#AND ALSO she’s a tiefling so her and Lae’zel can have an enemies to lovers thing going on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ollypopwrites · 10 months ago

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From Depths Unknown; Part 2

Part 1 here ; You can also read on Ao3.

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: E

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Language, Canon-typical violence, drinking, sexual content (male masturbation, dom/sub undertones, switch dynamics, choking is briefly mentioned), slow burn, slightly enemies to lovers but not quite, background Bloodweave, the use of ‘idiot’ as a term of endearment, domestic violence and past child abuse, jealousy.

Series Summary:

Rolan couldn’t figure out what he did wrong. He thought he had been better, had held his tongue when a particularly harsh remark inevitably wanted to make it out, he had called her a friend, given her party free reign of the tower. But Tav seemed distant.

Notes: We are getting a little spicy! I love these two, we should have another update soon-ish. Maybe not this weekend, but soon.

Baldur’s Gate was busy.

After so long in the Underdark and then the Shadowcursed lands, Tav felt strangely crowded by the amount of people in the streets. And her mental list of tasks was getting longer by the minute. There was so much to do, and time was not on their side given the regular psionic earthquakes shaking the city. As she got them all settled in a room at the Elfsong (discounted thanks to a nasty murder in the room just next door) she wanted one night to get her wits about her.

Most everyone went their separate ways for the night: Shadowheart teamed up with Lae’zel to go speak with Voss, Halsin felt the need to shut himself up in the room, Jaheira had Harper business to attend to, while Wyll and Karlach went searching some old haunts for any friends that may still have been in the city. Gale and Astarion accompanied Tav downstairs to the pub, where they all delightfully wanted to share some quality drinks rather than the beggar's choices they had been drinking on the road. A familiar voice rang out amongst the crowd, singing a jaunty tune that had some nearby patrons singing along.

“That’s Alfira!” Tav said excitedly.

The bard had her audience’s gleeful attention, and nearby Tav spotted Lakrissa watching on. Her eyes flitted around the room, hoping to find another familiar face. The tieflings had set off for Baldur’s Gate shortly after the battle, ready to finally get to their destination now that the road was clear. The party had only crossed paths with them again just before entering Rivington. Rolan, Cal, Lia, Alfira and Lakrissa had joined them for a night of drinking to celebrate.

It was no party as they had after the Grove, but it was a much needed night of relief after the constant threat of the curse. Tav found herself wandering over to talk to him as often as she could. He was like a new person: excitement palpable at the prospect of finally making it to Ramazith’s Tower. She’d never seen him smile so much, and while she would never call him giddy — he was as close as Rolan could possibly be to such a state.

The next night the tieflings left, and with them the rosy glow of victory dissipated. The tadpole crew had been attacked by Githyanki and had to run to their Dream Guardians aid. only to find out that the mysterious entity in the prism was in fact a mindflayer called The Emperor.

The idea that the one thing saving her was the very creature which she was actively trying not to change into felt poetic somehow. Fucked up to be sure, but poetic.

Tav’s eyes danced along the crowd, looking for horns and flashes of red skin. Her excitement spiked, “look! It’s Cal and Lia.”

Astarion groaned, “here we go.”

“What?��

“The tieflings are a charming group but everytime we cross them they need saving,” he said. “We really don’t have time for more heroics, darling, we got them to the city. Let them fend for themselves.”

“They’re friends, Astarion,” Gale scolded lightly.

“Needy friends.”

“I know all about those,” she gave him a pointed look.

Astarion made a show of pouting, and batting his eyelashes which made Gale chuckle slightly into his cup. Their resident vampire couldn’t quite blush, but she saw his lips twitch in a sweet smile as he looked at Gale.

“I’m going to say hello,” Tav said promptly, standing and grabbing her glass. “You two stay here and canoodle or whatever it is you get up to.”

“Canoodle,” Astarion gagged the word. “You’re rubbing off on her now, Wizard.”

“Expanding one’s vocabulary is nothing to scoff at!”

“Having one walking encyclopedia is more than enough,” Astarion blithely retorted, “two would be intolerable.”

Tav was already making her way across the room as the two started bickering, her presence forgotten quickly as they started in on what she had to believe was their own special form of foreplay. As she came up, Lakrissa spotted her with a happy wave and she plopped down on the seat next to Cal.

“It’s you!” He said happily. “When did you get here?”

“Just got into the city today. We crashed Gortash’s coronation and then nabbed the suite upstairs.”

“Do you ever stop?” Lia asked aghast. “Less than a week ago you were infiltrating Moonrise.”

“I wish I could stop,” Tav took a long drink. “It’s one thing after the other.”

“Being a hero is a full time job then?” Lia smirked.

“More than full time,” Tav said. “And the pay is shit.”

Lia laughed, “in that case, I’ll buy you a drink.”

As Lia stood to head to the bar, Tav turned to Cal. “You lot made it in okay? No trouble?”

“Smoothest part of the journey. We got here just before they closed off the gate,” he said. “Lia’s already got work, and we’ve got a shoddy little place around here.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Tav touched his shoulder. “Rolan must be so happy.”

At the mention of his brother, Cal’s smile fell for a moment, but he quickly said, “he’s been working hard.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” She smiled, “is he staying with you?”

“No, he stays at the tower,” Cal said. “We… we haven’t seen much of him since we arrived.”

“Oh,” Tav said dumbly. Something felt off.

“He writes though, just today he sent us some of his earnings,” Cal said. “We go to the shop to see him, but he makes us leave. Doesn’t want anyone to think he’s mucking about.”

Tav’s frown deepened. “I’ve got to head to Sorcerer's Sundries, maybe I can get him to come out for a drink.”

“We’d like that,” Cal smiled.

The first time he can remember his father hitting his mother was because she took the blame for a broken glass. Rolan hadn’t meant to, he was toying with the weave, practicing from a book he was borrowing and the spell went wrong. It shattered the glass into a million shards.

He and his mother had looked at each other for split moment before she grabbed the biggest pieces and put them in the sink. When his father stormed in, she apologized, showing a bloody hand from the glass. Her apology hadn’t mattered, nor had tears or begging. They never did. After she died there was no one else to take the blame or the beatings. Rolan had always been tall, taller than all of his friends, but he was lanky and awkward. His hands were never comfortable in the shape of a fist, his arm never created the momentum to do any damage. He tried; every time his father’s fist made contact all Rolan felt was hot fury, his arms flailing and seeming to slide off of his target. It wasn’t until the hot fury turned into a witchbolt that he ever felt on even ground with his father. Rolan had left the house leaving him in as bad of shape as he always left his son, for once.

He never went back into that house after that night.

