Rolan spared no thought for the morning’s customers and their tedious inquiries. Most he directed straight back to Tolna, to her clear annoyance—he could practically feel her silent glare on his back. His body moved through the motions of helping the rest, not caring how rude or addled they might find him. His mind whirred away far above the mundane.

Well-worn incantations trailed through his mind like a mantra. Each one that he knew by heart suddenly seemed worth practicing another dozen times.

With his thoughts caught in a loop, the minutes crawled by at an agonizing pace. The sun took an eternity to climb above the low structures of the outer city. Just as Rolan began to wonder whether Tav might have put off the conversation with her allies, the unmistakable signal appeared just as she’d promised. 

A blinding, comet-like streak blazed across the sky. 

Rolan’s pulse leapt into his throat as he stared up through the vaulted windows of Sorcerous Sundries. The silvery trail of it shone supernaturally bright, even against the cloudless blue of midday. Its path pointed toward the Upper City.

There was a chorus of exclamations from the customers within the building, some delighted and many terrified. A few ran out the front doors for a better look. Out in the courtyard, the troupe performing their unimpressive magic show turned tail and ran mid-demonstration.

“What in—” 

A fleck of something molten singed his wrist—Rolan shook it away with a flinch. The dwarf hawking conjurement scrolls had disappeared into thin air on his right, leaving his lava elemental to shamble untethered toward the open front doors. Its trail of superheated liquid spread perilously close to the nearby bookshelves and alchemy chests. Rolan aimed a cantrip at the thing, just barely pushing it back into its containment runes.

Tav appeared the very next instant. Dressed for battle now, she led her companions in a dead sprint through the front atrium of Sorcerous Sundries. Her longsword swung already drawn in her hand.

“Now!” Her eyes pierced Rolan’s as she dashed for the stairs.

Rolan threw his work aside. He dipped to grab his quarterstaff from under the counter, then took off for the staircase to follow Tav and her companions.

Those few seconds passed like hours in his head. In a flash, the scene waiting for them above streaked through Rolan’s mind. He knew Lorroakan’s magic better than anyone—why the hells hadn’t he prepared her better for what to expect?

“Take out his Myrmidons first,” Rolan said in a rush as they took the stairs two at a time. “They’re Weave bound—grant him resistance—”

Rolan couldn't tell if she was listening. “Tav!” He heard his own voice shouting, and gripped the metal plates on her shoulder before she could step to the portal. “Don’t go near him until they’re dust, understand?” All the subconscious reasons why he’d avoided fighting next to her before were flooding back to him.

“Yes,” she said in clipped tones, but she spared him a fierce glance sideways. “We’ve taken worse.”

This isn’t about you, this is about me and my weakness and how I will go absolutely fucking mad if anything happens to you—

He wanted to shake the words into her, but there was no time. Instead, Rolan cast without thinking. 

Just before her other leg disappeared into the swirling void, his hand directed a strand of Weave out toward her, wrapping her in defensive magic. He felt the telltale sap of energy in his chest and knew his spell had landed.

Pitiful consolation—but it was what he could manage. Rolan breathed in and shouldered his way through the portal behind her.

Already breathless and disoriented, it took him a moment to come to his senses on the other side. Rolan blinked against the bright Upper City sunlight filling the Tower before catching sight of his master on the far side of the dais.

Dame Aylin had beaten them here. Tav and her companions rushed to flank her shining wings—Rolan followed, trying to note the positions of Lorroakan’s waiting Myrmidons while catching the tail end of the aasimar’s rebuke.

“—one good reason, magus, why I should not strike you down where you stand!”

Aylin spoke like the ancient and powerful being she was; her words hit Rolan’s ears with the weight of some kind of dreadful prophecy. They would strike fear into any sane mortal’s heart.

Naturally, Lorroakan showed no such inclination to humble himself. He preened, belittled, outright lied to Aylin’s face about the glowing runes traced into the floor behind him. The man’s audacity made Rolan’s blood run hot. In this moment, he felt painfully ashamed that he’d ever called himself his apprentice. 

Clearly, Aylin was not one to suffer such fools so easily. “A liar and a thief, desperate to stretch his miserable life with the Moonmaiden’s blood. Heretic—” Her feet left the ground as she rose into the air, righteously angry, her wingspan spreading behind her to cast a shadow on Lorroakan’s face.

Lorroakan’s eyes turned pale and cold as he watched her, and Rolan recognized the look as the one he saw before a blow was struck. 

“A shame,” Lorroakan sighed, shaking up the cuffs of his robe. His gaze fell on Rolan. “Boy, mind the runes—if she won’t go willingly, then the cage must be ready to contain her.”

Even now he was too self-important to note that it was Tav’s shoulder Rolan stood beside, not his former master’s. A laugh of absolute pity rose in Rolan’s throat.

“You ungrateful hellspawn—” Lorroakan’s eyes widened with rage at the sound. “Stand against me, and you will die with the rest!”

Lorroakan’s hands made the gesture of summoning. Behind him, Rolan heard the four corners of the room surge to life as the Myrmidons woke for their master. Tav’s companions drew steel and shouted a flurry of protective spells.

Rolan took his stance and reached out for the Weave.

—

“Not in range—!”

Too late to heed Wyll’s shout of warning, Lae’zel’s greatsword sliced down into the flaming Myrmidon on the lower stair. A hellish whip of fire lashed out in response. She turned just in time, catching the brunt of it against her pauldron, but a lick of flame sliced her cheek. 

Uttering a harsh Gith warcry, she vaulted bodily around the thing to refocus on the icy elemental swirling its way toward Aylin, leaving the other for the casters to handle. Gale launched a volley of magic missiles into the column of fire she left behind. Wyll’s Eldritch blast landed after like a small explosion, bursting the thing into dust.

Tav sliced in frustration at her own target. Every time her longsword cleaved the stormy Myrmidon in two, it seemed to reform nearly as powerful. 

She cursed herself for ever underestimating a wizard as vapid yet as cunning as Lorroakan. He’d be easy to take down on his own; the problem was getting at him. 

Lorroakan was protected up to the fucking gills, wrapped in elemental power from each of the Myrmidons he controlled. Rolan’s warning echoed in her head—their only course was to pick them off, one by one, until the wizard stood on his own.

Aylin was doing her damnedest, slicing and searing the two elementals nearest Lorroakan with the ferocity of survival. Rolan flanked her superbly, casting back anything that got close on her greatsword’s upswing.

This fight is just as personal for each of them, Tav realized.

Catching her momentarily distracted, the air Myrmidon conjured a gust of air that buffeted her backwards. She wobbled and clenched her legs beneath her, trying to keep her footing on the now spill-slick carpet. The awkward position forced her to thrust her heavy sword forward for balance.

The Myrmidon directed a surge of sparking energy at her. Whether or not it was aimed to, the bolt struck her longsword like a whip crack—lightning skipped and leaped from tip to hilt and rushed straight up to her neck.

Her sword arm spasmed involuntarily, agonizingly, from shoulder to fingertips. The numbing jolt was followed by searing heat that tunneled to her very nerves—the smell of burning flesh emanated from under her arm plates. She was screaming in pain before she recognized her own voice.

A sound she instantly wished she could call back. Rolan’s figure wheeled in panic toward her, turning his back on the archwizard.

No, her lips formed silently. Burning agony forced her wordless to her knees, though she wanted to yell in frustration at her own stupidity. Too many things were happening too fast; Lae’zel flew past with her greatsword held forward like a pike, battering the air Myrmidon away toward the railing with a precise rush. Aylin’s wings beat in righteous anger behind her as she shook her head with rage—the moonbeam circling her swelled with power, incinerating two more Myrmidons on her left and right.

But all Tav could see was the red wizard’s face twisted into a snarl behind Rolan’s shoulder, recognizing an opening and preparing to seize it. She forced air back into her lungs. “Rolan!”

She thanked every god listening that he somehow understood. Rolan turned back even as the incantation formed on Lorroakan’s lips—but the apprentice was quicker than his master.

Thunderous force erupted from Rolan’s extended palms. Shockwaves reverberated out like hot gusts of wind from a furnace, ruffling through her hair where she slumped, pushing rivulets of blood and sweat across her cheeks. The spell carved its path out toward Lorroakan in a crashing wave; his boot heels skidded against the floor like a ragdoll pulled back by a giant imaginary hand. 

Then Lorroakan hit the railing behind him with a sickening crack and toppled feet-over-skull, joined by the crackling Myrmidon nearby that was just barely caught in the blast of Rolan’s spell.

There was the echoing shriek of the archmage himself, shrill and disbelieving, followed by the clatter and crash of metal and stone many meters below them. No doubt the crush of Lorroakan’s body was muffled by whatever it had collided with—no living thing could have survived a fall of that force.

The rest of her companions had paused the battle to watch Lorroakan’s fall, even Aylin herself. But then Tav realized that, in fact, it was over. Their final two opponents had just toppled into the abyss below; the rest lay crushed to dust on the floor of the Tower. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Gale remarked in wonder. He was peering down over the edge of the dais where Lorroakan’s body had tumbled along with his conjure. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“I did,” was all the answer Rolan spared. His boots were already splashing through puddles and ash to where Tav lay slumped on her side.

He knelt beside her with barely contained panic on his face. “Where is it, your arm? I should have—” Rolan was casting around, clearly trying to conjure up some knowledge of healing magic.

The raw skin below her shoulder was throbbing and hot-wet with what she knew was blood; her tunic chafed like steel against sinew with the slightest movement. With effort, she unclenched her teeth enough to speak. “My p-pack—”

Rolan pushed away from her to where she’d dropped her belongings. Though turning her neck hurt far too much, she heard the clinking of bottles as he urgently rifled through it.

He knelt close beside her again, and his thumb uncorked the potion with one sharp nail. The taste was like honeyed wine as Rolan tipped it past her lips. She could feel the bloody skin of her arm sealing back together and unsticking from her tunic. Then a wave of calm swept the pain away with such force that her vision tunneled for a moment.

Her eyes cleared to land on Rolan’s face. All at once her chest was squeezed with guilt. He was the one whose whole world had just shifted on its axis in the space of a morning. He shouldn't have to nurse her just because her lapse in focus almost got her killed.

She pushed herself back to her feet without success. For a moment she feared that her muscles were permanently broken, but then she realized Rolan’s hand on her shoulder was holding her firmly to the carpet.

“Stay put,” he instructed sternly. “Give yourself a moment.”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. Her eyes traveled over him instead, checking for injuries. A cursory glance reassured her.

“Stop worrying about me—” Rolan was scowling at her in a way she found strangely comforting. “You’re the one who nearly lost an arm.”

She twisted said arm out from under her side, waving it experimentally to and fro until her shoulder plates jangled. “Still attached. See?”

“Only because—” Rolan cut himself off with an impatient huff. Before she knew it, his hands notched under her arms, and he hoisted her to her feet with surprising strength. He kept his grip there until she’d caught her balance.

Aylin swept toward the two of them, wings spread slightly behind her with the flush of victory. But the shine in her eyes was duller than Tav expected.

“Well fought,” she praised them nevertheless. “Both of you. I did not expect you to turn on your master so readily—” Aylin leveled her gaze down at Rolan. “But you proved yourself up to the challenge.”

Rolan dipped his horns to her slightly. “Lorroakan was never my equal in magic, let alone my superior. His plans for you only proved his utter foolishness. And his cruelty.”

“Then you are already wiser than he,” Aylin declared. “I am heartened to hear it. Perhaps you make a worthy consort for my steel-hearted friend after all.”

“Glad you approve,” Tav grimaced, praying none of the others had heard that. Beside her, Rolan coughed in a way that sounded strangely like a cover for laughter.

