#what if geraldus was at last light inn

[redroomroaving]

Don't burn alone in the dark (Rolan x Geraldus, G, what-if one shot)

The wizard is hurting, drinking himself useless as he waits at Last Light Inn, refusing to let anyone get close to his pain. Geraldus, trying to hold on to hope in the dark, can't help but see it. (Aka: What if Geraldus was with the Harpers at Last Light Inn?)

He was there again; at the bar.

Geraldus slid the bow from his shoulder, resting it on the table as he took a seat, glancing across the length of the inn at the figure at the other end, slumped over, a wine glass in hand, eyes staring into oblivion.

Tumeril was saying something, but he wasn’t really listening; distracted as he took in the tiefling and felt the familiar, aching pang of guilt in his chest.

They hadn’t been fast enough; by the time they’d made it to the source of the noise - the crash of thunder and clatter of swords that had echoed even in this place that seemed to swallow up all sounds - it was too late.

Bodies strewn across the floor already, and there, gathered in dark in a cluster - just a few left; a young woman with lavender hair was shielding two of the small children - children, mostly, were left - and there, chest heaving and eyes wide, flecks of fresh blood across his cheeks - the wizard.

He must have spent nearly all he had to fight them off, his limbs shaking as Geraldus’ compatriots rushed to their side, quickly gathering up the children and fighting back the last of the retreating cultists.

He could still remember what he said as he approached him - those gold eyes meeting his, glowing there in the dark.

“They took them,” he said, “I have to go after them I have to -”

Geraldus took a deep breath as he watched him across the bar now; recognising how absolutely defeated he looked. They hadn’t been fast enough, and the tiefling had lost his family for it. No amount of wine was going to change that, but he seemed determined to try.

“-again once the others are ready to take back over, I guess. We’re not going to find them, though.”

Geraldus glanced back at Tumeril, realising he’d barely heard a word of that, but understood his sense of defeat. They’d lost more than a few already to this place and the unending dark; he knew why Tumeril thought it pointless to try and find survivors at the cost of more lives.

“We can’t give up,” Geraldus said quietly, looking at a pair of the tiefling children huddled together in one corner, playing games together to pass the time, “there’s still…”

Tumeril laughed sharply, shaking his head.

“You’re too naive,” he said, “they’re already dead, Geraldus.”

Maybe he was right. It was getting harder, the more nights they spent in this place, to hold on to the threads of hope that Geraldus had always kept so tight, but he wanted to try.

It all felt like a nightmare that didn’t end, no matter how many times you woke up.

Every morning the sky was still black, and in this place it was always the middle of the night, all of them clinging desperately to the light; even as they bristled against one another in these confines - the Flaming Fist no less frustrated than they were, the refugees struggling to stay afloat, and the High Harper there in the middle of all of it - her sharp gaze overseeing everything.

She was talking quietly now to another; an elf finely dressed in an elegant dress, with dark hair who seemed to be responsible for the Fist. They’d arrived a few days back now, before they’d found the tieflings, and had spent most of their time gathered in one of the side rooms formulating a plan.

Everyone seemed to be looking for a plan; but as each day passed, the hours all starting to blend together, he could feel the weight of this starting to bury them all, one by one.

It wasn’t too late; Geraldus was sure of it. He’d picked up tracks this time - found a path towards the edges of Reithwin, the path to Moonrise Towers; some, at least, had not been pulled away with the cultists. Someone had made it to shelter there in the ruins; he felt sure of it, and he prayed that whoever they were, they were staying safe.

We’ll find you, he told himself, and we’ll find the rest of them, too.

His eyes drew back to the bar; the tiefling’s voice was raised, not quite a shout but close to it, carrying across the bar as he addressed the woman; the bard with the lavender hair.

“A song?” He was saying, voice sharp and filled with spite, “oh of course, what could possibly help more?”