The bruises currently on his face felt nostalgic in a way that turned his stomach. Lorroakan and his father were similar in a sense that everything and nothing turned their moods, but his new master had the unfortunate upper hand of also having magic at his disposal. He had worked too hard to get where he was to up and leave the apprenticeship. Too much suffering, too much sacrifice; there would be no running to Cal and Lia’s doorstep as in his youth. He had to stick it out until he was in a position to claim something better.

His mind had justified the beatings as a test, perhaps on keeping the mind focused even under threat. If he let the inkling that he had been duped linger too long he felt a shame and rage that was unbearable. So he put his head down, he worked hard, he took the beatings and he learned. Not from Lorrokan, but from other tellers around the shop. From the books Tolna suggested with her whispers becoming more conspiratorial and her eyes sympathetic. He hadn’t been to see Cal and Lia in days.

He knew how they would react. His plan was to wait until the bruising went down and then face them again. Rolan’s position at the front was never boring, there was no way Sorcerer’s Sundries could ever be boring, he was convinced. It was incredibly busy, people coming in for protections against the threat of the cult that was at the doorstep of the city. He didn’t think twice when an armored group of four walked through the doors, just continued making sure the stock requisition forms were correct.

“Rolan!”

That voice. For a moment he forgot that he had been beaten to a pulp the night before, too distracted by excitement when he looked up and saw her. Gale, Astarion and the Archdruid fell behind as Tav bound up to the front desk.

“Tav,” he greeted, unable to keep the warmth out of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile fell a bit and her eyes flicked over his face. “Rolan, you - you look a little… worse for wear.” She frowned, “what happened to your face?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” The stinging of the cut on his lip splitting with his forced smile made him aware of how badly he looked again. And Tav looked unconvinced.

“Hardly a place to learn, working behind a desk,” Halsin commented.

“This is my… apprenticeship.” He shrugged. “It has not been what I expected. Master Lorroakan is a… difficult man.”

There was a crackle of static, the light shining from behind Tav’s eyes. He saw her take a deep breath, and place an easy smile on her face. Saving him his dignity, he’d presume.

“He’s consumed by this pursuit of the Nightsong. I haven’t learnt a thing, and I fear it will stay that way.”

“A lucky escape,” Gale chimed in, “given Lorroakan’s reputation. He’d have little of value to teach you.”

Rolan smiled in thanks. “But never mind that. What can I do for you?”

Tav looked like she wanted to say something, even opened her mouth to start but she hesitated. Finally, she said, “funny you mention it, we actually have information about the Nightsong.”

Rolan leveled her with a serious look. A pit forming in his stomach. “Be very sure before you make a visit to Lorroakan,” he warned, “he’s got a beastly temper.” At her raised eyebrow at the comment, he quickly added, “but if you really do know something, he’ll want to see you. Head upstairs, you can find the way into his tower up there.”

“We will,” she nodded.

“Before we speak with your… beastly master,” Gale chimed in, “might you direct us in the direction of where we can find tomes of a rare nature?”

“Tolna handles tomes,” he said, “just around this pillar.”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Gale said, then leaned in, “if you want a real teacher, the Elfsong is our home for the duration of our stay.” He winked before he walked away, ushering Astarion and Halsin away with him.

“Rolan,” Tav said.

“Don’t,” he said, a bit more brusquely than he wanted to. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?”

“I mean it,” his temper flared, he closed his eyes, breathed deeply and then, “your party will be waiting for you.”

“Come by tonight,” she said quickly. “We don’t have to talk about it, but I owe you a bottle of Arabellan Dry.”

She walked away then. He tried not to let his gaze follow her, but it did anyway, interrupted by a customer coming up to the desk. And then another. Incapable of controlling the desire to look at her, he turned to Tolna’a corner of the shop. Tav was looking at him, a darker look than he had seen before. She looked away quickly when she was caught, speaking with Tolna until they decided to make their way up the stairs.

If Lorroakan laid a finger on her, Rolan was not sure he could contain himself. She could handle herself, she had her friends by her side even if she couldn't, but he would never forgive himself if she came down those steps with a single mark from his bastard master.

He wasn’t sure how long they were up there, speaking to his master. But when they came down she was storming towards the entrance, not looking back, with her party following as they always did. At the very least she looked unharmed, if not furious. He opened his mouth to call after her, but someone came up to the counter and he had to keep himself from chasing after her.

After his shift, he withstood the usual line of questions watching Lorroakan closer than ever. The man seemed unharmed, a little angrier than usual, but so distracted he waved Rolan off after one sharp smack across his face. It was not too late, and the walk to the Elfsong was not terribly long.

Rolan made it to the door of the inn, people were gathered outside speaking, the doors open and letting the sounds of revelry spill into the street. There was no initial sight of anyone he knew from his spot on the threshold of the door. The idea of pretending everything was fine made his stomach churn, in fact, he was not sure he was capable of it.

Every negative emotion he ever harbored only ever warped into an anger he was still learning to temper. He was angry and ashamed and the pub was too loud so he turned around. Cowardly of him, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to face her or know if she had confronted Lorroakan on his behalf. Ever since she had come back from Moonrise separate from the freed prisoners, an uncomfortable parallel had drawn itself in his mind.

Seeing her bruised and bloody always reminded him of his mother bearing wounds and blame that were meant for him.

When Rolan didn’t show up at the Elfsong, it had stung. She tried not to take it personally, she tried not to think too much on it, but there she was alone with an unopened bottle of his favorite wine. She was sat dejectedly around the unused pipe the room came with, sitting on some of the pillows that littered the floor.

“Well, no point in letting it go to waste,” Astarion sighed, feigning actual sympathy for her situation as he sat with her, “may as well crack it open.”

She tugged it closer to her protectively. “I owe him this bottle, I’ll bring it to him when we go back.”

Astarion gave her a look that not even the tadpole needed to decipher: it screamed ‘you can’t be serious.’ She felt her face heat up, and looked away.

“If I knew you liked your sweethearts a little mean I would have gone about my seduction much differently,” he finally teased.

“And you think you were what? Sweet?”

“Not sweet,” he conceded, “more… sultry.”

“Well it seemed to work on Gale,” she muttered.

Astarion leveled her with a half-hearted glare. “I thought you weren’t interested. I could always ask him if he’s up for a third.”

“No, thank you,” she shuddered dramatically. “That’s too much ego for me.”

“Afraid you couldn’t keep up, darling?”

“I’m afraid I won’t fit into the bed,” she scoffed, “it’s remarkable enough that the pair of your giant heads fit into one room.”

Astarion chuckled a little. “It’s not just our heads that are big, my dear.”

