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If he had to say one thing about the drow, it was that wherever she went, hope followed.
Rolan hadn’t thought very highly of her when they’d first met, all the way back at the grove. Sure, she was cute, and her easygoing wit was enough to coax a smile from the weariest of refugees, but it was all an act. There was no way in the nine hells that a personality like that could be genuine, even for a self-proclaimed amnesiac: she was just too fucking nice.
First of all, she was a drow - a Lolth-sworn, even - Rolan had merely heard stories about their kind, but it was his first time seeing one up close. The rumors he’d heard from Elturel’s street urchins, despite being embellished with the imagination of a child, were enough to put him on his guard as soon as he saw her walk past Zevlor into the caves. She was sharp, and she’d certainly noticed his suspicious glares, but she’d refused to confront him, or even order him to stand down as a female drow might have been expected to. She giggled and joked with his siblings like nothing was wrong, and, mid-sentence, even dared to put her arm around Cal like they were childhood friends. Rolan had given Cal the talking-to of a lifetime afterward, not entirely certain of where the venom in his voice was coming from, urging his younger brother to stay away from the godsdamned drow.
On top of that, he’d just so happened to hear some of her private conversations with her companions during their time at the grove, hushed whispers they’d thought stolen behind tiefling backs. She spoke of losing her memory, of waking up in the middle of the night drenched in someone else’s blood, of standing motionless for hours in the stillness of the night, frost and morning dew gathering on the tips of her fingers, unable to comprehend the horrors of a life she couldn’t remember living. It was a sickening contrast to the carefree, entertaining image she surely played up for the children, and it made him sick to his stomach when he thought about all of the lives she must have taken during her time in Menzoberranzan.
For days, he dreamed of her joyful smile, interspersed with scenes of death and carnage that seemed the polar opposite of the bard everyone knew and loved. Her silvery hair, which was always delicately braided into twin-tails, was dyed red with gore, her rosy eyes glistening with unshed tears. When he reached his hand towards her, seeking to comfort her, to know her - she always vanished into the recesses of his mind, shaking him uncomfortably out of his dreams.
Rolan was certainly surprised when the drow and her companions barreled into the grove not even a tenday after their first visit, drenched and stinking of goblin blood, declaring triumphantly that they’d wiped out the entire camp. Not that he hadn’t thought her capable of such a task - he’d just assumed that she, like all the other ignorant freaks of the world, was content with leaving them to fend for themselves. Even when she pulled out her lute, urging the children to join in her ridiculous little dance, he thought she was trying to lower their guard. She had to have something truly nefarious planned - why else would she refuse the few coins Zevlor had managed to scrounge up? No one ever gave anything without expecting something in return.
How could Rolan have expected anything else? One of the first lessons every tiefling had to learn, after all, was that they should never expect anyone to save them. Even before Elturel had been dragged into the hells, the life of a tiefling was hardly one to be envied. A lifetime of scornful glances and hissed insults had turned him bitter and cold, kept him on his guard, and prepared him to fight with teeth and claws to protect his family. It was just the way life was, he’d told himself: almost bland in its cruelty. His run-ins with narrow-minded adventurers had led him to believe that staying in the grove was tantamount to suicide; if the goblins didn’t kill them, the druids surely would, and if the druids didn’t, then it had to be inevitable that a passing band of adventurers would take the opportunity to rid the world of a few more devilspawn.
Whether he liked it or not, he had to face the possibility of dying in that grove. And whether he liked it or not, Tav came to his rescue - a bard in shining armor, sweeping him and his family out of danger like it was the easiest decision in the world for her.
Yes, hope was an accurate word to describe the effect she had on people. Wherever she went, hope tailed her like a yapping dog, slithering its way from her words into the hearts and minds of the people she inspired. The children laughed a little louder, the druids seemed less tense, and even Zevlor sat up a little straighter after her visits. At the celebration, she’d taken the time to check in on everyone, including him - it was the longest they’d ever held a conversation by far. Although she had little to say past her usual jokes and witticisms, as she was leaving to check on her companions, Rolan’s eyes met hers for the briefest of moments. If she had any hint of malice in her soul, he saw none of it: only the soulful, longing stare of someone who would forever be out of his reach.