“Rolan-” the bard was saying, a soft, sorrowful look on her face, “I’m just…”

“No please, Alfira,” the wizard replied, leaning back a little, his glass lurching in his hand, a little wine spilling across his hand that he was heedless to stop, “do play us a song, I’m sure this captive audience will appreciate your caterwauling.”

“It will help pass the time whilst we wait to find out just how many of us died for you to get here,” he said, every word sharper than the last.

Geraldus fiddled a little with the edge of his arm-guard, watching as the bard sighed deeply; watching her features crushed with hurt as she crumpled with defeat, slinking away, a glittering of tears in her eyes as she did.

“At least we’ve got quite the supply for them to drown their sorrows,” Tumeril said wryly across the table, eyeing this unfolding scene, “although at the rate they’re going, we won’t have that either soon.”

Geraldus watched the wizard’s face; the victory was fleeting - his face triumphant for only a moment at the bard’s retreating back before the spectre of reality set in, a shard of something impossibly lost, the rawness of mourning fresh and burning, flitting across his features.

The tiefling slumped back against the bar, lifting his glass to his lips, and, finding half of it across his sleeve instead, let out a string of curses under his breath, face turning spiteful again as he rolled up the edges of his cuff with a hiss.

Geraldus watched as he held his glass out again, demanding another. One of the children, glancing at the other nervously, reached for a bottle and poured it.

Geraldus thought faintly that perhaps someone ought to intervene, or at the very least, that the children shouldn’t be behind a bar at all.

“I’d get a drink myself,” Tumeril said, “but I don’t fancy being in that one’s blast radius.”

Geraldus glanced back to Tumeril then.

“He’s lost his family,” Geraldus said quietly, “he’s hurting.”

The tiefling had tried to rush after his family even then, as they had gathered up the others to pull them back to safety. He’d watched as Skywin had grabbed one of the children and lifted them onto her back, calling the retreat.

“Geraldus, there’s no time for this - we have to go.”

He’d reached for the tiefling just as his shaking legs gave out, and helped to pull him to his feet, listening as his compatriots had promised the wizard that they would go after them as soon as they could - that he just had to come with them now first.

Geraldus hadn’t made the same promise, only helped to hold up his arms as they pulled him with them.

“We’ve all lost people,” Tumeril said, a little sombre now, “they’re out there right now paying respects to the three we lost just today.”

Geraldus had seen them, clustered out there on the outcrop by the side of the inn, looking out on the strange light that surrounded them; this false sky conjured by the Cleric above, saying their prayers for the fallen.

“You don’t see the blacksmith drinking himself useless,” Tumeril added, blonde brow raising slightly.

But the blacksmith could still hammer; the bard could still play; the children still had one another to play with, the Harpers had their mission, the Fist had their charge to protect.

The wizard, though?

What could he do other than wait? No wonder he felt so powerless.

“No one should be powerless,” Geraldus said quietly. Tumeril let out a little sigh, reminded, glumly, of their tenets.

“No one should be powerless,” he agreed.

He thought of going to the bar - not that he wanted to drink, he never really did - but then thought better of it.

Tumeril had been right about one thing; around that man at the bar was a tempest, and no one that stepped close would be able to cut through those waves until the storm had passed. He’d condemned himself to facing it alone, and the thought of that created a little uncomfortable swell of sadness in Geraldus’ gut.

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his heart from aching a little for him; sitting there, his pain spilling out behind the sourness on his face, a pyre burning in silence.

What had she called him, the bard? Rolan.

He committed the name quietly to his memory. Rolan.

–

Rolan’s head was swirling as he leant against the cold stone, letting his forehead press against it for a moment in a vain effort to stop the spinning.

Stepping outside had been a mistake - some loose headed notion that the air would help stop the sensation that he was on the deck of a lurching ship, the ground perilously close to rising up and meeting him as he took each step - but of course, there was no fresh air here - not in this place.

No wind. No stars. Just more spinning and darkness and the images of them - of Lia’s face, her amber eyes burning bright and wide, telling him it would be ok, that they would be ok, of Cal’s hands wrenched behind his back - the sword clattering from his side as he shouted in defiance of the face of his captors.