Tav launched a pillow at him, and his true laugh, high pitched and unrehearsed echoed making her smile. “I suppose we ought to tell Dame Aylin about Lorroakan.”

Astarion hummed. “I do want to see her rip him in half, but we just settled in for the night. Perhaps in the morning.”

“The morning sounds good,” Tav nodded, trying to hide her disappointment.

When she had discovered Lorroakans goals for Aylin, Tav found an opportunity present itself. While he had his own head up his ass, and was a cruel bastard, she could feel his power even by just standing in the room. She had more than enough reasons to blast him out of the window; he wanted to imprison Aylin, he had been rather rude to Gale, and then there was the state of Rolan’s face.

Gods, she could have sent a fireball in his face for that alone.

But he was powerful. And having Dame Aylin at their side to rid the world of his wretched smirking face would probably be a good idea. And Tav supposed it would mean a lot to Aylin to take down another megalomaniac that wanted to use her for immortality. After hundreds of years of imprisonment she could offer her new ally that.

“He’s very proud,” Astarion said suddenly.

“Lorroakan? Proud is putting it lightly.”

“Rolan,” Astarion emphasized.

“Oh.”

“When we found you by the lake I thought he might hit you,” Astarion was not looking at her, but his tone had a rare tinge of sincerity.

“Oh, no, Astarion, no,” Tav said immediately. “He was angry, but he had just saved me. Pulled me out of the lake and I — I said some unkind things.”

“I’m only saying,” Astarion seemed to bolster every genuine fiber of his being to say, “you ought not sit around sullenly for a man who is only ever angry at you for helping him. There’s plenty of people whose eye you’ve caught, you hardly have to settle for someone who can’t be bothered to show up.”

It hurt to hear, but there may have been a tinge of truth to it. Still, Astarion had not been there by the lake when he shared his last bottle with her. She’d seen something in him that night, something that plagued her thoughts when the rest of camp went quiet and she was alone. It was some unknown depth she had yet to reach, and desperately wanted to.

She shook her head. “You still can’t have this bottle. I’m a woman of my word.”

“Spoilsport,” he pouted.

The moment passed, and they went about the night without mentioning Rolan. Except when Gale came to sit with them and inquired after him to which Astarion elbowed him hard enough to make the Wizard wheeze. For the rest of the night it was business as usual with her friends and as she fell asleep she found herself wondering if Astarion was right to be warning her off of these feelings that had bloomed.

An ungodly crash shook the building, raining down glass upon the patrons and stopped only by some quick thinking on Tonlu’s behalf. Shortly after Tav and her crew came storming through the door and without even a passing glance they ran up the stairs towards the top of the tower.

“Hey! What are you —“

When none of them were stopped by his exclamation, he jumped over the desk to follow them up. As he followed them into their portal of choice, Lorroakan stood confronting an incredibly tall otherworldly looking winged woman.

Tav stood a decent distance behind, her arms folded over her chest and her stance sturdy. He had rarely seen her in action, and the one time he had it was a dark chaotic whirl when she saved him from the Shadow Curse. Gale stood at her side, even his demeanor in the face of confrontation had changed from its normal welcoming smile to a stern focus. Karlach was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement, and the Archdruid stood still but there was something about his demeanor which resembled a creature about to pounce. In all honesty, they were terrifying.

“What are you so scared of magus? Not the Nightsong, surely, she’s nothing but a relic to be purchased and pursued.” The winged woman seethed.

Rolan was brought out of his awe at Tav and her companions. He stared at the winged woman. “My gods, the Nightsong is a person?”

“Boy! At the ready,” Lorroakan commanded, “once I’ve taken control of the aasimar she must go directly into the caging runes.”

Everything in him rejected the idea. He felt Tav’s eyes on him, leaving him bolstered by righteousness “No, Master Lorroakan,” he said firmly, “I would never have assisted you if I knew you planned such horrors.” He would not be cowed by the rage that slipped onto Lorroakan’s face. “You lied to get the Nightsong here. Made us all believe she was nothing but a relic.” He turned to Tav, “I have seen what true leadership can accomplish — “ and finally to his master, “but never under your tutelage.”

“Watch your tongue, you child,” Lorroakan hissed, “I could make it such that no wizard in the realm will touch you.”

“If they’re all like you, I think that sounds like an excellent bargain,” Rolan shot back.

This pleased the aasimar, who rallied a truly hateful laugh, “face us, charlatan! We who detest you so.”

Then it was a blur of violence.

Rolan kept his focus on Lorroakan as did the Nightsong. Tav and her friends kept the myrmidon’s he had summoned at bay after making quick work of his assistant. Tav was a storm of magic, untamed and rawly powerful. She moved in perfect tandem with her companions, they knew how to leave room for attacks, when to parry and duck.

Rolan had to focus. Keeping Lorroakan from blocking or containing the Nightsong was no easy feat. He threw counter spell after counter spell, surprising himself every time his will overpowered his former master’s. The fire myrmidon sent a blaze of fire toward him — not enough to truly hurt him but it broke his focus. With a yell, he saw Tav fly to get in position and then call down a chain of lightning which stuttered the movements of the myrmidon and rained down on its allies. Even Lorroakan was hit.

Finding an opening, Rolan deployed an onslaught of magic missiles which hit him in instant succession. Lorroakan fell to his knees in a daze. Behind them, he saw Gale finish off one of the myrmidon’s and Karlach made quick work of another. The Archdruid had taken the shape of a bear, claws shredding the armor of the third. Tav very nearly pushed him out of the way as another hail of fire fell on them, the smell of burning hair and flesh filling the room. She gave an angry yell, thunder boomed and the construct of fire hit the wall before turning to ash.

Just as he was going to ask if she was okay, Lorroakan howled. They watched as the Nightsong lifted the famed master of Razamith’s Tower and snapped his spine in half over her armored knee.

It was cathartic, and quite the relief when she tossed him onto the floor as if he were nothing.

He watched as she left, wordlessly, in a haze of feathers and silver light.

“Lorroakan is dead,” he said, in disbelief. “The Bastard is dead.”

“Are you alright?” Tav asked.

“I am, now that the bastard is in bits,” he smiled a little. “Lorrokan was a cruel and vicious man. By day, I’d tend the shop. By night, he’d fire the most nonsensical questions at me. And for every one I’d answered wrong he’d beat me.”

Flashes of the nights spent in the tower flickered by, Lorrokan’s pale skin in his memories sometimes replaced by red skin and eyes that matched his own. He looked away from Tav’s intent stare.

