Chapter Text
Coffee isn’t how Rolan’s apprenticeship begins every morning. A wooden staff slams into his spine. Hells. I’ll barely be able to stand today. Grimacing, Rolan shakily inhales to straighten his back. Blood trickles down his chin from this morning’s prior blows.
“Disappointment as per usual, boy” Lorroakan sneers at him. “You should lick my boots clean since I stoop low enough to instruct a sniveling foulblood. Yet, you test me with imperfection at every turn.” He moves to inspect the caging runes. “We must always be ready for company, boy.” An air mymirdon hisses.
Fizzling blue sparks discharge from the Sundries portal. Finch emerges. Halsin, Jaheira, and Gale follow closely behind her. Clad in enchanted armor, they’re a fearsome site. A lava mymirdon trundles over to Lorroakan’s side.
“Encounter number two.” Finch says pointedly locking eyes with Rolan.
Radiant light pours in. Small white feathers float down onto the red-carpeted floor. Metal armor clangs loudly together. Dame Aylin arrives. “What have we here? A magician in a tower hiding away from the frightening world?”
***
Blood dollops spread across Ramazith’s Tower. Lorroakan’s jaw hangs slack. His spine broken atop Aylin’s knee. “I can’t believe it. He’s dead. You all did it.” Rolan stares astounded at the body of his former master. I can move Cal and Lia in. Home. We have a home again.
Finch’s tentative voice compels him out of overwhelmed analysis for his new circ*mstances. “Are you happy, Rolan?”
Turning to face her, his golden eyes light up. “Yes, the bastard’s in bits. I can move Cal and Lia in right away. Lorroakan refused to let them stay here. So much knowledge lays wasted on these shelves. I’ll share it with wizards, citizens of the Gate too.” Joy spreads over him. “You’ve shown me true leadership. All of this, my family, the tower, even my life, I owe to you. Take whatever you please except scrolls and books.” Rolan’s red hand gestures a wide sweep of air towards the tower’s expanses.
Finch’s weary eyes take in his movements. One eye is darkly blackened. Smoke still emanates from singed threads on her robe. “I’m glad you’re happy, truly. My companions deserve your thanks more than I. My magic is useless, as you so adeptly pointed out. Goodbye, Rolan.” She limps through the Sundries portal before Rolan can protest.
***
“She’ll come back. We’ve got a card game planned tonight.” Cal confidently asserts. Peach juice runs down his chin.
Lia nods and slides a linen napkin towards Cal. “No hatred could keep her from wiping the floor with Cal’s savings.”
“Hey!” Cal retorts mid-juice cleaning.
Rolan’s fingers mindlessly toy with peach slices on his own plate. Yesterday’s events freshly nestle into his happiest memories. Cal and Lia awestruck upon moving in. Their faces bright, happy, so hopeful as they walk around the mezzanine.
Cal promptly breaks an expensive potion. Glass shatters. Purple liquid soaks a plush red sofa. “Whoops.” He shrugs.
Lia delights over every enchanted blade and bow. “Gods! You’ll need to order new training targets for me once every tenday.” She beams. “I will. Anything.” Rolan laughs.
A bit of conjured water took care of Lorroakan’s last mortal traces. He’d burned the rest before sending for his siblings. Yet, Finch’s words hover at the edge of his mind. She can’t have truly meant goodbye forever. She must come back. I obviously don’t think her useless any longer. I couldn’t possibly.
“Rolan? The peach surrenders.” Lia’s concerned gaze causes him to look at the now shredded peach.
“Oh. My mind was elsewhere. Busy day ahead.” Rolan rises.
“Don’t you have a simulacrum to tend the shop now?” Cal asks.
“I do, but it’s not ready yet.” Rolan bluffs. I don’t want to miss her if she comes in.
***
Scrolls are sorted. Potions are cataloged. Tolna has been very quietly consulted with. Rolan’s claws tap against Sundries front counter. Master of Ramazith’s Tower and still head shopkeep. Gods. What has she done to me? His tail curls then uncurls impatiently.
Is that? Yes! She must be with them. Halsin’s towering form lumbers towards the desk. “Good afternoon, my friend. We need dimension door scrolls for our outing today.” Wyll patiently waits next to him.
Rolan’s patience went into the trash alongside his shredded breakfast. “Where is Finch?” He curtly asks, claws still tapping.
“Did you not hear her count of required visits yesterday? I clearly conveyed your desire not to see her. She indicated you relayed a similar message to her at Last Light.” Halsin’s bewildered eyes stare at down at the grouchy Tiefling.
“I didn’t mean…Zurgan. I thought she’d be an unnecessary distraction.” Rolan rubs his temples. Hells. Damnation. She really isn’t going to come back.
Halsin blissfully sighs. “A distraction, most certainly. But, unnecessary? She’s been nothing but helpful since we met. Nature’s bounty pales in comparison to the light she brings.”
Rolan glowers at him. “Have a pleasant day, Halsin.” He shoves dimension door scrolls into the large elf’s hands. Not too pleasant though.