The feeling, like ice through his heart as he realised there was nothing else he could do to stop this, hearing the sounds of crying behind him - and knowing that no matter how his heart was tearing apart - if he left them these children would die.

Fuck, he thought, feeling the soft scrape of the stone against his skin as he let his forehead slide just a little down the wall, they could be dead already. They’re dying. I’m here and they’re dying and I can’t think and I -

Here, alone, with the swirling void beneath him and just the feeling of stone to anchor him before it swallowed him up, he had no more defences left to stop the tears. They were falling now, whether he wanted them to or not.

Crying, Rolan? You’re crying now like that means anything to them? A tear shed for their loss is as useful as one of Alfira’s fucking songs. It doesn’t help anyone but you.

His stomach was turning now, the spinning sensations starting to lurch in his gut too now, and he could feel it - the wine rising in his throat; his evening of poor decisions ready to stage an encore.

His hand went to his mouth, a vain attempt to stop it before it started, but it was too late - he felt himself retching already.

He span in place and gravity finally claimed him, feeling himself falling forward to the floor with his mind still half in the air, everything feeling a little as if it were happening a few seconds later and a few steps away.

He heaved as an unstoppable wave of wine and iron and bile rose up through his throat.

In his dizzy mind, he hoped, at least, nobody was around to see this particularly heroic display of vomiting.

Alas; that hope was quickly dashed.

He was still spinning, unable to even really look up as he felt a presence beside him, kneeling - fingers reaching, carefully and tentatively, to pull his hair back from his face. He felt those fingers drawing his hair together and gathering it at his nape; and wondered when it had even come loose.

He was still heaving; painful, sharp lurches through his gut that he couldn’t stop, a whole night’s worth of wine determined to make a second appearance.

He was aware of the fingers on his neck the whole time, a hand placed on his shoulder and guiding his wobbling body slightly to lean some weight against them, crouched.

“It’s ok Rolan,” a voice, soft, unfamiliar, was saying, “you’re ok.”

He was grateful at least his tears would be disguised like this; his eyes watering now from the sudden sickness just as much as the pain.

Finally, as it started to cease, he reached up and wiped at his lips with his sleeve. Well; at least he didn’t feel quite as swirling any more; the pain in his gut and the horrible, sharp smell of bile dragging him rather abruptly back towards something more sober.

He let his other hand steady himself against the stranger’s knee, feeling himself shaking a little and trying, desperately, to stop doing so. After a moment that felt far longer than it was, Rolan managed to lift his head, and braved himself to meet their eyes.

He blinked away the watering of his eyes, and found himself looking at a familiar face; one he’d seen only once before, but one he remembered.

He’d heard his saviours before he saw them - a sharp arrow shot striking into the chest of the looming cultist, sending it crumpling to the floor, a deadly hit. Then, to his side, a streak of magic, and the clattering sound of approaching footsteps and metal scraping, armour and swords.

A pair of wide, hazel eyes, dark hair framing soft features, drawn together in concern, a hand placed on his shoulder, the other still clutching a longbow.

“They took them,” he had said, trying to get the stranger to understand that it wasn’t him that mattered, “I have to go after them, I have to-”

Those same eyes were looking at him again now, dark brows drawn together in gentle concern.

He didn’t know what to say; his mind still too filled with haze, his body still wavering, the taste of bile on his lips reminding him just how little dignity he had in this moment.

“Don’t worry,” the stranger said, releasing his gentle grip on Rolan’s hair, and after a moment, whispering in a low voice, words echoing with arcane energy, “te absolvo.”

Rolan felt it; a wave of energy rippling out from the stranger’s grip on his shoulder, spreading out across his body, washing over his mind like water, soothing and cool against the heat and pain that occupied his skull.

As it lapped through him, he felt a little bit of his own mind returning, but not as it had been before the wine, not filled with shrapnel and anger, but simple, clean, feeling like the moment of waking, that blissful space before you remembered all of the details of life that waited in the day.