The subject seemed to amplify Aylin’s weariness, however—with a few parting words she flew the Tower to return to Isobel. Gale was at Tav’s shoulder in the next instant, and she could already read his face.

“I know, I know…Annals of Karsus,” she filled in with a sigh. Just once, she did wish for a moment to catch her breath. 

Gale at least looked apologetic. “More urgent than ever, I’m afraid.”

Rolan regarded the other wizard with sudden suspicion. “You’re researching Karsite magic?”

“To fight the Absolute,” Tav explained wearily. “Listen, I’ll tell you ev—”

“We may need Astarion’s help,” Gale interrupted in a single-minded rush, “unless there’s a path past the vault defenses.”

“Don't look at me.” Tav turned to look at her Tiefling. “Rolan’s the Master of Ramazith’s Tower now.”

Her own words sent a shiver down her back. Rolan seemed to feel something similar; he straightened his shoulders to his full height as they looked at each other.

“If it can help, take it,” Rolan decided. He unclipped a small rune hanging at his belt and tossed it into Gale’s hands. “Give that to Tolna, she’ll disarm the route for you.”

The shift in power seemed to ripple around the room like a tangible thing. Even Lae’zel, who had been standing on the sidelines in disinterest at the subject of magery, was drawn in. She cocked her head in her birdlike way.

“This is how the archwizards of Faerûn choose their successor? Whichever apprentice defeats their master in combat?” She jerked her chin. “Barbaric,” she added, decidedly approving of the practice. 

“That’s…” Gale raised a finger as if to counter, then took a rare pause. “We’ll discuss it on the way,” he finished.

In the same breath, the two of them headed for the portal and the vault below. Tav glanced to Wyll, who gave a nod of understanding and followed the others. She and Rolan were left standing alone in the middle of the Tower’s main floor.

The two of them glanced around in silence for a long moment. Under her boots, the fine carpets squished with a mixture of ice-melt, spilled sublimates, and shards of glass from shattered alchemy equipment. The stairs on all sides were dusted with piles of ash from destroyed summons. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in cheerily through the windows, as if unaware of the carnage that had just filled the place moments before.

“Nice place you have here,” she joked weakly. 

Rolan didn’t answer her. His face was tilted up toward the towering bookshelves rising to the ceiling. Abruptly, he walked up the stairs to one and plucked a random volume from the shelf. Then he let its spine slowly fall open in his hands. 

She followed after him with curiosity. There must be significance to the gesture, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“I can read them,” he said down to the page, so low it was difficult to make out. “Every book in this tower…I can finally read them all.”

“You couldn’t before?” A unique form of torture for a mind like Rolan’s. Already, Tav was hit with another strong wave of satisfaction that Lorroakan was dead—a feeling she suspected would return many times over the next weeks and months.

“Cal’s going to love this,” he added with enthusiasm, replacing the book and tracing along the other titles. “This is the best library for leagues—not just books on spellcraft, memoirs and poetry too—”

“And Lia will love that the bastard’s dead.”

That made Rolan let out a laugh, his fang-like teeth glinting bright and sharp. He was handsomer than ever when he was happy like this. Without thinking, she leaned to plant a besotted kiss on his cheek. 

Rolan let out a satisfied hum and took her hand in response. She allowed herself to be gently pulled behind him as he headed for a delicate staircase spiraling upward against the north wall.

“Where are we going?”

“Not sure,” Rolan answered truthfully. “But there must be a bath up here somewhere. We’re both a mess.”

Even without glancing down at herself, she knew he was right. Blood and sweat and ash had soaked through the seams of her armor to coat unpleasantly over her skin.

They passed up several flights, up through floors Rolan remarked he’d never seen before. They included what must be an artificer’s workshop, filled with half-built metal constructs. Eventually they reached what was clearly the previous owner’s chambers. A massive four-poster bed stood against the far wall, rounded with arched windows overlooking the city. 

Tav felt a visceral urge to turn and leave the place immediately. But Rolan was surprisingly impassive, leading her with curiosity toward a small door in the corner. It swung forward with a touch, and they both blinked against the brightness as it latched behind them.

The room’s four walls were close-set but cavernously tall. Sunlight streamed in from the narrow windows many floors above, softly reflected by the pale polished marble of the walls. The space was nearly bright as day as a result. 

From some high point that her eyes refused to focus on, a sheet of water descended silent and smooth like the surface of a flat bubble. It seemed to flow straight into the marble tiles under her feet without a sound. Behind the shimmering surface an enormous soaking tub was built into the floor.

Intrigued, Tav shook off the gauntlet on her free hand and reached her bare fingers through. The water flowed quietly around them, closing back into a uniform sheet below as it disappeared into the floor. When she withdrew, it took her weary mind several seconds to reconcile the fact that her fingers were completely dry.

“Ramazith’s magic,” Rolan mused beside her. He was inspecting the flow of water above as though he could see the structure of the spell beyond it. Something beyond where her eyes could reach.

“You can tell one wizard's magic from another’s?”

“If you're familiar with their work. Ramazith’s research on conjuration is famous. When I was quite young, I dreamt of learning it from the man himself.” 

She watched Rolan’s face glass over slightly, and for a moment he looked very far away. Then his eyes flicked to hers. “He never wrote me back,” he explained simply. 

A memory that would do no good for him to dwell on now. She released Rolan’s hand instead, and began loosening the ties of her plate armor. 

They undressed beside each other without speaking. The only sounds were the echoes of metal falling against marble as she shed each section of armor to the floor. Rolan’s layers were much faster to make work of; when he was down to just his trousers, he turned her around to undo the tricky buckles behind her neck and shoulders. 

Eventually all of their clothes lay discarded in piles around them. She shook her hair down around her face, feeling strangely shy—not because of Rolan, but at standing covered in blood and grime in the most lavish and spotless bath she’d ever seen. She quickly passed under the quiet sheet of enchanted water, and Rolan followed.

When Tav’s dry feet met the bottom of the basin, steaming water poured up rapidly from the carved stone itself and pooled well above her knees. She sank down into it with a grateful sigh, letting the water’s surface graze her chin. It was heavenly.

“Did I mention I love you,” she groaned, eyes closed.

“I can always stand to hear it again.” Water rippled against her neck, and then she was being drawn back against Rolan’s ridged chest. She settled contentedly against him and folded his arms around her own. 

Soaking her worn muscles in a hot bath, feeling Rolan’s ribcage rise and fall steadily against her back—it was enough to feel utterly at peace for a moment. The steam rising around them was lightly scented with something fresh and herbal. 

Balsam, she realized, which would account for the speed at which her aches and pains were dissolving away. The thought brought back a memory that made her smile to herself.

“You told me once that I smelled like balsam.”

“It’s always reminded me of you,” Rolan agreed, his voice humming between her shoulder blades. “Why is that?” He added, curious.

“Cheap way to patch yourself up,” she said. “We needed a lot of patching up in those days.”

Rolan settled her more comfortably on his lap. “I remember the first day we met. You were absolutely plastered in goblin blood from head to foot.”

“And I remember the look on your face…you were absolutely appalled,” she laughed, leaning her head back against one of his shoulders.

“It was quite shocking.” Rolan’s hands traced her arms under the water. “But sexy, in a way.”

“Is that what does it for you?”

“Yes.” Not bothering to deny it, he leaned down to kiss the juncture of her neck.

“Interesting,” she mused. “Maybe I should get into fights more often.”

“Though I admit, I much prefer you like this.”

“Naked in your bath, you mean?”

“Precisely.”

She turned with a laugh, straddling his legs to sit facing him. It came as only a mild surprise to find the old bruises on his face had faded away from the medicinal steam. Rolan rested his hands on her hips under the water, gazing at her from under his lashes with those flame-gold eyes. 

She carded her wet fingers through his hair, tugging out its leather tie on the way. “You’re going to be absolutely insufferable about this, aren’t you.”

“About what?”

“All of it,” she answered, reaching past him for a bar of soap and lathering it between her hands. “Having your new tower all to yourself—” She massaged the lather into his scalp, dipping his head back slightly to better soak his hair. “Being Master Rolan now—”

Rolan closed his eyes with a deep inhale, letting her tug his head this way and that as she gently scrubbed at his wet hair. “Please don’t call me that around other people.”

“Why?” She asked, working her fingers up from his nape to back behind his horns. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it too much,” Rolan clarified, and though he kept his eyes shut, she thought his cheeks were flushed a deeper burgundy than usual.

“Ah.” She tugged his wet hair back a bit rougher than was necessary, dipping to nibble on the tip of one of his pointed ears. “So what you’re saying is, definitely call you Master Rolan when Cal and Lia come to see the Tower—”

With a splash that almost certainly soaked their clothes on the floor, Rolan flipped their bodies to land her up on the edge of the bathtub, back pressed against the cold marble of the wall.

“Insolent woman.” Rolan slung one of her calves up over his shoulder. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth descended hot between her legs.

With a gasp that echoed around the space, her head fell back against the wall. She clutched a fist into his wet hair, panting as the flat of his tongue smoothed up and parted her folds. “Fuck, Rolan—”

He only gripped her hips tighter in response to his name, sharp claws dimpling into her wet skin, tilting her up and open for his exploring tongue. When he plunged it between her folds and licked a curling shape upward inside of her, the tip of his nose brushing her clit, she groaned and shook against him and clenched her knees around his face to keep him there. He lapped at her eagerly in response, slinging her other leg up across his shoulder to join the first.

Seated against him for balance, she found her own very much thrown off. She clutched both his horns to steady herself, panting at the way his tongue swirled over her.

When the tip of his tongue hit her clit, she keened and arched her back into his mouth. “Right there—Gods—”

Rolan groaned involuntarily at the way she gripped his horns and ground herself against his face, seeking more of his hot and eager tongue against her peak. The sound only sent another shuddering wave of stimulation to her core. 

His fingers gripped her with bruising force now as she rocked herself against his mouth, tugging his horns with an insistence that only seemed to spur him on. One of his hands curled over her wet thigh to use thumb and forefinger to spread her open. As he did, his lips closed over her clit to roll her in circles with his tongue.

Tav’s legs clutched and spasmed around the dagger points of his ears. Her balance nearly slipped against the wet stone under her—Rolan firmly pressed her back against the wall, holding her steady as she twitched and came under his mouth.

Shaking and off-balance, she leaned completely into his grip as waves of release clenched through her belly. Hot tears of sudden relief rolled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed a hand across her face before he could see them. Her other hand held tightly onto the ridged curve of his horn.

When she finally floated back down to her body, Rolan had slipped her legs down back into the warm water. He kissed a gentle path across her stomach, where the muscles of her core still ached and fluttered from her climax. The loose ends of his hair tickled her inner thighs.

Limp and spineless, she let her body slide back under the water to coil sideways on Rolan’s lap. Her chin landed heavily over his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. A handful of warm water was poured over the crown of her head. In the back of her hazy mind, she realized he was quietly washing her hair for her in turn.

To her embarrassment, more tears streamed down her cheeks, rolling to patter against his shoulder. She hoped he couldn't tell the difference from the rippling bathwater. When a snuffle caught in her throat, she knew she’d given herself away.

“I'm so—tired—” She choked out, feeling very foolish for ruining such a rare lovely moment in a lovely place. But the tears still leaked out the corners of her eyes. 

“Then stay here and rest a while,” Rolan told her, his nails gently scrubbing her scalp. He sounded remarkably unbothered by her reaction.

“I can’t,” she groaned into his shoulder. “I have so much to do—the Vault—”

“Maybe I can help,” Rolan replied, resolutely dumping more trickles of water to rinse out the soap. “For one thing, why in hells do you need a book on Karsus?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut; she felt a jumble of words boiling up in her chest. 