“I could have killed him with my own two hands,” he breathed, “but I kept thinking it was all a test. It had to be.” At her patient gaze, her friends, maybe their friends, standing by just as understanding he found himself unfurling. “I thought it was the price to pay to become a true wizard. I realize now he was just a sick, sick man.”

“I’m sorry, Rolan,” Tav said. “You were so looking forward to your apprenticeship.”

“I see things clearly now,” he shook his head, “if I wish to master the weave, I must do it myself.” She didn’t look convinced. “Thankfully I have everything I need, right here.”

“More than everything,” Gale said. “You’ll make a fine wizard, Rolan.”

“Thank you.”

“You should go to Lia and Cal. They’re worried sick, mate.” Karlach piped up.

“I’ll move them in right away,” he assured her. “Lorroakan refused to let them stay here. They are gonna love the tower.”

“I’m sure they will,” Tav smiled, but it was weak and somewhat forced.

She was singed by the fire myrmidon. A few of her hairs were singed, she had ash on her face and an angry burn just below her chin. Tav had looked worse, he knew, but again he understood the gravity of what she had done for him. Even inadvertently.

Instead of anger, he felt deep gratitude and finally the means to pay her back.

“I wouldn’t have all this — the tower, my family — if it weren’t for you.” At once Tav’s face shifted to something softer, the storm in her eyes quelled. “What can I do to thank you?”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she assured him.

Before he could respond, Gale cleared his throat. “Certainly, Tav’s generosity is to be commended but,” he said, “we could make use in the way of supplies and… access to some of the rarer tomes.”

Tav winced slightly. “Supplies would be helpful,” she admitted. “And Gale has tunnel vision about a book that’s hidden in the tower.”

“I’d be happy to assist,” he nodded his head. “I’ve yet to journey into the vaults, we can figure them out together.”

“An excellent idea,” Gale nodded with a slight bow. “Perhaps we may also employ Astarion’s assistance, he’s the pilfering sort.”

“He may have stolen some material components when we were here last,” Tav seemed mortified but Karlach was cackling behind her.

“You can have whatever you like,” Rolan said quickly. “Leave only the scrolls and tomes.”

“Thank you,” she breathed in relief. “We’ll — erm — let you settle in.”

“Before you go, know this,” Rolan quickly gathered his courage, “Ramazith’s tower and its master, are now your friends. And when the time comes, we will stand with you as allies.”

“Enjoy your new digs!” Karlach called as they turned to leave.

“We will be back soon,” Gale assured him.

Tav had nothing else to say to him as she left.

It was a bit awkward as Tav, Gale, Astarion and Rolan ventured into the vaults.

Rolan and Gale were getting along swimmingly, volleying knowledge and theories off of each other. Astarion hung back with Tav, unlocking doors as needed, but lingering behind the two wizards gushing over the hidden collection of Ramazith’s. The tiefling was rather charming, she found, when he was matched in wit and interest. Perhaps it was Gale’s own warm nature that brought it out of him, but regardless, Tav found herself watching the two of them interact so easily with an uncomfortable prickle under her skin.

She’d never been so annoyed at Gale before, not even when he nearly blew them all up in the name of forgiveness for his ex. He also thought he would be saving the world, but even so — the fact he even considered it worth mentioning had made her want to smack him. Now she just wished he’d shut up.

“I think one wizard is more than enough,” Astarion said blithely. “You needn’t bring this one back to our rooms.”

“He has a big fancy tower now,” Tav replied. “Our suite at the Elfsong looks like a hovel in comparison.”

“Do you think they’d even notice if we left?”

“Probably not.”

Astarion sighed dramatically. Tav felt his eyes slinking toward her. “Shall we take off without them?”

“That sounds like a terrible idea. I’m in.”

It was a terrible idea and they had quite a few burns to show for it. They had stumbled upon an armory, full to the brim with enchanted armors and weapons. Of course, the room had vaulted a fireball at them at Astarion’s initial failure to pick a magical lock. But a column of alabaster had saved them from being incinerated, only the immeasurable heat had gotten them. Tav was, as Gale had so diplomatically put it at the start of their journey, not studied in magic. She just was magic, always had been.

Her knowledge of the arcane only went so far beyond what she felt. She knew spells, knew the names of them, but she mostly just went with her gut at what to throw around and found its name later. When faced with a room full of enchanted objects, she only could pick them up to see what they did. Some of it came with tags that had details of the magical abilities they held, but at some point Lorroakan had taken to hoarding rather than cataloging.

Tav slipped on a ring, basic in appearance, a simple gold band with writing engraved around its circumference and felt herself thrust into a state of unbeing. She could see Astarion, but around him was a whirl of chaos. Energies of different colors collided and roared, in a cacophony that felt somehow familiar but overwhelming. Her hand reached out and a trail of lightning wrapped around her arm. She knew the tingling zap of it well, the rumble of thunder taking the place of her heart beat and the soft spray of rain. But it became too much, the sear of the lightning overtaking her and she wrenched the ring off.

“Tav where the hells did you go?” Astarion asked.

“Did I go somewhere?”

“You disappeared!” He said. “Is that a ring of invisibility?”

“Definitely not,” Tav said, quickly taking off her vambraces where her skin still tingled.

“Oh, my,” Astarion looked down at her arm. “Have you always had that?”

Her forearm was covered in white divuts that spidered out and glowed slightly. As if lightning lived there in her arms. It didn’t hurt, but it felt as if the remnants of a touch were electrically charged. Her and Astarion were still enraptured by the marks when the door flew open.

“There you two are,” Gale said. “By Mystra’s eyelids, you can’t go wandering off in a highly guarded wizard’s tower!”

“By who’s eyelids, darling?”

Even without knowing all the details of their relationship, Tav could see the coldness in Astarion’s eyes and the flood of tension that took over the room. Gale looked as if he had fallen into a frozen lake. Something was transpiring between her friends and she felt as if she was not supposed to see it.

“Look what we found!” Tav said to Rolan who stood back with arms folded and looking unamused. “An armory!”

“Is that so?”

She bounded up to him, if only to get away from the unspoken conversation happening between Gale and Astarion.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

Rolan leveled her with a look.

“I put on this ring, and Astarion said I disappeared — “ Rolan’s eye actually twitched, so she barreled on before he could yell, “but I could see him it was just like I don’t know, everything around was just energy. And something reached out to grab my hand and it felt like my magic, like my own magic was holding my hand!” She was excited despite the unusual state of her arm. “And when I took it off I had this.”

He grabbed her arm, fingers running over the divots and inspecting it. Turning it over, his nails dragged along the sensitive flesh of the inside and dragged over her palm. A pleasurable shudder rippled down her spine.

“Did that hurt?”