He was lifting him, slowly, carefully to his feet. Rolan felt himself wobbling, his legs not quite steady enough, and let his weight lean into the stranger's body a moment, unable to do anything else.

His body felt solid, and warm, and a much better anchor than the cold wall had been.

“We should get back inside,” the stranger said gently, “there’s a door, through the back - it’s quieter.”

Rolan pulled back, testing his own feet a moment, and the stranger released his grip. The strange false moonlight was reflected in his eyes, looking at him, aching and genuine in a way that made the creeping sense of shame in Rolan’s gut grow.

What are you doing? Rolan thought, what is the point of you, Rolan?

“I don’t need your help,” he managed, wanting the shame to stop and not knowing how else to get it to stop other than to get this man to stop looking at him.

The stranger smiled; just a small one, the tiniest curve at the edge of his lips.

“No, you don’t,” he said, “but you can have it, anyway.”

Rolan felt a twist now, in his chest; an unexpected sensation there he was struggling to identify, battling with the guilt and misery, and not knowing what to do with any of it. He was exhausted, now, and the world still felt too loose for him to stay in it much longer.

So, he nodded.

“I’m not thanking you,” he said quickly, even though he wasn’t quite sure why he did.

The man smiled again.

“You don’t have to,” he said simply, and then started walking, slowly, leading the way.

As Rolan trailed after him, doing his best to keep his steps steady, he noticed the half-elf glancing back at him, eyes darting across him, making sure Rolan was following him.

He was tall, dressed in impressive armour; a little more notable than many of the other Harpers he’d seen lingering about, not that he had paid any of them any particular attention. He hadn’t cared to learn anything about any of them - they mattered even less than he did.

Still, as they rounded the corner, heading towards the back door, he found himself asking a question.

“Who are you?” He asked.

The man looked a little surprised, but smiled, brushing a little hair back over a pointed ear as he reached for the door handle.

“I’m Geraldus,” he said.

Thank you, Geraldus, he thought, silently, holding the name in his mind a moment before it slipped back into the haze.

[al9ayf]

Could I request headcanons for Cal, and Geraldus finding out their f!s/o has suicidal thoughts please?

it was a little hard to do this one but i tried my best. also im so sorry for taking so long to do this request i could not think of anything!!!! but im lowkey so proud of this one.

ᥫ᭡ suicidal thoughts | cal, geraldus

｡˚ explicit content :: thoughts of suicide ofc

ʚ cal:

you and cal have been childhood friends and ended up dating each other. lia and rolan helped set the two of you up on a date after relentlessly teasing the both of you for months

everything was perfect. life was great. you and cal had a healthy relationship. you never once argued unless it was over something small or as a joke. you even thought about the idea of marriage and how amazing it would be to raise children in elturel

then the fall came, and your life drastically changed. you managed to escape with the three siblings, but in the process had to say your final goodbyes to your parents, not knowing if you would ever see them again. you were shaken and torn from the incident, but cal helped you through it. he was the most peaceful tiefling a person could know

still, his wise words and calming presence could not shake you back to reality. it was traumatizing to live through the fall, and at times you found yourself snapping at cal, only to profusely apologize to him at night with kisses. he accepts your apology every time, and it angers you how he could still be so forgiving

at the druid’s grove, rolan asked for days and days to leave for baldur’s gate. you agreed with him, and argued with cal about it. he tried to be peaceful about it while you and roman argued with lia. he tried to be the mediator. he was always the one in this group to keep tensions low but it was not working. finally, when the group of adventurers managed to convince you and rolan to stay did the arguments come to an end. and again, you apologized to cal who admitted to you that it hurt him how you were being so cruel. you were not the only one to lose everything during the fall of elturel

on the road to baldur’s gate, you were ambushed by the cultists. you tried to protect cal but you took a slash to the back of your knee. rolan saved most of the group, but could not fend off the cultists for long. he picked you up and ran, while you screamed for cal