“Rolan…the Absolute is actually a giant, ancient, angry Elder Brain chained up deep under the city. And Gale thinks it’s wearing the Crown of Karsus, and that’s how Ketheric and Gortash and Orin are managing to control it, with these Netherese stones…only now Ketheric’s dead and we have his stone, so the containment’s breaking. And it’s going to go free and absolutely lay waste to the Sword Coast unless we get to it first.”

Rolan was very still against her as everything poured out. Then his fingers smoothed her wet hair back. “That doesn’t sound like a problem we can solve today,” he said decidedly. 

“But I have—”

“Tav.” Rolan’s arms drew her away firmly. Unable to escape his gaze now, she nevertheless hung her head, ashamed for him to see her red-faced and weeping like a child. “You’re making mistakes. You nearly got yourself killed just now. If I hadn’t put mage armor on you, you might’ve lost your sword hand.”

She stared up at him. “But that spell doesn’t work if you’re wearing plate,” she blurted out.

“That’s not the—” He shook his head impatiently, as if she was changing the subject on purpose. “The point is you can’t help anyone if you’re dead. And if you keep going like you have been, you might get yourself that way. Do you understand?”

He let her lean forward to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re one to talk,” she mumbled, feeling rather defeated nonetheless.

Rolan wrapped an arm around her back. “It’s not easy to ask for help,” he agreed quietly. “But there’s no need for you to do this alone anymore. It’s reckless, for one thing. And you have allies.”

She kept her face tucked against his neck, feeling his pulse against her lips, and thought on it.

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“What?” She raised her head to look at him. “Rolan, you’re…you’re honestly one of the most determined people I’ve ever met.”

Rolan examined her expression for a moment. One of his hands worried little circles into her back underneath the water. “I haven’t felt that way,” he told her. “I’ve felt stupid and ashamed for weeks. After everything, when you came to the city—” His voice broke slightly, and he looked up at the ceiling to continue. 

“I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want you to see me. After all the times you’ve helped me and my family, I couldn’t bear for you to see me at my worst all over again. It was painful,” he decided. His gaze tipped back to meet hers. “And now it’s better. You’re strong, and you’ve helped me. So let me help you, Tav. It doesn’t make you weak.”

She leaned in to kiss him. Hands through his hair, she pulled his mouth against hers, pressing their lips firmly together.

When they broke apart, she kept Rolan’s jaw held between her hands. A trickle of water ran from his hair down across his temple. 

“I’m absolutely in love with you,” she declared.

As she watched, Rolan’s damp and freckled face split into a charming grin, the sharp tip of one fang notching over his lip.

“I know.”

[slverblood]

Fucked up realizing that Balthazar would perfectly chart when Aylin was going to die of dehydration so he could harvest body parts at peak “health” when she resurrected.

[sorcerous-caress]

My works

Sorted in alphabetical order based on the character's names, except when a work contains multiple characters, then you'll find it at the end of the list.

The most recent fics will be at the end of the character's list.

Gold ♡ is a traditionally written style fanfic [ usually crossposted to Ao3 ]

Red ♡ is a drabble/headcanon style Fanfic [ Not on my Ao3 ]

Pink ♡ is interactive stories

🎂 is an event related work

[ A -> Z ]

Arnell Hallowleaf

♡ Agape [comfort, romance]

Astarion

♡ To dance with you [heavy angst]

Dame Aylin & Isobel

♡ dealing with an overworked reader [fluff, poly]

Gale

♡ The Hanged Man [angst]

♡ cat food [ended]

Halsin

♡ Faux Innocence [smut]

Karniss

♡ Giving him a bath [fluff, angst]

Lorroakan

♡ general and smut headcanons [smut, fluff, dark content]

Minthara Baenre

♡ Smut headcanons [ Smut, nb!reader, Dom!minthara ]

♡ Secret confession [ Fluff, nb!reader ]

♡ Dead men's thrones [dark, smut, gore, durge!reader ]

♡ sleep cuddling [ Fluff, nb!reader, soft!Minthara ]

♡ Reflection [ smut, drama, cheating, Gale ]

♡ A beautiful webbing [smut, drider, dark]

♡ drider Minthara hc [fluff]

♡ Homewarming gift [smut]

Mizora

♡ Cucking Wyll [smut]

♡ XXX [smut]

Qudenos

♡ Red dragon smut hc [ heavy smut, nb!reader ]

Rolan

♡ Meta Magic Seduction [ smut, nb!reader, sub!rolan ]

Shadowheart

♡ Eager Plaything [ heavy smut, nb!reader, Dom!shadowheart ]

♡ Aftercare bath [ fluff, nb!reader, Soft!shadowheart ]

♡ pearly collar [ dark content, smut, nb!reader, dom!shadowheart ]

♡ she degrades you [ smut, nb!reader, dom!shadowheart ]

♡ shart au's reacting to a petname [ fluff, nb!reader ]

♡ wereshart and the full moon [ fluff, werewolf ]

♡ Werewolf Shadowheart HC [ fluff, werewolf ]

♡ Mysterious bag [ongoing]

Sorn Orlith

♡ Bad at sex [ crack, heavy smut, Afab!reader ]

Wyll

♡ With a shy Tav [fluff]

♡🎂 We die at the same time [angst, comfort]

♡🎂 Soft Yandere HC [dark content]

♡🎂 Heaven was made for two [fluff]

♡🎂 Into my arms [angst, TW: Self harm]

♡🎂 Karlach poly [fluff]

♡🎂 insecure tiefling Reader [angst, comfort]

♡🎂 girl dad Wyll [fluff]

Yurgir

♡ A rabbit braver than any wolf [smut]

Z'rell

♡ x reader headcanons [fluff, angst]

Several characters

♡ Asking to touch their ears [ fluff ]

♡ Putting makeup on them [ fluff ]

♡ How would they drink your blood [ suggestive ]

♡ Finding out you're ticklish [ fluff ]

♡ Giving them a hug [ fluff ]

♡ finding out you enjoyed being tickled [ fluff, fetish, smut ]

♡ reacting to a motherly reader [ fluff, afab!fem!reader ]

♡ Aftercare [ fluff, nb!reader ]

♡ how they act when they're sad [ angst ]

♡ reacting to Tav's younger sibling/child [ fluff ]

♡ tiefling reader losing a horn / eye [ hurt/comfort ]

♡ praising a shy Tav [ fluff ]

♡ with a teacher Tav [ fluff ]

♡ Accidentally calling them mom [fluff, platonic]

♡ Reacting to a fallen aasimar Tav [fluff]

♡ Dealing with a stressed Tav [fluff]

♡ Gifts they'd give you [fluff]

♡ taking you as their fake date [fluff]

♡ sharing a bed [fluff]

♡ taking care of the kids [fluff]

♡ aftermath of the breakup [suggestive]

♡ Companions with a Halfling Tav [fluff]

♡ early morning cuddling [fluff]

♡ early morning cuddling pt.2 [fluff]

[rolanpilled]

Rolan, and how he deals with grief

Here's a Rolan fact I actually forgot until now.

BG3 spoilers under cut + TW for suicide

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.

.

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If both Rolan and ONE of his siblings die, it is implied in the script that the remaining sibling commits suicide by walking into the shadow curse -

++++++

Player: I did what I could to save him. (after Rolan dies)

Lia: Doesn't matter, does it? They're gone.

Lia: Everyone I've ever loved is dead. I did this - I failed them. [devnote: her grief is starting to overwhelm her, she blames herself and thinks she's worthless]

Lia: You won't see me again. [devnote: she's planning to walk into the cursed darkness to die - alone]

-

Player: He died as he lived - stupidly.

Cal: Rolan could be stubborn, but he was never malicious. Not like you. [devnote: despite his grief, he feels pity for the player]

Cal: Everyone I've ever loved is dead. I have nothing. [devnote: shellshocked, unable to process what happened]

Cal: You won't see me again. [devnote: he's planning to walk into the cursed darkness to die - alone]

++++++

There are a lot of thoughts I have about this - for one, Lia seems to have a similar reaction to Rolan if he loses his siblings. Despite their differences in opinion, they've probably had more influence on each others' behaviors and internal morals than they think. On the other hand, Cal seems so shocked that he's unable to process reality, I think this signals to a certain type of dynamic between the three where his (presumably older) siblings were like protectors or mentors to him.

The main thought I have is that in most situations (aside from saving everyone), Rolan is often the one who ends up as the sole survivor after his siblings die at Moonrise. But he survives in all cases, heading to Baldur's Gate and resuming his apprenticeship. The grief might be enough to kill him if he truly had nothing else, but he pushes through it regardless, because otherwise, the loss would have been for nothing, which is something he himself admits is hubris (in his journal). Rolan's logical approach to life backfires on him; if he's so great, if he's a hero, why couldn't he save the two people who meant the most to him? He's had this idea all his life, that he's talented and powerful, so he's supposed to be able to protect everyone on his own, and when he can't do that, the magnitude of his failure is such that he can't even process it himself. He has to try and move on with his life because that's what he'd want from them - so that's what they would have wanted for him (if Rolan dies, he leaves behind a hologram telling his surviving sibling/s to head to Baldur's Gate and move on quickly from the grief).

His apprenticeship is really all that's left to him at that point, the only thing distracting him from his overwhelming grief. That's what makes it all the more tragic that Lorroakan turns out to be who he is, a selfish, hybristic abuser who treats him no better than a servant. There's something so heartbreaking about seeing how bitter and hopeless he becomes after his siblings' death, knowing he has nowhere else to go.

[madwomansapologist]

Shades of Black and White | Raven Meets Dove

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Daughter of Darkness | AO3

synopsis: Shadowheart only task was to survive the giths and escape with the artifact for her goddess. Liliana Wilde, a druid with a thing for the undead, wanted nothing but to enjoy her free time. Being abducted by a nautiloid wasn't on their plans, but to get out of it was their only goal. A common one.

warnings: Liliana Wilde (our kind!druid!tav) x Shadowheart. the healer falling in love with the necromancer (more on that later) is something for me. age gap (20ish years). meet cute? githyanki prejudice. selune caring for her children. tw: shar and lorroakan. dame aylin my babygirl.

The moon followed her every movements. Every stumble, every fall. It's the laugh when she makes a mistake, the soar as she stays awake. The reminder it isn't over. Damned be the Moon Witch.

Besides its pearly glow, Shadowheart was alone.

Shadows surround her with the familiarity of an old friend. It covered her footsteps, gave her enough time to escape with the artifact hidden beneath her clothes. Blood stained her fingers, tears marked her face, but darkness never stopped embracing her with its cold wings.

I'll stop when it's safe, Shadowheart told herself. It's been days, and by now her feet may never stop burning. She doesn't remember the sound of her own voice anymore.

She's the only one that remains standing. They all knew the giths weren't defenseless, but none could expect they would be so organized. Shadowheart could've respect it, but a gith is still a gith even when it knows how to think.

They spilled the blood of Shar's children, but still failed to end her.

Her mace was heavy on her hands, just as her eyes were always fabricating reasons to close. Shadowheart was so tired, but she can't. To sleep is to give them a chance. She can't. She needs to go on.

Her pain brings her closer to her goddess. Every scar on her skin, burn in her palm, whimper of exhaustion: it's a pray to the Nightsinger. A sign of faith, a prove of her worth.

She must succed. Shadowheart needs to.

When the nautiloid came, she looked up. The moon burned her eyes, but she could still see the ilithid machinery. Deep in the shadows, Shadowheart went as far as she could.