“Uh,” she felt her brain zap, “no.”

It felt very good.

“They’re fading.”

Now that she looked at it, the glow was siphoning away very slowly. “Huh.”

Rolan brought her arm closer for him to inspect. His hands were incredibly warm. As he asked her questions about what she saw, she found herself answering almost dazedly. It was only after he seemed to have asked all the questions he could and was simply holding her arm in quiet contemplation that she realized he was rubbing his thumb along her skin.

“Rolan,” she said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Can I have my arm back?”

He dropped it as if it flooded him with an electric shock. “You seem fine. Please refrain from playing with magical artifacts you have no idea how to properly use.”

“That’s no fun.”

His eye twitched again.

“Erm,” she said, “did you find Karsus’ book?”

Rolan’s eyes slid over her shoulder, back where Astarion and Gale were. He motioned for her to follow him, and around the same pillar of stone which had saved her and Astarion, he led her out of the room.

“We found the book.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “Gale says it’s integral for figuring out how to deal with the Elder Brain.”

“Yes,” Rolan said quietly. “What do you know of Karsus?”

“Only what Gale has told me,” she replied. “Fall of netheril, tried to become a god, - just the juicy stuff.”

“Then you know how it ended last time someone played with that kind of power.”

“I do.”

“Gale is an immensely talented and knowledgeable wizard,” Rolan prefaced.

“Got a crush, do you?”

The tone of her voice was a little more pointed than she liked. An ugly thing inside of her scratching at her chest at his praise of Gale. Which was unreasonable. Gale was everything he said; Gale was one of her best friends. There was no reason for her to be acting this way.

Rolan frowned. “I’m not trying to argue with you nor insult him, I’m only letting you know there was something about the way he talked about the crown, and the book. Please, keep an eye on him.”

Tav remembered how Gale had reacted to first seeing the crown, and then to the way he had near badgered her about finding the book. He had to correct himself when he talked about what the crown would do for him — the quick addition of for us that he added as an afterthought.

Tav nodded.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said. “You’ve helped my family a hundred times over. I owe it to you to do the same.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” She corrected. She hated how transactional it sounded.

“Are you angry with me?” He asked, an edge to his voice that she knew spelled trouble.

“Angry? No.”

Yes. No? She wasn’t sure. She almost wanted to pick a fight. It seemed to be the only time he ever gave her any mind. She didn’t know arcane history, couldn’t gush over magical theory with him — and he had never shown up for that bottle of wine. He only paid attention to her when he was upset with her. She wanted to needle at him, to make herself the focus of that blazing amber gaze even if he was snarling at her.

Astarion was walking out of the room, jolting them out of the staring contest they were having. “Send him back when you’re done with him,” Astarion waved at Rolan. “He wants to identify some of those objects.”

He walked off, an air of finality about his path. Something had happened. Her role of leadership reared its head, if there was dissent amongst the camp it was her job to temper it.

“You have to go,” he said.

“Duty calls.” She sighed. “Thank you for the warning. We will drop by again, I’m sure.”

Rolan only nodded in reply and she set off.

Only in crowds would she thaw. He’d been making his way to the Eflsong with Lia and Cal, under the guise of watching Alfira perform or to see Lakrissa. The team of heroes often joined them, sometimes looking worse for wear but never bringing whatever challenges they were facing with them. Tav talked when everyone was around, talked to him and was friendly enough. But they never had a moment alone.

Even if they did he was not sure what he would say. Being the new owner of Ramazith’s was a full time endeavor; if he wasn’t experimenting he was busy trying to manage the shop. More and more people were turning up for protective measures against the string of events which threatened the city. Cal and Lia helped, happy to have a place to live and a job. It was becoming a rather fluid family business.

But when the day slowed down or at night when laid in bed in Lorroakan’s reclaimed room, his mind drifted always to her. If he saw her at the bar that night he had committed to memory what she wore, any new cuts and bruises, and how the old ones were healing. His hand would drift under his trousers, gently massaging his length as it swelled with interest at the thought of her.

Every peak of cleavage where that damned pearl pendant dangled so teasingly where he wanted to kiss was seared into his mind. Each glance at her leaning over the bar to speak with Alan and order a round of drinks for everyone had him begging to grab at the swell of her bottom. Her eyes when she had stared Lorroakan down before she erupted in a flurry of magic. The calm before the storm of her wrath. How they would soften for her friends, and even him when she glanced over.

Rolan would stroke himself to different imaginings of her. His gallant hero riding him, hands on his chest and glorious as she chased her pleasure. Or beneath him, soft and pliant for once, only for him. Teasing but humbled as he was a benevolent but stern authority, until she finally allowed him to experience the bliss of her submission. To let him take care of her for once.

He could even be the submissive, he thought despite never having considered it before, imagining cooing praise as he gave her whatever she wanted. Gods, he knew she would take him apart in ways he could never recreate with anyone else. He would trust her to hold her hand around his throat, to lovingly claw at his skin, to whisper words of adoration in contrast to the way she had control of his very breath in her grip.He would spill over into his own hand with visions of her eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile. She was, so far unwittingly, boring her way into his mind the same way the illithids had done to her.

But that very tadpole had kept her very busy. The trouble in Baldur’s Gate only grew more intense. Everyone had seen less of her crew as the days went on, only Alfira or Lakrissa getting glimpses of them racing to and fro at the inn day in and out. Everything was coming to a catalyst, he could feel it in the air. It was bad enough that his family had viewed Baldur’s Gate as a haven only to find it on the verge of chaos, now the very object of his desires was at the very center of it all. Storybooks often spoke about the plight of heroes, rarely did they touch upon the abject misery of the ones who loved them.

Watching them destroy their bodies, minds and hearts to be brave enough to save the day. Unable to do anything but offer mere pittances. And Tav wouldn’t even allow him to do that.

In the midst of his musings on her one night as they closed the shop, a violent earthquake shook the city. They were more common these days but this one felt different, it lasted longer, the tremor nearly knocked potion bottles off the wall and the whole city seemed to freeze moments after it passed.

“Do you think it’s them?” Cal had asked, breaking the terrified silence.

“It always is.”

They had gone to the Elfsong after the shop was locked up. All agreeing that their friends might need them, even if just to buy them a drink. When he arrived, the place was packed. Voices loud as people theorized and panicked over drinks, not even Alfira’s songs could carry over the din.

Their heroes were nowhere to be seen.

They found Lakrissa, who was attempting to be a one woman crowd for Alfira. “Have they returned? Do they know what’s going on?”

Lakrissa looked grim. “We saw the Archdruid carrying someone small — maybe a halfling or a gnome or something — up the stairs. They looked bad.”