while rolan drank himself away at the bar in last light inn, you rotted away in a bed with bandages on your knee. you were advised not to walk for a little while since the cuts were deep. but you could not care. cal and lia were gone. the love of your life was gone. how could such an amazing person’s life be taken away just like that? what you would do to hear his sweet voice one more time

rolan comes to you at night and sits at the edge of your bed. he is drunk and rambling. he yells and kicks, but you lay on your side and stare at the wall while crying silent tears. he fills it in your head that they are both dead. that you will have no children. that you will never know a smile again in your life. he does that every night and then passes out on the floor beside you to make sure you do not die as well. but rolan does not know how you wish to die

finally, when you are able to walk again, you go outside to relish in the cold air. your eyes are dry and your lips are cracked. you refuse to eat and drink little water. cal is gone. most of your friends are gone. rolan will die by drinking himself away and there is no possible way to leave the shadowlands alive. you wish to see cal one more time

each step you take towards the darkness is a step to cal. his sweet words of comfort is all you wish to hear. you are blinded by false images of him beckoning you outside of the globe of light protecting the inn. yet before you can even exit, you feel somebody stopping you. it is rolan, and he yells at you. you tell him you wish to die. that no life is worth living after what has happened to all of you

“have you no wish to see your sister and brother again?! their bodies gone, but their souls live! if i can give up life to see cal again, i will give it up a thousand times over. don’t you want to see them, rolan? don’t you?”

he does not reply. he gets mad and runs back inside the inn back to the bar. you rush after him, only to stop when you see the adventurers with a group of tieflings and gnomes. you hear familiar voices and see a pair of familiar horns

cal comes rushing to you, embracing you and kissing you. you are too stunned to speak or move. you do not return his kisses. he is alive. and just as you were about to give up yours, he has returned to you in the flesh. you cry into his arms and fall to the floor with him

cal knows that you are happy to see him again, and he expects prayers and praises but all you tell him is how you had almost killed yourself to see him again. you thought him dead, and yet here he was. cal breaks at your words

he starts to cry too, and hugs you tightly. he curses himself for getting kidnapped and for not being able to protect you. but at least he has come back just in time to save you. he cried with you, and promises that with the help of the adventurers, the both of you will live a promising life in baldur’s gate

ʚ geraldus:

you and geraldus met before you two became harper’s. it was love at first sight. for years you have dated now, and geraldus was hoping to propose after the cult of the absolute would be defeated. the both of you were strong, and with jaheira and her companions by your side, the possibilities of a victory against the cult was high

while in baldur’s gate, jaheira ordered to find the rashemaar. it took days before you could even find a lead, but within those days geraldus started to get on your nerves. he was supposed to lead this group to prove his worth as a harper. but he has done no such thing. you see the fear in those eyes. and there is nothing you hate more than fear

you argued with him about it. he needed to get it together or everything would go to shit. if he were to hesitate for even a moment, he would get killed. geraldus stuttered while trying to promise you that such a thing wouldn’t happen, yet it only angered you more. you did not sleep with him that night. instead, your last words to him before you left to sleep at an inn was “you are too weak to be a harper. maybe it is best you return home, geraldus.”

the next morning you returned to the camp to the sight of a bloodbath. the bhaalists had come and taken everybody, and you were the only one left. you hurled at the sight of the bhaal symbol painted with blood of what you immediately assumed to be geraldus’. he was taken and killed. you threw up some more and cried

you are a harper. you must remain strong. but the death of your beloved hung in the air, and the stench of iron overwhelmed you. you felt like shit. you had told him to basically fuck off and left him all alone. you could have protected him. you could have died with him. but you left. this was your fault

you cried and cried, but then left to find jaheira in the city. your heart has been shattered. but you promised yourself one thing. once you help jaheira, you will reunite with geraldus wherever he may be. his laughter rings in your ears, and even the sight of a man with black hair tricks your mind into thinking it is him. though it is not. you will never see him again for as long as you live, and that thought shatters your broken heart into even more pieces

after meeting jaheira at entharl's shop, you alerted her to what has happened, and almost broke down in tears if it wasn’t for her contradicting you. she said that she had received a letter recently from geraldus to meet here and speak about the rashemaar, and you tell her that is not possible. it must be a doppelgänger. she says you shall find out right now

after coming face to face with “geraldus” and the group of harper’s you were with, you quickly were enraged. his eyes were teary and worrisome at the sight of you

“you hide underneath your cloaks and wear the skin of people we love! have you not once felt the touch of the sun or the kiss of a loved one?! do you not remember what it feels like to be loved?! do you despise me so that you wear the skin of my partner?!”