If only Shadowheart knew she was a pawn. That she would've been abducted anyway, no matter what she did, because of the Astral Prism. That her goddess didn't send her to steal an precious artifact, but to free the object able to protect those fated to destroy the Absolute.

But she didn't, so she kept on running. I'll stop when it's safe, Shadowheart repeated to herself.

She didn't.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The high stone walls of the Ivy Forest were made to protect them from the rest of the world. Inside it, they are safe. No one enters without permission. The gates simply refuse to open.

A dove challenged gravity, flying towards one of the main towers, and this very premisse. The wind tried to stop it, but the dove rose above. It was her territory.

A novice opened a window, leaning over to polish the wood frame. The dove almost knocked her over in fright. "Liliana!" She threw the cloth on the floor. "Again?!"

It's impossible, but she's sure the dove guffaw.

It flew through the stone corridors of the old palace, taken by druids ages ago and turned into a sanctuary. One of the clerics opened the archdruid's office after hearing the screams. It landed on the wooden table, and in a golden glow it gave space to a woman.

Liliana put her legs on the desk, her shoeless feet right underneath her tights. Her red hair was everywhere, falling in front of her face and messy on her shoulders, green leaves decoring a few loose braids hanging in front of her sharp ears. It was difficult to know if she put the leaves there or have not noticed them yet. Hard to say if she would care.

The archdruid sat in front of her, too tired to once again tell Liliana that she must leave her wild shape at the gates. Or at least wear shoes. Not the first time, definitelly not the last.

After all, Auri was the one to first call her Dove. She can remember it still. A thirteen years old girl learning to wild shape in her first lesson ever. A natural talent. A gifted child.

Auri would never let Liliana waste her potential. Don't matter what she needs to do.

"The Nightsong," Liliana said. "That's what he wants."

If only people knew how they don't care about what they talk near animals. The amount of secrets they share, the lies they assume, the mistakes they do.

Something was happening in the Sorcerous Sundries. Lorroakan was never a trusted ally, barely a tolerable neighbor, and from there they could feel something was off. He was ploting something, and Lorroakan isn't one to think about others safety when he does so.

"Six centuries alive and I continue unable to understand what makes wizards that stupid. Always hungry for more," Auri glared through the window, as if she could see the wizard from there. The elf rested her hand on Liliana's knees. "Did he saw you, my Dove?"

Liliana's answer was a smirk. She opened the map of the Coast on Auri's table, and marked the places Lorroakan mentioned. "You see it too, right? The pattern. How close he is from..."

"I do," Auri stopped her. Just from thinking about this place she can feel her stomach boiling. A hundred years passed, and it still makes her skin ache. A hundred more could, and she would still remember the neverending darkness. "We won that war."

"But the harpists and druids never recovered the lost territory from the Nightsinger. It's her domain still," Liliana pointed out. "I just don't understand why Lorroakan would ever spend his precious gold looking for a Shar's follower."

Auri crossed her arms. Liliana is smart, but still so young. She has much to learn. "What makes you think it's a Sharran he's chasing after?"

"The Nightsong," she said. "The Nightsinger. It makes sense to me."

"Shar and Selune both have equal claims over this world," Auri repeated the lesson Liliana never truly learned. "The singer doesn't necessarily own the song."

"Maybe that's why I only bother with Silvanus," Liliana rolled her eyes, jumping from the table. "So much easier to understand."

Part of Liliana expected Auri to demand her to search for the Nightsong too. Is not that she wanted to, but Liliana couldn't ignore the fact those searches were so close to her home town. All that remain are ruines, but she still would like to see them one more time.

Auri did nothing, so Liliana forced herself to go without saying a thing about it.

Maybe it's for the better. If she went there, nothing would stop her from thinking about her sister. It's better to stay at the Ivy Forest. To stay at home. Here she's safe from Daisy's poisoned memories.

Inside the Ivy Forest, she's safe.

Liliana should've stayed in her chambers. After days spying on Lorroakan, she should've chose to sleep. Or to bath. To eat. Instead, she flew throught the first open window to try to ease her mind. It was almost morning. She wouldn't have time to enjoy the cold breeze after it.

The worst decision of her entire life.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The twitching behind her eye was enough to enrage Liliana into breaking free from the pod. The hells burned outside the nautiloid, and its fire reached her heart.

Liliana never saw an ilithid before, but she knows about them. About what they used to be, and what they become. It all starts with the tadpole.

She won't die. Not here, not now.

Liliana will use a needle to get it out of her brain if she must.

Exploring the ship, and understanding it was as much living being as machinery, something got her attention. In a room full of brainless humans, a necklace reflected the hellfire.

A follower of Bhaal.

"Get me out of here," screams made Liliana jump from the place she was. She looked around, but no one else was there. Was she finally going crazy? "Please, help me! Over here!"

The distorted reflection of a woman inside a made Liliana run.

She tried to understand the control, but nothing of it made sense to her eyes. One thing was to know ilithid biology and history, other to understand their technology. But she saw an entrance, and since nothing else worked, she assumed a key was needed. She hoped it was near.

"I had an idea," Liliana screamed so the stranger wouldn't think she was leaving. "I'll come back."

"No, please, don't! Don't leave me here!"

"I won't," Liliana promised.

She came back with a rune of some sorts, praying to Silvanus that it wouldn't do the wrong thing to the poor woman locked on the pod. With her eyes closed, Liliana put it on the control.

When Shadowheart fell, the hot air invaded her lungs. Better than the cold one inside the pod. A helping hand made her stand on her feet, and green eyes gazed upon hers.

"We need to run," Liliana whispered, trying not to startled her.

"Thank you," was Shadowheart response. She could've ignored her. Leave her to her own luck. But she didn't, and that act of bravery Shadowheart can't ignore. "I won't forget that."

"You're welcome," falling into hell, Liliana smiled. "Now about running..."

"Yes, I just," Shadowheart stopped talking, searching for the artifact. It was with her, safe and sound. The redhead saw it, and didn't said anything. Good. Shadowheart took her mace. "Let's find a way out of here."

"You couldn't have worded it better," Liliana headed to the exit. Quick and spaced steps of a wood-elf, but nothing escaped Shadowheart's eyes.

"Wait a second." Shadowheart took the shoes from a Bhaal's follower. "He won't need it anymore."

Liliana accepted the shoes. She sat on the floor — meat? — and put them on her feet. Better than nothing.

Shadowheart followed Liliana. She didn't knew if the redhead had any clue of what to do, but followed her anyway. "I'm Shadowheart."

Liliana giggled. "With that name you must be a warlock."

"As if I would ever negotiate with a devil," Shadowheart rolled her eyes. "I'm a cleric. Healer. And you're a druid."

Liliana stared at her. "How do you know?"

"You have leaves on your hair."

Liliana touched her head, getting a dry leave out of it. That's new. "You ignore them until I can wash my hair, and I ignore how weird your name is."

Shadowheart smirked. "Deal."

When the ilithid demanded them to control the nautiloid, they both pretended to be brainless and did as he said. They had the same goal, and the two of them are experienced with winning a battle without fighting in it.

Gravity turned against them, everything started flying inside the control room. Shadowheart collapsed against a wall, her lungs burning all the air inside her, and saw starts. The sky!

Liliana used all her strenght to hold herself to the control. Shadowheart reached for her, but Liliana couldn't take her hand. They both would ended up falling from the ship if she accepted her help.

Better her than the two of them.

"My name is Liliana," she screamed. "It was nice to meet you."

"Come over here, you stubborn druid." Shadowheart tried to cast comand on her, but with all things flying around she couldn't concentrate. " Don't test me."

That night ended with the two of them sleeping by the beach, mere feet apart from each other. Rest, at last.

The moon watched over them.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR'S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies @amandacanwrite

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[petchic101]

Burn the World to Ash

Oops I wrote an Astarion brainrot one-shot? Whaaaaat. Basically what if Tav was an old acquaintance of Astarion's in high society and she was just another victim of the rich and powerful.

Fluff and Angst No smut in this one folks

Word Count: 5371

This is also kind of a trauma dump, how the body reacts to trauma, and how the body reacts when you are dying of blood loss.

TW: eludes to SA and Abuse // Blooood // Death

Enjoy! Please let me know if you want to see more, I have my main play through with my sex positive wood elf xAstarionxHalsinxEmpororxHaleep that I have a tone of ideas for! (mostly smut)

_____________________________________________________

The sun shone brightly on the coastal cliffs as Ren saw an old acquaintance from Baldur’s gate. It pierced off his white locks and pale skin quite vividly. She hadn’t remembered seeing him in this light before, perhaps any light before if she was honest. The high society parties Lorroakan often dragged her to were usually twinkled with firelight after the sun had set. The pale elf had never paid her any attention, odd considering how Lorroakan often paraded her around, dressed provocatively enough to draw any and all attention inevitably towards himself. None of Cazzadors magistrates would flock to her and her master like the other nobility would, even Cazzador himself would stop to pay her false compliments, kiss her hand or smell her hair before talking to the Wizard that kept her. Her eyes had drifted up one of these times, the pale elf stood frozen, staring. Neither daggers nor jealousy met her eyes, but a primal… fear, one of not knowing what was going to happen next.

Suddenly she was on the ground, a knife to her throat, she froze. “Shhhh not a sound, not if you want to keep that pretty little neck of yours.” Her first instinct was to go limp, to comply. He seemed to notice her body language and pressed his knife closer to her, propping himself to get a better angle. He hadn’t yet looked at her as his head turned to her newest companion. “Now you, I saw you on the ship, yes? I need answers or your darling companion will pay the price.

Shadowheart’s fist clenched. “Let her go or I swear to all that is holy-”

“Ah ah ah.” Astarion tsk’d as the dagger pressed to Ren’s neck drawing blood.

“Astarion, yes?” Ren wrapped her hand around the hand holding the knife to her throat. His reaction was knee jerk to the touch and she was slashed. But the attack was sloppy and she was able to roll away with minimal damage to her neck. He quickly jumped to his feet, still holding his dagger at them. “How do you know my name?” He hissed, panic in his red eyes, but they finally registered the girl in front of him. “Gods, your Lorroakan’s pet.” He spat the sentence then sighed rolling his eyes as he hilted his dagger, putting his hands up. “Apologies.” Suddenly the parasite in her head lurched, taking in the quick memories passed between them, not of nights of merriment but a feeling of fear while skulking moonlit Baldur’s Gate. They all held their heads, not used to the sensation. Before a full recovery could be had, Astarion pointed at her, still palming his eye. “You’re some sort of magic witch, explain this!”

Ren looked at him dumbfounded. This beautiful magistrate, plucked from the eves of high society and dropped in the middle of nowhere, why he looked absolutely displaced, a hilarious spectacle. She started laughing, almost keeling over, the somberness of the events were placed on a backdrop of nonsensical impossibilities. Like watching a play where only one of the actors was stuck in song.

Her companions stood awkwardly not knowing what to do, but Astarion puffed his chest, not liking the thought of someone not taking him seriously. “No, no, none of that, do you know what’s going on or not?”

That night at camp things were much calmer, they had managed to gather six survivors from the crash so far, including herself, oddly all of them capable of some form of martial ability or magic. Astarion sauntered up to her while she was alone, much like he did to others at those frequent parties. “How funny it is to run into someone we’ve met before, yes?” His voice was melotic, hypnotizingly so. It hit chords not unlike Cazzadors or Lorrorakan’s but much sweeter all the same.

“I suppose so.” So much had happened today she had almost forgotten how to put on her show, the one she did for high society, it was not something she was hoping to have to do when in a life or death situation. She tried to match her tone to his, a sweet harmony to keep up appearances. “I’m especially surprised you recognized me Sir, we barely saw each other in passing, odd considering how close our patrons are.” She added her own little barb at the end, something Lorroraken would have whipped her for, but he wasn’t here and this man had avoided her like the plague ever since their first meeting.