Rolan felt his stomach plummet through the wood floor.

“Tav came down to grab wine, Alfira said she was heading up to the roof when she came down to perform.”

Rolan was turning for the stairs before Lakrissa finished the sentence. Something was off. He passed by the suite which he knew her party was in, voices were low but they were in there. He saw the open hatch and climbed up with a grunt.

The roof was not lit up, but the city lights allowed for a low glow that partially blotted out the stars. The crescent moon above was not much helpful but it was out clear as day. He spotted a figure, alone, slumped over at the far end of the roof. Even in the dark he knew it was her.

He approached only to be met with her calling, in slurred together words, “‘ready told you, Karlach. I don’ wanna watch you arm wrestle Minsc.”

“They should sell tickets to that,” he said in response. “You’d all be rich.”

She turned around sharply. “S’ you.”

“It’s me,” he replied. “May I join you?”

“M’pissed, and miserable,” she slurred. “Not good,” she belched, “company.”

It was oddly charming, despite her drooping eyes and the way she dryly licked her lips after. He was so used to her being a force of unflappable willpower and leadership, seeing her just be a person who gets piss drunk to drown her sorrows was novel. Rolan sat next to her, amongst a small nest of pillows and blankets Alfira and Lakrissa had put up there when they first got to the city. Tav looked out at the water.

“I wanna go swimming.”

“I think the Chionthar is only slightly safer than a cursed lake,” he replied. “Best stay on land.”

“No fun.”

Despite her attempts at lightning the mood everything felt off. She leaned her chin on the stone wall that she sat in front of. The bottle in her hand precariously tipped.

“I felt that quake earlier, your doing?”

“killed a Bhaalspawn.” She said plainly. “Stole a netherstone. Brain is getting restless.”

If anyone else had strung those words together it would have been utter nonsense.

“Thats good, isn’t it? You ought to be celebrating.”

“No,” she shook her head slowly. “No celebrating.”

“What happened?”

“Bhaalspawn bitch took Yenna,” she sniffed.

The little girl they had picked up in Rivington. Rolan had yet to meet her, but she had been their newest addition. Rolan recalled being horrified that they allowed a child in their camp, given their circumstances. He thought it might not be a good idea to bring that up, just then.

“Is she alright?”

“Physically? Sure.”

It was quiet again. He heard her breathing pick up, a wet swallow.

“They made her eat her fucking cat.” She spat, voice cracking. “She’s ten years old. Lost her mother, and all she had was Grub. They took her from right under my nose. Killed the damn cat and made her eat it.”

When he looked over he saw tears, his heart stuttering. Half unsure what to do in the face of such a horrifying thing to imagine and half desperate to hold her.

“Everywhere I go,” she said distractedly, “there’s just blood and horror.” She pulled a long drink of wine from the bottle. “And everyone’s fucking lost it in this city. Gale wants to become a God, and we all know it’s just to get back at Mystra — they ought to call her the bitch queen — and just two days ago I had to talk Astarion out of the right of ascension — 2000 people he was going to sacrifice!” She was ranting, hiccups and sobs breaking through every once in a while. “Karlach’s given up. Shadowheart’s parents — we looked for them and she fought so hard and they’re just gone. Lae’zel wants me to make a deal with a devil, and poor Wyll,” she sniffled. “His dad — he — and Mizora that cunt! We have to find his dad.” She had her head in her hands. “There’s still one more netherstone, we have to get the hammer, then there’s the brain.”

“You need to breathe,” he reached out.

“I’m not meant to do this!” She yelled suddenly. “I’m not — I’m supposed to take over my mum and dad’s stupid pub, I’m supposed to be at home, with my little sister and my mother.”

“Tav,” he tried to interrupt.”

“Instead I’m here, and I’ve got this thing in my head and they want time to lead them — and I don’t know why! I’m nothing — no one — I don’t know what to do —“

“Sweetheart, stop,” he pleaded, reaching out to her. “You’re alright.”

“I’m not,” she choked. “I can’t, Rolan. I can’t do this.”

“You can,” he said firmly. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him, “you’re going to sleep this off, and tomorrow you will infuriate me by accomplishing the impossible — as you always do.”

She was at least calming down, breathing coming easier even if fresh warm tears spilled out of her eyes onto his hands. His thumb gently wiped them away, careful of his nails.

“You didn’t see what I saw out there in the cursed lands, or even in the tower. You may be an idiot but you’re a capable idiot. If anyone can save the city, it’s you and your freak show of friends.”

She smiled, a soft laugh nothing more than a breath escaping her lips. Rolan had a sinking feeling he was in over his head, with the way she still looked so lovely to him; face puffy, drunk and still covered in gore he thought she was the most beautiful person in the world. His thumb gently rubbed the skin of her cheek, and she closed her eyes, seeming to have rid herself of all the tears she could and now seeming calmer.

They sat like that for a while. She breathed and came back to herself, he contemplated how awful he had been to her before. Tav was larger than life, but even she was only flesh and blood. The weight on her shoulders was more than he could even imagine. He’d never been more sure about his decision to offer his help when the time came, anything to lighten her load.

For a moment he thought she might have passed out until she spoke.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Rolan felt struck by lightning by the change of subject. “You — do you want me to kiss you?”

Tav opened her eyes, albeit somewhat blearily she smiled mischievously. “Don’t be dumb,” she said, “you know I do.”

“I do not know that,” he said defensively.

“Well now you do,” she leaned forward, her hands still curled into his robes. Her eyes slid shut again and Rolan tilted his head and leaned in, unable to resist the magnetic force that she seemed to emanate as their lips came closer.

Her breath smelt so strongly of wine, he suddenly outstretched his arms to keep her at a safe distance. “You’re drunk,” he scolded. Whether it was her or himself he was scolding, was unclear.

“Yes.” She nodded and then seemed to get dizzy from the motion

“We should get you to bed.”

“Oh?”

“Stop it,” he tried not to laugh, but it didn’t work. “You’re going to bed to sleep.”

“That isn’t fun.”

“I’m not fun,” he reminded her. “I’m a prick with a stick up my arse, as my sister so kindly put it.”

“Sorry, Rolan,” Tav said seriously, “wasn’t paying attention. Whose prick is going in whose arse? Because m’not equipped — I guess we could buy one but at this hour?“

“Bed!” Rolan said immediately.

“No,” she whined, “I’m sleeping up here.”

“You are not.”

“I am,” she said, draining the last of her bottle only to have it yanked away from her. “You can’t carry me down the ladder.”