***
Evening blankets Baldur’s Gate in soft darkness. Cal and Lia swiftly move to exit Sundries. “Where in the hells are you both going? I thought you were going to play cards with Finch.” Rolan’s peevishness is evident.
Cal’s eyes shift as though a resident water elemental might douse him unexpectedly. “She asked us to come play at the Elfsong.”
“Why?” Rolan’s mouth sets into a hard line.
Lia rolls her eyes. Cal squirms before offering. “You could come with us?”
“No. I want you all to play cards here. Give her this.” He snatches both quill and parchment from under the desk.
Finch,
Please, come talk to me. At your leisure. I am located in Ramazith’s Tower, upper city. You can also find me at Sundries.
Rolan Master and Archmage of Ramazith’s Tower.
PS. I am available any time.
Warm wax presses down to seal the letter from his siblings prying eyes.
“There! Off with you both.” He huffs. Now, I wait.
***
A cacophony of magic mixing with children’s delighted laughter is a permanent fixture of the lower city in front of Sorcerous Sundries. Tonight, however, there’s not a single wayward dancing light or conjured cat to be seen. Rolan’s nimble fingers send a silencing spell over the caster’s usual haunt. Quiet. I need quiet. Leather boot soles scuff against tile while Rolan paces. What if she doesn’t come? Gods. What if she tries to teleport here triggering a mass disintegration spell? His hands wring together.
A coppery iron scent tickles his nose. Blood? Rolan’s eyes snap upwards. Astarion prances towards the entrance. He’s absolutely coated in gore. Where’s Finch? Panic seeps into Rolan’s chest.
Astarion stands a short distance away from Rolan, not fully entering the building. Rolan allows his unspoken thought to materialize. “Where is Finch?”
Sad, red eyes forlornly stare into his. “She didn’t make it.” White curls droop as he hangs his head slightly.
“What?” Rolan barely recognizes his own strangled voice.
“You prick!” Finch’s furious voice rings out. “Asatrion, stop telling people I died. This will wear off. I could firebolt your eyebrows off as penance for all you know.” A dandelion puff of red hair emerges from a leather pocket on the Rogue’s armor.
“I’m right here, Rolan. We ran into some doppelgängers on our way over. I cast ice storm, which simultaneously shrunk me and enlarged Karlach. Cal and Lia are taking Wyll for everything he’s got at the Elfsong still.” Her annoyed face is now fully visible. She clings to the edge of Astarion’s pocket.
“Not that Karlach needed help in the enlargement area. Hey!” Astarion yelps in surprise. Claws reach into his pocket. Rolan snatches Finch out by her cape.
“Rolan! Put me down. What are you doing? You said you wanted to talk.” Her tiny legs kick angrily at air.
“I will not put you down. Someone could step on you. I will also not have a conversation with your smarmy friend present.” Rolan huffs. Gently, he sets Finch onto his shoulder. She takes two fistfuls of red fabric in her hands to not fall off.
Rolan heads into the Ramazith’s Tower portal before Astarion can finish his string elven cursing. Red carpet squishes underfoot as Rolan purposefully strides towards his room. An ornate door softly thuds shut behind him. He primly sits down on a round, very oversized bed.
Finch clings to his robe still. “If you squish me, Withers will just bring me back.” She warns.
Pinching her cape between his claws once again, he gently lowers her onto the red velvet blanket. She glares up at him with as much malice as her miniature eyes can muster.
Rolan nervously smoothes a few duvet wrinkles out. Finally, he begins. “Finch, I know I’ve been ill-tempered. I said I didn’t want to see you again, and I didn’t.”
Rolan cups his hand strategically next to Finch. Her attempts at scaling down the duvet successfully thwarted, he continues. “Cal and Lia are all I’ve had for a long time. Forever. When our mother died, I promised I’d do whatever I could to keep them safe. Though we’re not related by blood, I’d do anything to keep theirs from being spilled. To be of value to them.” His voice cracks. Finch sits down, motioning for him to carry on.
“I meant what said after you and your friends smashed Lorroakan to bits. Curse the bastard. But, most importantly, I want to share not just the gold in this tower with you, but myself, more fully.” Rolan’s fangs nibble at his lips. A pained expression rests on his face. Vulnerability leaves him open, scared even.
Finch sits on her island of velvet contemplating his words. Weave crackles in the air. She returns to her regular size. Her prior tiny condition required closeness to see and hear Rolan. Now, back to normal elven stature, their legs press together. Tentative golden eyes stare at her.
Closing the small distance left between them, Finch wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. Shudders ripple through both of their bodies. Desire, anxiety, fear, relief, and a mishmash of other emotions seem to freely flow between their lips.
Rolan seizes her waist to ease her down onto the bed. Her arms loop more tightly around him. Their frantic tongues explore each other’s accessible skin with fervor. Finch withdraws a bit to work at her robe fastenings. Rolan murmurs, “Is this what you want?” His breath hot on her neck causes goose flesh to cascade down her body.
Her own robe now successfully undone, her hands reach for his. “I want you.” Her voice is warm and determined. Claws deftly undo his own robe. Finch’s legs encircle him. His tail encircles her ankle. Rolan casts an arcane lock on the door before desire overcomes them both.