Astarion paused, perhaps not expecting his tone to be matched so quickly, or perhaps because the barb had actually stung, but she doubted it. He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his mouth. “An error of judgment on my part I’m sure.” As he went to kiss it she ripped her hand from his before she could think. He looked up, shocked. Shit. The fear must have shown on her face, she had just insulted a magistrate, one with a very powerful patron. His face softened but she quickly stood up, giving a slight bow.

“I am sorry Sir, I must be delirious from today’s events.” She straightened herself as he stood next to her. His gaze slowly took her in, her dress was badly torn, exposing old bruises that she probably hadn’t even noticed, was he feeling pity? She was just another victim of the politics inside of the city. She was lucky that Cazzador had banned them from hunting her, she was certainly a beauty, an innocent looking one that would seek comfort in his arms, and Astarion would have been happy to oblige until handing her to her fate. But she was not one of his victims, she was an easy ally to keep, he needed to make sure his grip was tight.

“Don’t be darling, today’s events have all of us out of sorts, perhaps tomorrow we can meet again as allies and not as magistrates and apprentices.” The worms communicate feelings of relief between them and she nodded hesitantly.

“Out here I’m not, how did you put it? ‘Lorroraken’s pet’?” She smirked. A warning, if he were to go to his master about some sort of insult, she could go to hers with the same claim, and this put them truly on equal ground.

Astarion grinned knowingly. She was not the pushover he had been hoping for, but someone formidable makes for easier travel than dragging some tag along noble. In all honesty though,  he could not stop thinking about tasting the blood off of his blade that night. 

_______________________________

The group had made Ren the de facto leader, almost from the fact none of them were willing to step up. Except Laezel of course,  but even she could tell these istyk would only follow one of their own. Karlach was a soldier, Wyll and Gale are self conscious loners with complex mommy or daddy issues. Shadowheart couldn't even remember her favorite book. And of course Astarion preferred the shadows. He did not think she would take to the role well considering how presumably sheltered she was. But her lessons in the nobility paid off, her quick wit in forms of persuasion were a sight to behold. She would not hesitate to use their new powers to get the edge up on whoever they were at odds with, making Astarion wonder if that was a technique her master had taught her to utilize before. She eased into the parties multiple personalities quite readily,  she melded with these people in ways he could not, or perhaps would not. They flocked to her, she was altruistic,  but willing to do what had to be done,  she listened to everyone's problems and promised loyalty and companionship,  she even helped prevent two of their new friends from exploding.  Doing it once would have been a feat in itself,  but it's weird that it happened twice. 

But something that caused Astarion much grief was that she would always find a way to include him,  even when he and the others had a silent understanding that he was better off being alone. Not that she did this all the time,  she gave him plenty of space, but group decisions were always made with the whole group present, his exasperated sighs usually being his only input aside from his snarky comments. He felt himself comforted though,  how she would put herself as a physical barrier between him and the group,  not in an intimidating way,  just something that she picked up on that made him more comfortable.

These past few days they had set up camp in caves or dungeons,  he hadn't hunted beforehand and he cursed himself for it. He was not used to being surrounded by blood this often, the constant smell was intoxicating, especially hers after he had that small snack off of his dagger after their first meeting, and even a small suckle of old blood from her had been the best thing he tasted in 200 years. 

The battle before they set up camp was particularly vexing, they had killed all of the goblins in this abandoned temple,  but fighting that damned drow was a whole ordeal. Ren had stepped in front of him, mage armor made her especially stupid, he was in and out of the shadows usually,  firing sneaked shots in critical places,  but that damn scrying eye stayed on him. Shadowheart had to grab Karlach who had been pushed off the rickety bridge, a half dead goblin still on their tails, the bear kept him occupied though.  He and Ren had been cornered by the drow leader,  but she stood in front of him, quarterstaff defending as rapier and dagger slit her skin, sometimes her magical armor deflected but not enough. She then was quite literally shoved into him, he hit the bookshelves behind them, barely managing to grab her so she wouldn't take the brunt of the force. In doing so her blood had covered him,  bathing him in the sweet smell as his head hit the shelf. Minthara knew this would buy her time and swung to help her companion, not wanting to get overwhelmed from behind. 

Ren seized in and out of consciousness as he fished for a healing potion, he sat them up quickly holding her waist tight so she would stay upright. "Don't die on me now."  He shifted her so he could feed her the potion her hand lifted, cupping his as she drank it. It was one of the more potent ones,  his from the equally shared that were divided amongst them but he didn't care. He needed her to lead this rag tag group,  he needed her alive. He needed to see her smile again, watch her facade slip as she genuinely laughed around a campfire. He needed her. 

The battle finished, all of them nearly dead as Halsin gave some over enthusiastic praise. Shadowheart was out of healing spells, but she managed to patch Ren up for the most part, dried blood and dirt caked her but exhaustion took hold and she fell asleep on top of her bedroll as soon as they got back.  The scent of blood permeated around him. He tried to meditate, read, perhaps relieve himself in other ways,  but nothing worked. And suddenly he was over top of her. Crawling on his hands and knees like some wild cat stalking its prey. He had never indulged himself.  Even when Cazasdor ate in front of him,  letting the blood, off whatever thinking creature, pool on the floor.  He never dared try and lap some up for himself. But tonight he was free, and tonight he was hungry. The campfire casted an uncomfortable spotlight on him as he looked around, no one was awake,  but the light hit him like the heavens judgment for the monster he was. He started with her hand,  lifting it gently,  then a little more fervently to make sure she was asleep. When she didn't stir he slowly started licking her.  Carefully at first then his hunger took over, he lapped his tongue over her uncovered wounds, scraping his teeth against her scabs to hopefully satiate the overwhelming instinct to bite and suck. As skin off her waist broke and as new blood pooled into his mouth he moaned, his hands formed into fists as he shifted his weight to get a better angle. But spawn or not his saliva was still a natural coagulant, and her wounds were shallow compared to what his teeth could do.  As they closed he cursed, sitting himself up and wiping his mouth. And there he saw her bright blue orbs staring at him. The fear of prey written on her face.

"Shit" how did he not hear her heartbeat speed up, for how long she had been awake. He scooted away as she sat up. "It's not what it looks like I swear." He stuttered out,  his regular vibrato gone. Ren rubbed her eyes. The shock of adrenaline to her system had woken her up, but the blood rushing to her head made it feel like it was going to explode.

"It better be what it looks like Astarion." Her voice was a whispered hiss. For some reason she was not trying to wake the others. He waited, confused,  for her to continue. "You were trying to feed I hope, not taking advantage of me, well, not in that way I suppose." She was too calm,  like she hadn't woken up to him feasting on her like a cat lapping up spilt milk.

"Excuse me?" He managed to spit out as the realization hit him. "You knew!? This whole time!? You knew and you didn't even mention it? Not once?" His face scoffed and his nose squiggled up his face making her roll her eyes.

"You're not exactly subtle, Astarion. Though I suppose you only have genuinely smiled around me, the others haven't noticed but you have, let's say, some rather large teeth." She was smirking now,  catching their mysterious companion off guard was quite a feat. He sat more relaxed now as she propped herself up, looking at the wounds. "Closed" she whispered to herself unsurprised.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize I was traveling with Baldur Gate’s local vampire expert!" Astarion flailed his hands making her laugh. But it was a dry one as if she was lost in thought. 

"It's not my… first time being fed on,  Astarion." The words were heavy in her chest as he froze, letting her continue. "Lorroakan would blindfold me and have some of his 'special' guests feed on me sometimes.  I don't know if it was one person or multiple." She trailed off. And her eyes grew dark. "Lucky me, a wizard of that caliber always has plenty of revivify scrolls laying about." Astarion felt the rage grow inside him. Cazzador would force them to hunt for his meals almost nightly,  then would still feel the need to indulge himself at his friend's homes!? Astarion gave a dry laugh that turned hysterical. He covered his mouth to keep the noise under control. 

"I can assure you it was but one man, if you can even call him that. "

"Cazzador." She whispered it as a statment. They paused for a short while. "So you never…" she trailed off. 

"No darling,  Cazzador kept us on a diet of Rats and whatever other stray animals we could get our claws on. 'The blood of the thinking creature is not for scum such as ourselves.'" He quoted his old master with venom on his tongue.

"Then have you ever?"

"No darling, I have not eaten anyone." A guilty look passed over his eyes as he looked at her.

"Then how was it?" The question came out of her so simple,  so mundane,  as if he had just tried a new flavor of pie.

He was taken aback before reflex kicked in and he went back to his suave character. "It was, dare I say, decadent."

She easily fell back into her own character, letting the reality of what they had just admitted to each other fade into the background. "You could have asked."

The frivolously bantered about the possibility of him getting staked before he would ask permission, but he ended it on a serious note. 

"I suppose I should ask then, I can feel like it will unlock my potential, I can prevent things like today from happening, protect you." He offered, licking his lips. 

She thought about the times Cazzador had sucked her dry, when the blood in your body fades, your heart goes on overdrive,  thinking it's doing something wrong, but all of your muscles lose control, the wet of sweat coats your body as you are both in the most relaxed state and more panicked than ever before. It is not a slow death, internally screaming as your body is paralyzed. Fingertips and toes go completely numb, nerves shoot pain up and down your arms and legs until eventually you're asleep. 

Astarion watched her dissociate into the memory as he grabbed her hand. "I won't kill you I promise." His eyes were genuine, knowing the pain from the memory she was going through.

"I want to try." More than anything she wanted her body back, she wanted to make the decision to say yes, so this memory would not always be burdened with the knowledge she never gave consent.

He sat up, too quickly, too hungry. She flinched but relaxed as he did not move to grab her, allowing her full control. He was handsome, she had always thought so, romance stories of vampires and their mortal prey were often read in her younger years, and though that fantasy had been spoiled by the reality she faced, she longed to set herself in that naive state of mind. 

Out of many of the nobles he had always stood out to her.  She would never inflate his ego by telling him this,  but when the attention was finally off of her and she had served her purpose as a conversation starter for Lorroakan, at the end of the evening she would find herself watching him,  how he danced and charmed his way to any and all lads and ladies that surrounded him. It was quite a spectacle. And here he was, all of that grandiose attention on her, well, her blood to be exact, because she was willing and he was able. She grabbed his hand, leading it around her waist. He started to lean in, to move them into a laying position, so he could pierce her neck. But she stood firm and he complied, not pushing her. "Is this alright?" She offered him her wrist. His smile was wide, devious, and happy.

"Of course my sweet, however you are comfortable. This is a gift,  I will not soon forget it." He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist as he grabbed the hand she offered him. Planting kisses from the palm of her hand to her upturned arm. She gave out a squeaked moan as she made herself comfortable in his lap. He purred at the noise, giving her neck and jaw some approving pecks, his own excitement starting to harden in his trousers. She bit her lip, burying her face into his neck, pecking his skin before giving a comfortable hum, rubbing her hips,  happy by the fact she excited him. "Are you ready?" She nodded into his shoulder as her body tensed. "I need to hear you say it aloud." His command caught them both off guard but in the best way possible.

"I'm ready." She braced herself as his teeth pierced her wrist, it was slow, intentional, he did not want to hit bone. Blood started spilling out before he could begin drinking,  making the first few seconds of his meal desperate slurps,  like a man trying not to spill his wine. But he settled into a rhythm, letting her blood coat his tongue. The vibration of his satisfied hum on her skin gave her goosebumps. The pain quickly set itself to a low drone, the moment felt more intimate than anything she had felt before. She had always loved serving others, but in her most formative years her choice to do so was taken away, her forced servitude to anyone her Warden wanted had made her forget about that side of her. This gave her the same joy that voluntarily helping the tieflings gave her. And it was her choice to do so. She peered up from his neck, her head light from the blood loss and the moment. His eyes were closed, the corners of them wet. Without thinking she licked one of his tears away, slowly and gently. This pulled him out of his stupor and he looked at her blankly, in shock.