It was why he felt overwhelmed with fury when she first came upon him at Last Light Inn. No amount of singing and lute-playing could change the horrible reality, his reality; his siblings, the last two people he had left to him in the entire world, were gone. There was no one to blame but himself - and her. He’d worked his way through three bottles when she’d stumbled through the door, her eyes widening at the absolute mess of a state he was in. When Rolan laid his eyes on her, all he could see was red - the queen of lies, in all of her fraudulent glory, had coerced his siblings into death like rats to the river.
Slowly but surely, the pieces were coming together in his head. The drow had never intended to help them - it was all a part of her sick game, her desire to toy with the lives of those she deemed inferior to her. Rolan wanted no part in it, and perhaps if he’d been more resilient to her charms, his siblings would be alive.
But he wasn’t. He’d been weak, malleable, vulnerable - and he’d paid the price. The only two people in the world who cared about him were gone, and it was all his fault. Guilt rose in his throat like bile, burning at his throat and urging him to explode. And so he did.
He’d yelled at her till his throat was hoarse, or until she’d left - he couldn’t remember. All he recalled of that night was the moment she’d somehow managed to find him, drowning amidst the vast, unending chaos of the shadowlands.
She cut down the shadows around him with ease and ripped the necrotic claws from his chest as if her own life depended on it. When her frantic hands scrabbled desperately across his chest, pumping what little healing magic she had across his broken body, he could hear her naked anguish through the cracks in her voice.
When she finally managed to stabilize his condition, Rolan found himself mute, unable to meet her gaze. He’d degraded and belittled her in his fury, lashed out at her repeatedly amidst his pain - shown her the cold shoulder when all she’d ever shown to him was kindness. Guilt and shame overwhelmed him, no longer just for his siblings, but for the adventurer he’d thought he couldn’t stand. She’d gone out of her way to help him in any way that he could, and he had repaid her by blaming her for his failings. How could he ever stand to look her in the eye?
“Rolan, look at me. Rolan! Eyes up here!” She hissed frantically, lightly slapping his cheek in an attempt to keep him conscious. Too weak to respond, Rolan instead lifted his eyes to her face, unwittingly etching her face into his memory. She looked more tired than when they’d last met, but her eyes - were they always different colors? - still shone with the same childish optimism that he once found unbearable.
“We saved your siblings! Cal and Lia, right? They’re back at Last Light… We need to get you there immediately.” The drow murmured, turning upwards to look in the direction of the inn.
Rolan could only blink in shock as she gathered him in her arms with ease - a considerable feat for someone half his size - and began carrying him, bridal-style, down the path back to Last Light Inn. It was the first time they'd ever touched one another, and although Rolan resented the circumstances, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her hold. She was warmer than he’d expected of a drow, and when he relaxed into her arms, he felt his tail instinctively curl around her. If she noticed, she didn’t comment on it - she seemed solely fixated on getting him back to his siblings in one piece.
His siblings were alive - not just alive, they were safe. Once again, she’d flown in like the hero he’d never known, making up for every one of his miserable failures. Any sense of guilt melted away in the face of his overwhelming relief; he could beat himself up over his shortcomings another day. The uncertainty of a future without his siblings no longer mattered - Tav had, once again, waltzed in out of nowhere to solve all of his problems, like a particularly whimsical genie.
Today, all he needed was to cling to that feeling that he’d time and time again assumed was lost to him forever. All he needed was what he had now - to be safe in her arms, to buy into her unsaid promise to keep him safe until the end of the world. Even if it wasn’t true, deep in his heart, he knew that he wanted to believe it. She was the spark in the darkness, she was the lighthouse amidst the fog; at the moment, to him, she was everything he’d been missing.
Rolan sunk into her embrace, focusing his thoughts on the gentle rise and fall of her chest. It was the safest he’d felt in years. When he was finally able to close his eyes, his mind began to fill with all sorts of fanciful thoughts. Hopes of finally being able to give his siblings the life they deserve. Hopes of being able to repay his debt to Tav, of protecting instead of being protected. Hopes of guiding her hands to his chest, pressing his lips against hers, feeling her heart beat against his own.
He prayed that he would never lose the memory of this feeling.