“geraldus” stumbles over his words and tries to clam you down. he does not know what to say to convince you to believe that it is him and that he has lived. but you are already crying and shaking your head. you yell at him and say that you shall meet with the real geraldus soon after you kill them all. that you have thought about a hundred different ways how you will end your life and these bhaalists. they will not take you

yet when he speaks the words “may selûne’s tears shine on this meeting” only then do you know it is the real him

after killing the doppelgänger’s and reuniting with geraldus, he is the first to cry. he admitted that he hesitated when the group came to kill the harper’s, and that he was glad you were not there to witness it. he cannot blame you for thinking that he had died, for he would have done the same thing. a life without you is a life not worth living. he has envisioned a life with children with you. you are the only one that he wants, the only one that he needs. and he would rather die if a bhaalist took that away from him

you kiss and hug him, all while jaheira begs the both of you to rest

[electricaquarius]

I need to get changed for [Reasons], don’t look!

An offshoot of Isntthatrightzach's 'Don't burn alone in the dark' which has Geraldus at Last Light Inn alongside the other Harpers. Prompt comes from the lovely Harper Prince Hamlet discord server and this was our first fanwork sprint, it was super fun!

Summary: Rolan at Last Light before Cal and Lia are rescued seeks out Geraldus for some soothing cuddles, gets caught out by Jaheira. Light hijinks and heavy angst. Also on AO3!

Rolan lifted his head as Jaheira’s voice cut through Last Light, suddenly commanding and full of gravitas. Even during casual discussions she had an air of absolute authority, one that no doubt came from age and experience, but it was one Rolan couldn’t stand hearing right now. Amidst all the chaos, how could one possibly feel so sure of themselves? Around him the Harpers were in a flurry of activity. He was obviously out of place, having curled up next to the one source of comfort in this godforsaken hole that he could find: Geraldus. There were raised eyebrows and tutting, but none of them had the time to voice their grievances if they had any.

It had been an unspoken agreement between them that had settled in over the past couple of days. Rolan had drunkenly spilled his heart to the pretty half-elf one night precisely because he was a stranger, someone who could have no idea what he was going through. Geraldus had kept him company throughout the night, supplying water and Lesser Restoration when needed, but in a way that lacked the disgusting pity that many others had held in their eyes when trying to ‘help’ him. And so, on nights when either of the two couldn’t sleep, they found each other. Rolan still wasn’t quite privy to what it was that troubled Geraldus, and it made him feel the dull sting of guilt. Here he was, taking advantage of someone else’s charity, and he didn’t know a damn thing about him after all this. Rolan was vaguely aware of some brothers, a mother, but that was it. He didn’t even know their names.

Geraldus, very gently, disentangled himself from the tiefling’s body. His fellow Harpers were gearing up, some shucking off night clothes without a second thought. The first couple of times this had happened it gave Geraldus a little pause, but when they were all needed one couldn’t take the time to complain about a lack of privacy. The shadow curse was relentless, all-conquering, simply didn’t care for age or race or societal station. And if any one of them were to drag their feet for the sake of embarrassment, those precious seconds could cost a life. Rolan’s presence caused a stir in him that he couldn’t quite pinpoint but at the same time he had no time to dwell on it. 