"Vixen." He grumbled under his breath,  turning back to her pierced flesh to lick the wound closed. His tongue flattened over her skin again and again. She merely stared at him in awe as he occasionally would look to her, a grin flashing on his open mouth as he finished cleaning her. She rested her head back into his shoulder, suddenly exhausted again.

Half conscious she felt him lift her, she felt him cleaning the dirt and blood from her body after he removed her armor, the cloth damp but not cold. She woke up the next morning, still clothed but slightly dizzy, her brain needing to work a little extra hard to find the words she needed. Astarion sat across the cave, reading as usual, but this time no wine in his hand, his gaze only going to her once, smirking after her most likely large plastered smile met his gaze.

________________________________

The tieflings sang and danced throughout the camp, Ren showed a genuine smile, but when she thought no one was looking, a tired half smile placed itself on her face. This was his moment to do what he did best, use his body to earn more of her trust. Besides, he owed her his own body after she had given him hers.

She sunk back, out of the natural circle that surrounded the fire. The tired closed mouth smile carved into her face like stone. As Astarion managed to sneak behind her, he gently grabbed her arm, she thrashed around as if to hit him, most likely instinct. He caught her wrist, putting a finger to his mouth. She let out a breath of relief to see it was just him, but he did not release her, the feeling foreign. She let her arm go limp and he wrapped her hand to his back, letting it rest, her reaction was not flustered but she certainly wasn’t resisting, so he continued. “This is an awful ruckus compared to what we are used to, yes?” He grabbed her other hand in his, and spun them away from the fire and into the shadows. “The wine is pig swill and the devil spawn are loud. Shall we perhaps have our own fun?” His eyes adjusted to the darkness and her face was not blushing, not eager, it had set back to the closed mouth smile.

“Of course sir, if that is what you desire.” The sing-song of her voice was broken, cracking, like a lute slightly out of tune. He released their closeness, stepping back to access her, he left her fingertips in his, so he could pull her back in if need be. He gazed at her, up and down, something was so familiar about how she was behaving, but he could not place it, perhaps she reminded him of a victim from long ago? Her voice brought him back to reality. “Your tent is further from current company.” He nodded and led her there, taking both of her hands to lead her inside, shifting himself around so that she could get a comfortable spot inside.

“Now I will say this is not the lavish rooms we are used to but it will do the job.” He turned to close the tent behind them, by the time he turned back she was already pulling her tunic off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. “Oh my, eager are we?” no something about her movements were practiced, stiff.

“Sorry sir, did you want to undress me?” His eyes widened as he finally placed the familiar feeling. In 200 years he had not been able to look in a mirror, but here stood his reflection, when the body and soul split to do whatever needs to be done. He was not seducing a young woman into trusting him, he had brought a husk into his tent. He silently cursed himself as he slipped her blouse back around her, buttoning the buttons. Her eyes widened, he could feel her fight or flight kicking in as her body tensed. How did he not see it before? He knew that the wizard abused her, but because he had not cared, didn’t mean she was not a person who wasn’t affected by it. She quickly grasped his hands, squeezing to prevent herself from shaking. “Y-you’re doing it wrong.” A ragged whisper escaped her lips.

“Hush now.” He growled, not at her but at himself, her flinch though told him she could not tell the difference. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he finished dressing her. “And stop calling me sir, I am no master of yours.” He paused as she looked at the ground her hands gripping her shirt tightly. “I may have miscalculated the type of fun I was willing to have tonight, my apologies.” She looked, hurt, no, terrified, as if she had done something wrong. He had been enslaved to act the predator, but she had been caged to act as prey.

“Did I do something wrong?” A panic had set into her voice, as if not fulfilling this role could end in something much worse.

When Astarion was done buttoning her he paused, sitting back on top of his calves. He waved his hand dramatically. “Of course not my sweet, you are perfect.” He was still putting on the false voice when he spoke, perhaps actions would speak louder. “Do you trust me?” They both knew she didn’t but all he needed was the nod of acknowledgment she gave him. He took off his shirt as she sat up from her half lying position. He did not want her to see his shame, not yet, no sob story needed to be poured into her lap tonight, but something in him wanted her to know she was not alone. He held his hand out, allowing her to choose to take it if she wished. 

After a slight hesitation, she matched his sitting position and placed her hand in his and he swiftly guided it to his back, where she could trace his scars. Her eyes widened as she leaned forward to get more comfortable, he grabbed her other hand to help her balance as her fingers gently traced his greatest shame. He struggled not to flinch but his body slowly relaxed under her touch. He gathered the strength to glance down at her face, her lips were pressed tight together but her eyes stared past him, she was not trying to peek at what she was feeling, for which he was more than grateful for. Her neck was strained, a perfect position for a bite. But he shouldn’t be thinking about that now.

After what felt like an eternity of silence she pulled back, he was grateful her eyes were not full of pity but understanding. “There, it seems that high society is not always kind to itself.” His mouth was strangely dry as his voice verged on cracking. Ren nodded. She didn’t have to ask how he knew, the scars she had traced seemed purposeful, almost runic, but she did not want to push him further. His hand that had caught hers to help her balance felt strangely more connected than when she had her shirt off earlier. So she didn’t let go of it and squeezed. “This wasn’t for me you know, I wanted to do something. Something to thank you for the gift you had given me earlier.”

She blushed, neither of them were looking at each other, a strange comfort hung in the air not having to put up their acts. “Astarion, you don’t owe me anything.” She whispered, still holding his hand, their fingers interlocked. You didn’t just take my blood that night, you allowed me to make that choice. That is a finer gift than I have received in many years.”

Astarion sat confused, watching her fingers stroke against his, merely two people getting used to positive touch again no doubt, nothing more. “Than why did you agree at all? If it was merely the decision, you could have, I don’t know, decided to say no, and taht would be that.” He was so used to talking with his hands he accidentally threw hers up as he didn’t let go and she laughed, being thrown off balance for merely a second. But she finally let go and layed down on his many pillows, her head slightly propped up.

The flustered look on her face surprised the vampire. “I wanted to hear you moan again.” she mumbled. He laid next to her, eyebrow cocked dramatically. “Darling there are much easier ways to get a man to moan than feeding him parts of your body.” He was not going to let himself seemingly blush from her confession.

Her laugh was dry. “You never seemed interested in me that way, and besides, I’m… I don’t know if I even want to do that, I tend to shut down.” He nodded knowingly.

“I wasn’t interested in you my dear because everyone I had sex with was eaten and killed. Lorroakan had requested you be left alone. Ironic considering what he let Cazzador do to you in that tower of his.” She listened, taking in Astarion’s words his frustrations. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him to her chest, where his rigid form eventually relaxed. She kissed his forehead.

“I don’t think either of us need pity sex.” She spoke, maybe to herself, after the comfortable silence permeated the tent. He laughed, this wasn’t his plan, he wasn’t supposed to share his greatest traumas with someone, he was not supposed to feel bad for her. They had enough to contend with if he was actually going to ask her to kill Cazzador, but if that was the route he was heading for, adding an arch mage to the list just made sense.

“I don’t need your pity.” He huffed haughtily, his arm over her stomach as she played with his hair.

She chuckled. “And I don’t need yours.” He let out another huff. This was not supposed to be how their night ended. She was supposed to be screaming his name against some gods forsaken tree in the middle of the woods. He would finish his role, letting her fall for him, though he hadn’t thought past the first night, he had never had to before. But here he was in some woman’s arms that on some level knew every harsh reality he had seen. He could tell her if she hadn’t lived it, truly known what he was talking about perhaps it would have been easier. It would just be some sob story he would get to milk every once and awhile. But this was real, she probably felt the same feral protectiveness over him that he was feeling for her right now. But he knew he had no excuses anymore, no whoa is me to fall back on, and that was scarier than anything. That she could go through the things he had been through and still want to help and love. Where all he wanted to do was burn the world to ash. A quick peck on his forehead brought him back to reality. A half hummed goodnight escaped her lips as she fell asleep, and he was left to ponder.

[redroomroaving]

Spring: Rolan x Geraldus (Regency AU fic)

Chapter 2: and the moments after (TW for themes/depictions of abuse)

“What sort of fool goes out on a boat in a storm,” she said, quietly furious and voice low but animated as she reached for his arm, “you could have capsized and drowned.” He tried to smile at her, tearing his eyes from his master’s gaze for just a moment to meet hers, and try, silently, to urge her caution. This was not the place for this, not in front of Jaheira, and not in front of him. Their presence in Lorroakan’s estate, a new set of footnotes below his name, was not yet safe. The ink was still wet from where their names had been hastily added, and could be smudged as quickly as they had been recorded.

This one shot transformed into a short fic; if you're interested in a bit of regency style Rolan x Geraldus.

[lewis-winters]

Day 13: Fear

Part of my OC-tober 2022 (that will get fucking finished in 2024 so help me god)! Well. We're indulging this time around with some Baldur's Gate 3 on my Band of Brothers/HBO War Blog. I guess. Honestly, with how many OCs I have in other fandoms, I might just start playing around with them for this prompt list, too!

tw: If you're starting to notice a pattern in my writing with parenthood, in iterations of both problematic or good, uuuuuhhhh no you fucking don't.

They’ve been sitting by the fire in the Elfsong tavern for a whole of hour, in perfect silence, before Jaheira chooses to break it. “You will not return upstairs.”

It’s not a question. Still, Pasiphaë answers it as one. “Not until they’re all in bed. I’ve no patience right now,” she tells her with a deep sigh. “For anyone or myself. I… do not like who I was today.”

Belligerent. Jumpy. Too slow to react, too impulsive in her decisions. Near unrecognizable, as compared to her original cool and collected demeanor at the beginning of their journey. She expected better of herself, and her companions definitely deserved better than the kind of mess she’s become. But they’ve been running on near fumes for the past few days, having been tossed about here and there by Mystra, Shar, Lorroakan, cultists, Orin, and Cazador, all alike. On top of that, Serafina had decided to join in on their quest, despite Pasiphaë’s explicit orders for her to get out of the city while she still could—truly, there was a time when her sweet little girl would obey her with no question, but alas! she’s inherited her other mother’s bullheaded-ness. Pun intended. Not for the first time, Pasiphaë found herself wishing that Melisandre were still around to share in her pride over their daughter’s immense bravery. The abrupt reminder of what she no longer had—after several months of not thinking about Mel even once—had been enough to throw her off her rhythm completely. The day had already started being kind of shit.

Ulder Ravengard and his unfortunate decision to mouth off about his son’s new appearance was the last straw.

“I lost my temper.” The verbal dressing down was spectacular while it was happening. Invigorating, even. Pasiphaë doesn’t remember the last time she’s felt such catharsis. After the months of non-stop action, it was good to release it all.

It was the stunned silence afterward that felt particularly… damned. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bah, he deserved it,” Jaheira scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “He is better off for listening to your wisdom.”

“Calling whatever that was ‘wisdom’ is too generous.”

“But it is what it is: a mother’s wisdom.”

Pasiphaë snaps; “I’m not Wyll’s mother,” and Jaheira tilts her head back and lets out a hearty HA! loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons.

“You are not just his mother, that is for sure,” Jaheira says, wagging an admonishing finger at her. “All of them seem to have attached themselves to you like little suckling pups to a bitch’s teats.”