It was said petulantly, with a singsong voice and a cackle of laughter afterwards, but she was right. Rolan grabbed at the pillows and blankets Alfira had snuck up and threw together a makeshift bed. He shoved at her shoulder until she laid back and she sighed happily, turning onto her side.

“I like when we get along.” She said in a quiet voice.

“Me too.”

After a while he laid on the ground. His feet faced her head and there was a safe amount of distance, in case anyone found them. He didn’t need her friends getting the wrong idea if they found them, he was already sure Astarion wanted to kill him.

He felt something pulling at one of his horns and his eyes slid open. Tav was over him, trying to lift his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Pillow,” she said plainly. “Head up.”

He allowed her to place one under his head, and then rested back. When she laid back down, her fingers brushed against him. Barely noticeable, only The back of her knuckles pressed against his. He curled one finger around hers and she did the same. As he looked down, even in the darkness her arms still had marks from whatever had happened when she put on that ring in the tower.

After a few days with no other side effects, they had all assumed it had been some kind of magic attachment that hadn’t taken full hold. The lines were thin, barely there, but he considered what it could have been. After all the work that had to be done at the shop, it had slipped his mind to research it. At least now he had something to do to keep his mind off of her running to infiltrate the new archduke’s home and murder him.

“Why didn’t you come?” Her voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Gale wanted to teach you,” she mumbled, “and I… have that bottle for you.”

Things had happened so fast, getting Cal and Lia settled, being thrust into owning not just a massive home but a very popular magical goods shop had made him forget that night entirely. He had made it all the way to the door of the Elfsong, skin still stinging from Lorroakan’s ‘training’ just the hour before.

“I got as far as the front door,” he said, “and turned around.”

“Why?”

“I was… overwhelmed.”

“Oh.”

He said nothing in response and after a few moments he heard her start to snore. With a sigh he settled in and closed his eyes. The stone roof was a poor substitute for his new large, exceedingly comfortable bed in the tower. Leaving her side seemed far from worth it to sleep in his own bed, even if she did snore.

Thank you so much for reading!

Next Chapter

#rolan fic #rolan x tav #rolan x reader #bg3 fanfiction #olly writes

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the-masked-ram · 9 months ago

Text

Flawed Hope- Chapter Four

CW: NSFW, Fem OC, Slow Burn, Isekai, Vampirism (do I even need to warn this), Canon Divergent, enemies to lovers, mental health issues, spoilers for BG3 ---

Chapter Four: Friendly Ambush

Brit knew she was rushing things. She had talked to Wyll about his quest to find the demon ‘Karlach’. Yet there were bits and pieces he left out. Bits and pieces he hadn’t left out in the game. There was distrust in his words, in his face, in this world that Brit wasn’t used to.

Her thoughts drifted back in time as their fractured group wound their way deeper into the wilds.

The Blade of Frontiers rushed in like the hero she knew him to be, even with his pact and the desperation he showed to be more. Brit had smiled when he blasted a goblin away from her back, but his eyes weren’t on her, instead they were on his opponent. A truly battle-hardened warrior. Always ready for the next dance when war raged.

When she’d talked to him inside the encampment, observing him teaching sword lessons to a young tiefling, she couldn’t help the way her lips curled into a smile. It had been a stressful day; she was convinced everything would be settled once she woke up again. Still seeing Wyll being himself, was nice.

He greeted her more warmly than she expected.

“The Blade of the Frontiers at your service,” he bowed with a flourish, a smile quirking his lips slyly. “Though you can just call me Wyll.”

Their tadpoles connected almost instantly. The pain was excruciating as the worm inside her mind burrowed excitedly, reacting to another of its kind. The memories she saw, the sensations she felt were almost too much.

Her body wasn’t her own, she was no longer in the Grove. Instead, she was in a place she recognized as Avernus, the hells and underbelly of the realm. Fire licked at the world around her, her body ached, she sported an injury that wouldn’t stop stinging and she could barely ignore. The sticky texture of drying blood made her armor uncomfortable. Yet her gaze was trained on the frontlines across from her. The hellish creature raising the great battleaxe and giving out a great bellow as a barbarian’s rage engulfed her.

She jerked away from the memory, gasping and Brit barely managed to stay standing. She blinked at him.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“You were on the ship,” Wyll said at the same time.

Brit nodded and fell silent waiting for him to respond.

“She is the worst. A demon’s champion, and someone I’m hunting down,” he spat.

Once again, the paraphrasing, but the biggest worry for her was that he never once mentioned Karlach’s name, he never explained anything more. He didn’t ask for help. He ended the conversation there and Brit felt something was immensely off, especially when he almost spoke to her again but seemed to think better of it and pressed his lips into a thin line.

“So where is Wyll?” Brit asked over her shoulder at the others.

She was actually glad he wasn’t here. It would make things simpler. She already had too many things to worry about, she didn’t want his revenge getting in the way and making things stickier. Her eyes scanned the trees, searching out the rocky outcropping near the water that she would find Karlach at.

“He was talking to the druids. Said something about catch up if we took too long,” Gale offered.

“Tsck, like we need the warlocks help. We have plenty of fire power with us,” Lae’zel hissed her disapproval.

“He just wants to make sure we all get back in one piece. Like I do,” Shadowheart said with exasperation.

Astarion stayed unusually silent, but he also walked closest to Brit, his light strides bringing him to move even with her. She swore he took pleasure in pressing her every button. She needed space right now. She wanted to figure out how she did what she did earlier. How had she tapped into Ritlyn? It would be so damned useful she could just do that during a fucking battle. Was that really too much to ask?

“Stop here,” she said, her hand splaying out beside her as if to add extra security.

Thick blood splatches coated nearby greenery and showed an obvious trail on the ground. Even Brit as she was now could follow it.

“Did you know this was going to be here?” Shadowheart asked suspiciously.

Brit supposed it seemed like she had led them here. Especially with how intent her footsteps had been and how easily she had stopped right before disturbing the blood trail. Shadowheart wasn’t wrong, she had come here intentionally.

The lodge sat just on the hill above them but as Brit moved forward, without answering the cleric, she skirted around the cliff.

“Hey! I asked a question,” Shadowheart’s hand wrapped around Brit’s arm.

She felt that bristling desire rise inside her again, her irritation rising to a full defensive anger. She shoved it down. Instead, she cast a look over her shoulder, cold and annoyed. Don’t ask questions, her expression screamed. Though the words said something different.

“Not here,” she hissed quietly.

Anxiety and anticipation were beginning to win out over any other emotions she was feeling. They were quivering intensely in her stomach, like a living beast waiting to be hatched. “Just… I’ll explain,” she said, though she had no intention of doing so. “But later.”

Her eyes skipped in front of her.