And so, Geraldus set about donning his armour. Luckily he’d slept in an undershirt meaning that he’d just need to swap his breeches for his tougher, thicker ones that he used when on official business. It was at this point Rolan finally realised what was going on around him. He hadn’t been unaware of the physicality of his feelings towards Geraldus but instead tried to shove them down. He should be worried sick about his missing siblings, not contemplating matters of the flesh. He shook his head and got up quickly, unsure of where to look. He turned around and looked to the floor, muttering his apologies. Quite frankly he didn’t care what the rest of them thought of him, but for Geraldus to think he was some kind of lech or pervert… No, it wouldn’t do.

‘I-I am so sorry, I didn’t know, please excuse my rudeness’ He continued on, not quite sure how to stop the words spilling out of his mouth. Geraldus’ skin… the sight of it seemed sacred, somehow. Soft and warm, in that way unique to human skin. This didn’t feel right. These people, comrades though they may be, hadn’t earned the right to see even an inch of his bare skin, to know the pattern of freckles that dotted his arms, to behold the soft downy hair on his legs. Still, Rolan couldn’t help but glimpse the wide expanse of his thigh, the soft roundness of his ass, through his peripheral vision.

‘Wizard!’ Jaheira’s voice cut through the sound of shuffling and clanking. ‘I’d advise you to make yourself scarce’. She said, her voice laden with dry wit as it usually was. Rolan froze, wondering the best way to make his way out of the room when he realised the Harpers were largely all dressed. With time only for an apologetic look towards Geraldus and a sympathetic nod back from him, Rolan exited the room. His mind was swimming, barely able to parse what he’d just been through, let alone how he felt about it. He thought he was home free when Jaheira spoke again as he passed her. ‘A word.’ She commanded.

Rolan rubbed his head, still trying to shake off the sleep. ‘Please, if this is going to be a lecture, could it possibly wait until after you’re back from whatever heroics you have planned?’ It sounded sarcastic, Rolan had realised after the words had left his mouth, when it wasn’t really meant that way. Still, Jaheira didn’t show it if she was bothered by it.

‘I shall indeed make it brief, but not only for your benefit. My Harpers are needed at Moonrise Towers and require maximum focus if all of them are to make it out alive.’ She gave a pointed look to Geraldus. ‘I have little interest in your personal affairs but I will ask that you only resume your… dalliance once we’ve left this hellish place behind. Understood?’ She folded her arms and turned back to the Harpers, immediately giving them commands.

Rolan stood stunned for a moment, the feeling of being abandoned once again seeping into his bones. ‘Dalliance’. It was a term that bothered him greatly although he didn’t quite know why. He couldn’t possibly define what he and Geraldus had, but that definitely wasn’t the right word. The feeling of loss he felt at the half-elf’s absence was proof positive of that. Rolan had promised Wyll and his party that he’d stay put, that he’d only be a hindrance trying to go out and fight the curse once more. He’d wanted to stay with Geraldus more than anything but knew that in his state he would only cause more issues. He couldn’t possibly lose anyone else, not now. So instead he simply watched the Harpers file out, eyes fixed on the back of Geraldus’ head as he left.

And so he sat, staring into a mostly empty tankard and letting his thoughts race. He was scared for the lives of his siblings, but when it came to thinking of Geraldus it was different. It was a bone-deep terror that made him sick to his stomach even to consider. If only he’d tried harder, studied more, he’d be able to help them. And yet he hadn’t. Spiralling into self-loathing, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘Oi, horns. Pretty boy asked me to give this to you as he left.’ The halfling was one of the skeleton crew of Harpers that had been left behind to defend Last Light. The weak, the hopeless, those who would only get in the way. Rolan realised with a due sense of bitterness it was only him, Bex, Lakrissa, and the children left. Rolan took the note without a word, unfolding it to see Geraldus’ thin, looping script.

‘Rolan,

I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly, Jaheira is determined to take down Ketheric and end the curse once and for all tonight. I hate to leave you like this but I promise we’ll meet once more. I am bound for Rivington once this is all over, and I’d very much like you to introduce me to Cal and Lia. They must be wonderful people for them to mean so much to you.