“Your metaphors leave much to be desired, Jaheira.”

“You were protecting your pup, is what I mean,” Jaheira shrugs. “Even if it is from his own blood. Wyll holds you under no contempt for such a display. I may even go so far as to say that he’s grateful for it.”

“Perhaps.” Oh, but Wyll loves his father so—even when the man has done nothing but abandon him. Pasiphaë knows it isn’t right to get between father and son, not as a simple party member, and most certainly not while one still holds out hope for reconciliation. She might’ve just ruined Wyll’s chances back there, with her vindictive nature and even sharper tongue. If she had, would he ever forgive her?

As if reading her thoughts, Jaheira tsks. “We mothers, we always want what is best for our children. Nobody can fault us for that.” There’s a small smile on her face; a tiny quirk of the corner of her lip that feels conspirative. Like they’re in on a joke together.

Technically, they are. Pasiphaë smiles back. Or tries to. “Whatever you say.”

Their conversation, once again, falls to silence. Patrons come and go, and the tavern keeper’s boy comes once and twice to stoke the fires until, finally, they fizzle out into glowing embers. The night grows even quieter soon after, with the patrons quickly disappearing out the door, or into other rooms, until, finally, it is just them, and the occasional drunkard outside.

“You can go. Rest,” Pasiphaë says, aware that it is late. Tomorrow (later?), they are to confront Gortash. “We’ll need all our strength come morning.”

“You are determined to keep vigil.”

“Someone has to.”

“If I were to climb up those stairs, I would not be surprised to see some of your pups waiting for you by their fire,” Jaheira chuckles, standing up with an exaggerated groan—her knees are not what they used to be. “No doubt, they will send me back down again—or even come down themselves—if I return empty handed. Come, now.”

She offers her hand.

Pasiphaë stares at it.

Something in her chest shudders with anxiety and—is it her imagination? The tadpole behind her eye, wriggling with a sordid kind of glee?

“I fear I cannot be to them what they need me to be, Jaheira.”

Jaheira frowns, confused. Still, she keeps her hand out. “And what is that?”

What, indeed? A leader? With the amount of times she’s failed them? Perish the thought. A caretaker? Barely. Her hands are not made for healing, anymore. Certainly not with the Triad’s silence and her simmering resentment over it. And what comfort she could give is quickly dwarfed by the enormity of all their suffering. What use is a lullaby, when she couldn’t even hold Karlach enough to soothe her tears? What use is her sword, when it can scarcely keep Lae’zel from the betrayal of her kin, queen, and god? Clearly, Pasiphaë couldn’t even call herself a protector—just two days ago, she’d failed to protect Astarion from his worst possible self, leaving the burden to Gale, instead; and just last tenday, Shar had taken from Shadowheart her last connection to her past, while all Pasiphaë could do was helplessly watch. Hells, she certainly couldn’t protect Wyll, who only ever looked to her for wisdom and guidance. Or even Gale, whose final decision haunts them all—Astarion, especially, who has begged her over and over again to make Gale see reason. But how could she, when all she could think about is his fate as both Faithless and Discarded? She understands too well the challenge that lays before him to possibly talk him out of his task in any way that matters. The blasted Wall remains a prominent phantom in Gale’s mind as much as hers; but while she’s resigned to her own fate, that doesn’t mean he should be, too.

Gods, but what will she tell Morena, then? Tara? Astarion? That she let their beloved boy die, simply because the folly of the gods and their selfish nature was too strong for her to fight? No. That would not do.

And yet. She hesitates.

“If I am their mother, as you say I am,” she tells Jaheira. “I am a shit mother. My Melisandre would be ashamed to see how poorly of a mother I am being.”

Jaheira knits her brows together. “Your partner?”

“Yes.” Her beloved. The mother of her children. The balm to her soul. The light in her darkness; Pasiphaë is never going to see her again. “She was always better at this than I—my children—I was never—”

“Serafina seems to adore you.”

“Now,” Pasiphaë entreats, feeling the blasted tadpole wriggle and squirm behind her stupid eyes the more distressed she becomes. “I have failed her before, terribly, and it was only time that allowed those wounds to heal. Time is not on my side, now. If I fail them—when I fail them—”

She stops. She cannot bear to think of it. But it is inevitable. “I fear that it is not a matter of if, but when I fail them, Jaheira. I am cursed to repeat my mistakes. And when I do… gods when I do…”

“You will not.”

“You are a fool to—”

“Ha!” Jaheira barks, snatching back her offered hand to reach out and shake Pasiphaë by the shoulders. Like she were a kitten being pulled back by her scruff. Gone is the amicable, conspiratorial smile, replaced thoroughly by a stern glare. “It is you who is the fool to let such thoughts paralyze you!” She lets her go, wags a finger in her face, “you have fallen out of practice in the art of seeing yourself as what you are. What you are truly capable of.”

“But I am capable of failure!”

“And you are capable of triumph!” Jaheira snaps, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “Why are you so determined to fail?”

Pasiphaë blinks. Blinks again. Something hot rolls down her cheeks and she scrubs at them with her hands. They come away wet.

“You said, once, that you are destined for the Wall of the Faithless. This is the truth. In many ways, you are,” Jaheira continues, kneeling on the ground so as to catch her eyes. “But you are not dead yet. Your pups are not dead yet. Pull it together; you must see this—if not for yourself, then for them.”

For them. Yes. For them. Children are only as resilient as their parents, Melisandre used to say. Whisper in her ear, when the worst of the grief had taken over as their baby girl cooled in her arms. Phaedra is gone, but Xenodius and Serafina yet live. For them, Pasiphaë had rallied. Taken up what strength she had left, and trudged forward.

Get up, she thinks Melisandre would say, now. Get up, my love. They are hurt, but they are yet living. Get up.

“I wish I had your wisdom,” Pasiphaë says, finally, after a long moment of silence. It comes out in a croak, barely a whisper, barely even words. Still, she manages a small smile. “True mother’s wisdom.”

Jaheira tsks. But slowly, she too returns a smile. “You have it. As I said: you are just… out of practice. Come, now,” again, she gets up on her creaky knees with an exaggerated groan.

And offers her hand. “Your pups might sleep better, knowing that their mother is nearby.”

This time, Pasiphaë takes it. “Their bitch of a mother?”

Jaheira laughs. Laughs and laughs, even as she pulls Pasiphaë toward the stairs and their camp. It’s loud and bawdy and definitely a great disturbance. But it does sound like music, and Pasiphaë likes hearing it. “Just so!”

--

Pasiphaë Elago is my Tav. She's a moon-elf, and a Paladin of Ilmater/the Triad turned Godless Paladin-- it's a long story. She's named Pasiphaë because her late wife, Melisandre, was a druid whose wild shape was a bull. I think I'm funny. Before the events of BG3, she was an adventurer in her own right, and is technically retired and is literally broaching 500 by the time she's kidnapped by the Ilithids. That being said, because she's so old and had just lost her wife a few years prior, she doesn't romance the BG3 characters but accidentally adopts them all during their whole tadpole ordeal. Oh make no mistake, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel tried to hit that, but she shut that down so fast-- "Some of you are as old as my eldest grandchild. It's awkward." Team Mom! Total GILF!! And also!! suffering. Help her, she thought she was done having to parent like this after watching 2 of her 3 children (the last died during the Spellplague) grow up, move out, and make families of their own. She's supposed to be RETIRED, damnit. She's trying so hard. She just wants a NAP.

Speaking of Greek Myths, isn't it funny that Astarion shares a name with the Minotaur? I swear, I didn't think of that before naming Pasiphaë. I did, however, think of it when naming Ariadne Ancunin, my other BG3 OC, who happens to also be Astarion's biological sister. The name's important. Ariadne gave Theseus the power to kill her Minotaur brother, after all. But that's for another day entirely.

None of this makes sense to any of you. That's fine. It's for ME.

[underdark-dreams]

Incredibly excited to finally start releasing this into the wild!!

After my 2-part Rolan x Tav fic Good Night For Company, I really wanted to write a longer continuation of their story set in Act 3. And at last, here is the first chapter--multiple others planned! (With more romance soon to follow)

Note: this chapter explores darker themes than my usual work. I encourage you to check the AO3 tags if you have any doubts. They will be updated regularly 🖤

A Strand to Climb - Ch.1

Two very different heroes find themselves in Baldur's Gate at last. All Tav can think about is seeing a certain apprentice wizard again, but Rolan finds himself trying to push her away.

Tags: Angst, Physical Abuse, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 2,840 [Read on AO3]

Lorroakan liked to make Rolan wait. 

He was a man who enjoyed toying with people, and Rolan found himself the newest and current favorite toy in the archwizard’s collection. He tipped his head back to gaze up at the criss-crossing arches in the high ceiling of Ramazith’s Tower, trying to occupy his mind away from the fatigue pooling in the soles of his feet. 

Tonight’s lesson should have begun half an hour ago. He knew better than to move from his usual spot on the fine carpet, however.

Whatever Cal or Lia might think, Rolan was no blind idiot. 

He hadn't gotten this far in life without a bitter skepticism about human nature. He'd filed away every rumor he heard about Lorroakan on the road from Elturel, though he hadn’t given them any weight at the time.

The revelation that the man was even worse than what he'd heard was…a disappointment, to be sure. And a complication. 

But it did nothing to change his path or his determination to succeed. Apprenticeships with archwizards didn't drop out of the sky, even with ones as worthless and vapid as Lorroakan. Especially not to a student with Infernal blood.

And Rolan could be very patient when he put his mind to it. He’d waited many years to find himself standing here in Ramazith’s Tower, hadn’t he? He could survive another year or two as Lorroakan’s apprentice. 

Rolan gathered the thoughts around him like armor where he stood in the center of the cavernous room, awaiting the arrival of his master. 

As if on cue, the rushing portal sounded behind him as Lorroakan himself swept into the room.

“I understand my apprentice has been pawing through the merchandise.”

Entering rooms with a full sentence was another of Lorroakan’s favorite tactics. Though he expected it by now, Rolan still found himself thrown off balance by the words for a moment—no doubt their intended purpose. His mind raced to grasp what he was being accused of before he looked to his master.

Lorroakan stood on the step before him with lips drawn into the hint of a smile, an expression that didn’t reach his eyes. The man was angry.

Rolan kept his voice calm and careful. “Master Lorroakan, I should have explained. Two of Aradin’s men managed to get past the guards several nights ago, raiding for valuables. It took some time to salvage the scrolls they damaged in the process.”

“I see. And as a result, you took it upon yourself to give Klank a little upgrade, did you?”

Performing magic in the shop outside of Lorroakan’s direct orders—a mistake. “Yes, Master,” Rolan replied reluctantly.

“How clever,” said Lorroakan above him. But he didn’t sound like he thought it was clever at all.

“I know what a nuisance they’ve been to you, Master Lorroakan.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy—”

As he spoke, Rolan felt a foreign presence prodding at the corners of his mind. There were few spells Lorroakan had demonstrated complete mastery of thus far—but the ritual for detecting thoughts was certainly among them. 

Rolan knew he would face a far worse punishment than whatever was coming if he resisted. Instead, fighting all his natural instincts, he let his mind’s defenses go slack.

Lorroakan’s consciousness pierced through his own, rough and careless. It rapidly shoved through his thoughts then withdrew just as abruptly. Rolan held back a wince of discomfort at the treatment.

His master’s eyes narrowed at him, that placid smile still on his lips. 

"On your knees," Lorroakan instructed silkily.

As his body obeyed in silence, Rolan felt churning bile and indignant pride rise in his throat. If Lorroakan hoped all these trials would break Rolan's spirit, he'd find they were having the opposite effect.