“Let her go, Shadowheart, she’s right. Now isn’t the time,” Gale said, projecting some sort of authority in his voice that he didn’t own amongst the ragtag group.

Shadowheart’s expression pinched tight, but she dropped her grip on Brit all the same.

“You will explain later, Drow, to all of us,” Lae’zel said, moving past the two of them.

Brit wouldn’t, not all of it. She forced the creeping anxiety down, brushing off the questions she knew they’d asked later out of her head. It wouldn’t help worrying about it now. She needed to focus. If she was right Karlach would be right around…

“Steady there,” a sharp voice said.

“Fuck,” Brit hissed and looked straight across the small gorge, where a cross bow was pointed between her eyes.

The others bristled behind her, but she held up her hand to stop anything from happening. She was injured, this wasn’t how Brit originally met her in game. What happened? Flames licked over her skin, so real and even standing this far from her Brit could feel heat radiating from them. Like warmth on a summer’s day. Standing closer would likely be unbearable.

The wound on her side was shallow but bled in great pulses. Brit tilted her head, had she disrupted something by coming early?

“Are you okay? You’re hurt,” Brit said, taking a step forward.

“Stay there,” Karlach hissed, her tail lashing behind her.

“Listen we aren’t—,” Brit’s explanation was cut off as a familiar voice bellowed from Karlach’s side of the river.

“Devil!” Wyll yelled, charging in from the bushes directly on Karlach’s side, drawing his rapier and his hand burning bright with his contracted powers.

Brit froze, panic rose in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. No, no, no! Before anything could happen, before anyone could stop her, as Karlach swung to face the new threat, Brit leapt halfway into the river.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as an Eldritch Blast landed just a few spots from where she planned to throw herself. She jumped once more and landed right where the rocks were scorched black.

Instantly she drew her sword, her instincts kicking in, urging her to protect herself, to survive. Wyll paused, his eyes skipped over to the others who had also drawn their weapons though seemed more hesitant than Brit was.

“What are you doing!?” he yelled. “This is the monster I was telling you about.”

Then Brit felt the pulse, the wriggle, the biting pain as her tadpole reached out to Karlach’s. Excitement filled the parasite once again, finding another of its own, eager to share. Brit carefully redirected her thoughts, trying to remember her past from here and not from the mundane world she once called home.

She knew that bits of her memories could be shown but she wasn’t sure how far it could go, she wasn’t sure what would be pulled forth by the invasive little beasts. Soon enough she wasn’t worried about that though, not when her breath was being stolen from her lungs, and time seemed to freeze.

Fire burned around her, blood splattered the ground and ran in great rivers into large pools. It stank of metal, burned flesh, and death. Brit wasn’t herself, she felt things she would never normally feel, excitement, rage, and bloodlust. The desire to win filled her, the desire to rip flesh from bone, but there was something else. Unending agony, desperation for freedom, to get away from an overwhelming presence.

She pulled away from the recollection, gasping and falling to her knees. She felt like she was going to vomit. The phantom scent of the Blood War was still stuck in her nose. Oh god, her stomach turned on itself.

“Don’t move any c-closer,” Brit spat, holding up a shaking hand that betrayed her weakness.

Wyll took a step anyway. Survive, surged through her as her eyes fell onto the glow of his hand. She stood on shaking legs and raised her sword. Wyll’s good eye flicked to the group standing across the river, the group that seemed to be supporting her. For some fucking reason she was so grateful to, they were taking her side.

“Wyll, she wasn’t in control of herself,” Brit said as calmly as possible, trying to shove down her rising panic and her nausea.

“What do you mean?” Wyll crinkled his nose, pausing, hesitancy, suspicion in his expression.

Brit called on the parasite for the first time willingly, something she was sure wouldn’t be for the last time. She shoved the memory at him, focusing on the last emotions, the feeling of helplessness as she lived through Karlach, seeing her own great axe cleave through others on the battlefield.

Wyll physically jerked back with a scowl, the suspicion dimming on his face, but his hesitancy still stayed. The sickly glow of his hand didn’t dissipate completely but it sputtered. Brit looked over at Karlach.

“I was a slave,” Karlach said. “The only reason I’m free now is because of that damned Nautiloid. For all the bad it did, does, it did me some good.”

Astarion hummed in response, as if he was agreeing. Brit felt her heart twist. So many of them were doing better because of the parasites. She hated knowing what lay before them. She hated not being able to tell them because she wasn’t sure what it would do, and she wasn’t sure how her presence would change things.

Karlach seemed to collapse in upon herself as she remembered, “Do you know what it’s like to have no choice? Zariel…”

She shook her head and her tail curled around her legs; she looked unbelievably small in that moment.

“But I’m free now,” she nodded excitedly. “I can’t touch anyone, yet, but maybe.... Anyway, my engine runs too hot here. So don’t get too close. I don’t want to fight; besides it seems like you’ve done a lot of work on our little problem?”

She knocked her first against her skull. Brit sighed and looked at Wyll, there was a reduced light in his eyes, like he knew what she was saying. As if he understood, Brit’s eyes skipped over to Astarion, whose emotions were more guarded, but she knew. She knew just how much Karlach’s words resonated with him.

“Right…,” Brit said, narrowing her eyes at Wyll. “So can we stop with all the weapons now?”

Brit was the first to put her sword in her sheathe despite the screaming in her head. Despite the grasping desperate hands of Ritlyn trying to convince her that this was dangerous. Wyll looked down at his rapier, at his palm, bit his lip and nodded. Brit wouldn’t let him fall to his contract, not for long, she swore that to him silently.

“Well, aren’t you a diplomat,” Astarion said as the rest of the group joined the three of them on the other side.

Shadowheart was busy healing Karlach, earning a smile from the tiefling. The rest seemed to busy introducing themselves to notice Astarion lingering beside Brit, almost close enough that his chest was brushing her shoulder.

“Personal space, Astarion,” Brit sighed, trying not to twitch, trying not to breathe in the bergamot and rosemary.

“You might have your uses yet, Ranger,” he whispered in her ear, closer than he needed to be, and fuck if she didn’t notice the way darkness sat in those words.

If she failed to be useful, she knew where she would end up. She knew she would become just another snack for him or find herself on the end of his blade. She knew too much, and she knew with her current lack of luck she was going to fuck up somehow. She shivered and she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from the way he brushed past her, letting his shoulder drag across hers. It was a barely-there touch, featherlight and didn’t even make her stumble, but it was enough to make her aware of emotions she thought she’d gotten rid of. Fuck he was still damned good at seduction, even when he wasn’t trying.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x fem oc #astarion #fanfiction

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