Yours,

Geraldus’

Rolan bit his lip, folding the letter and placing it in his breast pocket. It was a promise then. All he could do at this point was to hold his breath and pray for all three of them. 

[redroomroaving]

Fic Masterlist & Geraldus Discord

Harper Prince Hamlet

First things first! You! Are you a fan of Harper Geraldus? Would you like to speak to other fans of the best Harper Prince?

Come join us in the Hamlet!

Masterlist of works:

Geraldus x Rolan

The Harper & The Tower: (E, updates x2 a week, Longfic) Geraldus & Rolan post game finding romance over books and healing, sugar, smut, good feelings, exploration of respective traumas and growing together.

Spring: (E, shortfic, WIP) Regency AU exploring Geraldus & Rolan, CW abuse, a huge amount of pining, forbidden romance, wet shirts etc

Don't burn alone in the dark: (T, what if, WIP) what if scenario exploring the game events with Geraldus at Last Light Inn, Rolan being a mess

H&T smut one shots:

The Habit of Perfection: poetry & smut, apologies to Gerard Manley Hopkins

A simple meal: cooking & smut, apologies to the Tower kitchen

Conjuring Majesty: balcony appreciation & Rolan feeling sorry for himself

A quiet retreat somewhere lovely dark & deep: cabin smut, apologies to Robert Frost

The aftershow: post opera smut, switching things up

Winter: Rolan failing at iceskating smut

Marked for prey: Spell battling sparring smut, apologies to most of the Ranger spell list

Donnick x Abdirak

Sufferer, I shall: (E, CW: BDSM, heavy themes, religious angst, COMPLETE) Loviatar & Ilmater stand in sworn opposition, and a badly injured Abdirak is recovering in the Temple of Ilmater. Exploration of contrasting gods of pain, romance & smut

Around willing whip, a rope bound: (E, CW: light BDSM, rope bondage, religious themes) Follow up and epilogue of sorts to Sufferer, I shall

To Suffer, to live: (E, CW: short smut, heresy, flagellation) continuation of S,IS & AWW, ARB

Small Sanctuary: (E) follow up, smut and fluff with some religious angst and soup cooking

Kar'niss x Klaus

Trusting. Trusted. (E, CW: Lore accurate drider content) What if Kar'niss was part of the Circus? A one shot romance exploration with a lot of support and sadness.

Conductor, Ringmaster (E, CW: More lore accurate drider stuff) Follow up from Trusting, Trusted, following Klaus x Kar'niss on some dates across the planes with the touring circus.

Geraldus x He Who Was

Of my sin: (E WIP, CW: trauma, dacryphilia) Shortfic, takes place in Act 3 following the Bhaalist cult, exploration of troubled relationships with returning to service.

They asked for no pickles: (HWW x Geraldus, E modern restaurant AU, COMPLETE) A little short fic because He Who Was loves pans that spawned out of a fic prompt challenge.

Shadowheart x He Who Was

Communion of shadows: (E, CW: Trauma, COMPLETE) Shadowheart/Shadar-kai mystery solving squad, exploring a lot of Shar/Ravenqueen lore and two really evasive people driving eachother insane

Halsin x M!Durge

On nights without much sleep: (E,CW: Durge stuff, COMPLETE) heavy on Redemption Durge angst, Halsin x Durge finding a lot of healing, nobody getting any sleep,

Klaus x Lia

A Dash of Scarlet: (E, smut one shot) spun off from H&T, shameless happy smut for Lia and Circus Husband

AUs:

The Red Harp: (HWWx Shadowheart, Rolan x Geraldus, E, Penny Dreadful AU) A monster hunting squad feat He Who Was, Shadowheart, Rugan, Geraldus, Jaheira, Minsc, Aradin and more to come.

Written in Glitter (or how we fell in love and took down a mega corporation along the way): (multi, Klaus x Kar'niss, Geraldus x HWW, Rolan x Haarlep, Abdirak x Donnick) modern au following the trials, tributions and loves of the roomates of 33 Rivington Place.