Lorroakan’s voice was dangerously even. "Although I’ve expressly forbidden it, you decided to avail yourself of a bit of private study from the scroll stock while you were at it. Outside my wishes."

Though Rolan kept his eyes down on the carpet below, he heard the rustle of Lorroakan’s robes as he began to circle him. Like a cat with a mouse.

“Forgive me, Master,” Rolan said down to the floor. “I only reviewed the spells you’ve seen fit to instruct me in.” 

A second mistake.

“Oh?” Lorroakan’s voice dripped with fresh venom. “And is my instruction insufficient?”

Yes. Completely fucking useless. “No, Master Lorroakan. I only know how short your time is with more important matters…locating the Nightsong. I hoped to perfect what you’ve taught me, to arrive better prepared for your lessons.”

Surely that was sufficient for his ego? Rolan dared to hope so as Lorroakan’s steps came to a halt in his periphery.

Without warning, the red wizard's palm connected with the soft dip of his temple.

Defenses still down from his earlier mental invasion, Rolan's body jerked sideways; he caught himself with sharp nails into the carpet. The blow rang deafening and shrill between his ears.

"—suffer insolence, boy," Lorroakan was warning somewhere above him as Rolan's hearing returned. "And put those filthy claws away. Are you a man or a beast?"

"Yes, Master," Rolan gasped, hardly knowing whether he should agree or say no. The pain in his skull overwhelmed his senses in a way that must have translated as meekness. 

Lorroakan sighed, the way one might at a dear but misbehaving pet.

"Young Rolan," he tutted. "Still so willful. So much yet to learn from my wealth of knowledge. And I am generous…"

As he spoke, his polished boots moved closer into Rolan’s downturned field of vision, and Rolan felt the archmage's soft fingers under his chin guiding his gaze upwards.

This was always the very worst part. Rolan would willingly take a dozen more blows if he could avoid what came after. 

Instead, he witnessed the gleam of satisfaction in Lorroakan's eyes as he examined his past weeks' handiwork on his apprentice's face—as if the sight brought him a deep pleasure that verged on carnal. Rolan's insides turned over in disgust.

"Yet even my favorite apprentice must be trained, must be disciplined." Lorroakan's words were silky soft, but his thumb and forefinger gripped into Rolan's chin with bruising force. "You'll stay to reorganize the abjuration wing tonight, alphabetically by subject."

Rolan nodded mutely, as much as Lorroakan's grip allowed. He had just finished reordering them all by title a few days ago. But what did it matter anymore?

At least his penance appeared to have cut the evening short. Lorroakan released him without a backwards glance. 

As the archmage swept away toward the portal to take his leave, Rolan got to his feet as slowly as he could manage. He ran hands down his robes, hoping the scuffs on his knees would come out with some careful spellwork. This was the only set he had.

By the time he raised his eyes to look around, Lorroakan was gone. One of the metal Myrmidons shuffled aimlessly near the railing, quite harmless without its master's direction. Lorroakan controlled them, but he hadn’t created them; Rolan had gathered that early. 

Alone again, Rolan let out a pent-up breath. Then he turned toward the towering case of books and scrolls on abjuration. 

He'd be able to touch them, he knew, but turning a single page would result in a painful rebuke. The nerves in his right hand smarted in memory of the first and last time he'd been stupid enough to try.

Of the vast wealth of texts contained in his tower—how many of their spines had Lorroakan actually cracked open? For an archmage, he was profoundly lacking in a desire for learning, among many other qualities. The wealth of this place was wasted on one like him.

A memory came back to Rolan from the Druid's Grove, a time and place that felt several lifetimes ago now. Gale, her erudite wizard, asking him to repeat Lorroakan's name. Making those insinuations that got Rolan's hackles up in defense for his new master—and for his own judgment. 

Rolan should have listened to the words from an older and clearly wiser mind.

Would it have changed anything in the end? He'd reverently carried Lorroakan's invitation with him all the way from Elturel. No matter what he heard, there was never a chance he might have walked away from the offer. 

But he might feel like less of a fool.

Hot shame rose in Rolan’s throat. If only Tav and her wizard could see him now, he thought bitterly. The fresh bruise forming at his temple throbbed as if to punctuate the idea. Rolan pushed up the sleeves of his robe and set to work.

—

Though it was only her first morning in Baldur’s Gate proper, Tav found that her list of urgent tasks had grown longer than ever.

There was the spate of gruesome murders, the rival thieves’ guilds warring in the underground, the freshly ordained archduke and his formidable army of Steel Watchers. Not to mention the little problem of a godlike Elder Brain that had begun to test its weakened chains. 

Tav had always thought of herself as a patient person. But these past few days, her companions all seemed to be tugging her in opposite directions. Everyone was irritable and on edge, herself included.

After Lae’zel and Astarion had nearly drawn on each other over the campfire last night—a row over what to do with the cambion’s latest offer of a deal—Tav snapped. She made the executive decision that they all needed a day away from each other to clear their heads.

Yet rather than pursue any of her many important leads, here she was loitering alone in front of the message board outside Basilisk Gate.

A good bit of it was taken up with Enver Gortash’s face, looking every bit the messiah he was definitely not. There were other notices: Flaming Fist enlistment posters, a few hand-written notes for missing persons. More likely unfortunate victims in the city’s recent murder spree. 

She found her eye uselessly searching for another name altogether. It was probably stupid—did wizards usually announce their new apprentices to the public?

Just as she’d made up her mind to move on, Lorroakan’s own name caught her eye. Tav tore the pamphlet down from the board.

‘Seeking Information About the Nightsong! Report Findings to Archwizard Lorroakan, Master of Ramazith’s Tower in the Upper City, Famed and Illustrious Mage of the Sword Coast.’

Unease bloomed in her stomach. What did an archwizard want with Dame Aylin? 

She turned the paper over, looking for anything besides vague details. Nothing on the notice said anything about capture or forcible delivery, but there was a reward printed in large type at the bottom of the page.

Her brows descended at the figure. Something about the size of it only increased her sense of foreboding.

Though she’d planned to make her way to Ramazith’s Tower to see Rolan as soon as she possibly could, perhaps now she had another reason to pay it a visit.

“Hey, Tav!”

She looked around at the sound of her name. Lia stood on the top step from the Basilisk Gate barracks, a slim scroll in her hand. She followed Tav's eyes to the parchment.

“Enlistment papers,” she explained, tucking them in her belt as she descended the stairs. “They’re no Hellriders, but it’s a decent job. Plus I heard some mad cult is planning to march an army down on our heads. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Lia added with a wry smile.

Somehow Tav was relieved to hear Lia could joke about it. It lightened some of the weariness in her own chest. She hastily pocketed the reward pamphlet—though she thought Lia’s eyes followed the motion. Then she rounded to return the smile.

“Gods, is it good to see a friend,” she admitted. “How are you, Lia?”

“You mean besides the constant threat of murder and war, and the stupid comments about my horns? Alright, considering,” Lia chuckled.

Tav felt a prickle of anger. She supposed that was a common experience for Tieflings, but that only made it worse somehow.

Lia caught her mood. “Don’t worry about it. We certainly don’t. Besides, it’s loads better here than it ever was back home.”

Tav moved the conversation along. She asked after Cal—trying to avoid immediately turning the subject to Rolan. Even though her heart ached to know how he was. Rolan and his siblings had taken the direct path from Moonrise to the Lower City, no doubt reaching it weeks before her own party had made their winding way toward the gates.

Lia was clever enough to realize what she was doing. Tav’s close relationship with Lia’s older brother was anything but a secret at this point, after all. But the younger woman played along politely for the moment.

When they were all out of other topics to catch up on, Tav did her best to sound as casual as possible. “How’s our brilliant apprentice getting along?”

Lia’s face changed at the question. Her brow flew into a scowl, and the muscle in her jaw tightened. 

“I don't talk to him about it anymore,” she snapped.

Tav blinked in surprise, but the feeling was quickly replaced by concern. “What is it?”

Lia looked around for a moment, as if worried someone might be listening to overhear. She moved down a few steps to stand with arms crossed beside Tav.

“Look…Rolan’s proud,” she said in a low voice. “You know that well as I do. He won't ever give me or Cal a straight answer about it. But Tav, seriously? I'm not sure he's been taught a damn thing yet. Rolan always gets upset when me or Cal come by the Sundries. Like he’s scared of someone seeing us there. And every time I’ve been in, Lorroakan’s got him working the stupid counter instead of studying. And his—”

Tav was hanging on every word by the time Lia abruptly cut herself off. The two of them shared a long look.

“I don't think he’s treating Rolan well,” Lia told her. Her nails dug into the fabric of her sleeves. “I know he isn't.”

“Not treating him well how?” The concern had grown to a snake of worry coiling through Tav’s insides. 

Lia’s hands continued fidgeting over her arms. She glanced away behind the curtain of her hair, as if regretting how much she'd said. 

“Listen, just—just go talk to Rolan. Please? You should hear it from him. If he won't listen to us, maybe he’ll listen to you. Don't think he could ever tell you no,” Lia added with a weak smile, an expression that was more pained than anything.

An ominous feeling swirled around in Tav’s brain, muddling the tail end of their conversation. Her head nodded along automatically as Lia gave an invitation to her and Cal’s flat in Heapside Strands, but her ears barely caught the street name. 

Once Lia had given her a quick one-armed hug and departed, Tav stood hardly knowing where she was. A Flaming Fist jostled past her shoulder from the barracks with a backwards comment about loitering in byways. 

She hardly heard the man. Her mind was filled with images of Rolan; proud, hopeful, excited for his future. Had this Lorroakan done something to spoil the dream he’d fought so hard to achieve?

As Tav’s hand brushed against the reward pamphlet in her pocket, the fingers there clenched into a fist. The other closed tight around the hilt of the longsword resting in her scabbard.

Whatever it was, something was wrong here. Very wrong. She was tempted to march straight into Sorcerous Sundries, find Rolan, and demand the truth out of him. And if he put on his stubborn act, she could think of a few very pleasant ways to get honest answers from his lips.

But what if he was somehow in danger from this archwizard?

That thought brought her up short. Lia’s voice before had held a hint of fear; not an emotion she’d know Lia to express lightly. Perhaps rushing into the situation blind would risk causing Rolan more harm than good.

Tav felt her pulse pound at the thought of putting him in danger. She let out a breath, trying to clear her head of the tangle of emotions. None of them would help her make a sound decision. As much as she might want to, she shouldn’t go racing off straight to Ramazith’s Tower.

And she shouldn’t go alone. If some kind of trouble was waiting there—increasingly likely when she considered Lorroakan’s cryptic interest in the Nightsong—she would need her companions with her. And they were currently spread out gods-knew-where across the city. 

Though her heart fought against it, the logical choice was clear. The wisest course would be to leave this for tomorrow.

In the morning, they would pay a visit to Ramazith’s Tower…and Tav would finally get the measure of this archwizard for herself.

[madwomansapologist]

Shades of Black and White | Series Masterlist

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Daughter of Darkness | AO3

synopsis: Shadowheart only task was to survive the giths and escape with the artifact for her goddess. Liliana Wilde, a druid with a thing for the undead, wanted nothing but to enjoy her free time. Being abducted by a nautiloid wasn't on their plans, but to get out of it was their only goal. A common one.

warnings: Liliana Wilde (our kind!druid!tav) x Shadowheart. the healer falling in love with the necromancer (more on that later) is something for me. age gap (20ish years). meet cute? githyanki prejudice. selune caring for her children. tw: shar and lorroakan. dame aylin my babygirl.

Chapter 1: Raven Meets Dove

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR'S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies @amandacanwrite

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