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The atmosphere of the Shadow-Cursed lands is innately oppressive, as expected, but you still weren't quite equipped for how draining just existing there would be.
Everything is completely exhausting. When you wake up in the morning you have to drag yourself from your bedroll. When you eat you have to force yourself to swallow. When you walk it feels like you're trekking through tar. Your journey has been laborious and tiring, of course, but nothing compares to the absolute agony and suffering every corner of this wretched place seems to foster.
Your travelling companions have taken to calling you a 'perpetual optimist' over the course of your journey, but the darkness is starting to take a toll on you. People can certainly tell; even though they blissfully haven't said anything, you know they've noticed. Lae'zel has been less vocal than usual about her distaste for the pace you've got everyone travelling at, and Gale gives you extra helpings of supper, despite your dwindling supplies. Even Astarion has been positively polite, which is certainly a deviation from the norm if nothing else.
Yes, Halsin had warned you all what you were walking into, but you truly don't think anything could've prepared you. Every breath feels like you're underwater. You've never felt so tired in your life.
Which is why, when Rolan starts screaming at you the minute he spots you, you can't help but feel impressed.
Seriously, how has he got the energy? Surely drinking can't help, and he absolutely reeks of Arabellan Dry. Maybe some of his self-absorbed talk about his power in the Grove wasn't just talk. He certainly seems to better at this than you.
Aside from the drinking. And the screaming at children.
You're not even really listening to him at this point, just letting him shout at you. You know he's not wrong. It is your fault these people are missing. And if they're still even alive, they might be wishing they were dead in the road like the rest of their kin. Death is probably kinder than whatever the cultists have planned for them.
"You go save the world, or your own arse, or whatever it is you do. I'll fix this." He spits the words out like they're rotten on his tongue.
Ah. He's done talking to you then.
You don't blame him. All you can offer him right now are platitudes and promises you can't be sure you'll keep. You're fairly certain you wouldn't want to talk to yourself either.
The rest of the troupe were admittedly pretty pissed when you dragged them into the shadows after him the next morning, but what else were you supposed to do? Let him die out there? You can't be responsible for another innocent person's death, can't add another name to the tally of tragedy that seems to follow you. Even if he is a prick.
He isn't exactly pleased to see you. Which is fine, he doesn't need to be. He's alive, that's what matters. Alive, and very angry that it's you of all people that's saved him.
You still can't find it in yourself to blame him.
You think of Cal and Lia. Of Lia's desire to help the tieflings who couldn't help themselves. Of Cal's concern with his siblings and keeping the peace. You think of Rolan and how angry and scared he'd sounded at the prospect of them putting themselves in danger for people they didn't know.
It was you who told them to stay.
No, no you don't blame him. You don't blame him at all. You wouldn't be happy to see you, either.
The boat ride back from Moonrise feels like it lasts for years. As you watch Cal and Lia embrace, it's the lightest you've felt in days, but there's still a cloud over you. One victory, in the face of the increasingly insurmountable odds ahead of you. As glad you are to have saved all of the prisoners, it does little to lift your spirits.
The battle in the bowels of Moonrise against the Warden and her lackeys was brutal, being truthful. You can feel a cut at your waist soaking through your shirt where one of the guards had caught you with their sword. You let it bleed. Penance, you tell yourself. What's a drop of blood spilt compared to score of bodies that litter the road to Last Light? Absolutely nothing.
Rolan's first reaction upon seeing his siblings again is to scream at them, which isn't entirely unsurprising at this point. Lia screams back, Cal seems exasperated, it seems about right. But still, you touch Lia gently on the shoulder, tell her that Rolan was struggling. He's a prick, sure, but he's a prick that cares a lot.
And then he apologises to you.
"I've lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway. You didn't deserve that - I'm sorry. And thank you."
You stare at him blankly. He's thanking you? After everything?
"You went out of your way to help us," he continues, "it's only right you get something in return. Here, I hope it helps."
You feel like you're on autopilot when you take the pouch of gold he offers you and put it in your pocket.
It's him that finds you later, your feet dangling over the water of the docks, as you try to patch up the gash in your side. It's an awkward angle, you're not doing a very good job, and you've drank more of the alcohol you grabbed to sterilise it than you've put on the wound.
"What are you doing?"
His voice catches you off guard, and you jump. You stab the needle into yourself and yelp at the pinch. When you turn to face him where he's come up behind you, he looks concerned.
"Got slashed in the prison. Figured I probably had to fix myself up at some point." You shrug, "I'm not much use to anyone if I die of sepsis halfway to Baldur's Gate."
Not that you're much use to anyone anyway.
He doesn't say anything, so you turn back around to face the water. There's a few moments of silence before you hear footsteps, but instead of leaving like you think he will he comes and sits beside you. He takes the needle from you wordlessly.
When he looks up and sees you confusion, he just shrugs, "you look like you need a hand."
You raise your eyebrows, "oh, so needing help from other people is okay then? I was starting to wonder."
He huffs. "Okay, point taken. But still, you've been drinking, and last I checked pointy things and alcohol don't really mix."
You actually laugh at that. "You'd better not be about to lecture me on drinking, there was enough wine in you when we got here that I nearly told Jaheria to put out all the candles."
He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips, "Trust me, I've been sufficiently chewed out by Lia, I've learnt my lesson. Besides, I've no interest in having a go at you."
You both are quiet after that, Rolan working on sewing your injury. When you wince at a particularly rough spot, he echoes your expression in apology.
"I don't see why you're sat out here stitching yourself together anyway, there's enough healers wandering around. Isn't Shadowheart a cleric?"
"Yeah, but it seemed like a waste."
He frowns, "how so?"
You shrug again. "The people who were stuck at Moonrise need healing more than me. No sense wasting their energy on a cut I can patch myself. Besides, it's not like I've exactly earned it."
When he doesn't say anything, you look at him, and he's scowling at you.
"...What?"
His scowl deepens. "Why would you have to earn it?"
Another shrug. "There are just people who deserve it more than me. I should've helped everyone more. I should've been stronger. If I can't stop other people getting hurt, then the least I can do is make sure they can get enough healing afterwards. I can manage without."
Rolan is actively frowning now.
"Tav..." He looks physically pained as he pulls the needle away and looks you in the eyes. "I didn't mean it, you know."
You blink, "mean what?"
His face twists.
"Everything I said, when you got here. I didn't mean it. I wasn't... I was scared. I didn't mean it."
You laugh, but even you can hear that it's hollow and humourless. "Relax, Rolan, it's not like you were wrong. There's nothing you could say that I haven't already told myself a thousand times."
He makes a frustrated noise and throws his arms up, "Tav, I was wrong. None of what I said was true. At all."
You don't say anything. He sighs, and twists around to face you fully, before grabbing your hands.
"None of this is your fault. You have to know that?"
You shrug.
"Tav."
You sigh. "Rolan, everywhere I go people die. I don't know what you'd call that if not my fault."
"Some awful fucking luck, for sure. Horrendous circumstances. Maybe even the Gods having a cruel joke at your expense. But not your fault." His eyes soften. "Not by a long shot."
Something about the way he says it makes your heart wrench, and before you can do anything to stop it you're breaking down in front of him. The tears come thick and fast, your nose running as you weep. He leans forward without thinking and holds you, and you can't help but tuck yourself into his shoulder.
The words flow out of you without your input. "I don't know what to do, Rolan. People are relying on me and... I'm so fucking scared . All these people. It's fucking impossible Rolan. Ketheric is fucking immortal ! How the fuck am I supposed to fix this?! All of these people need me and I don't know what to do ."
You sob and snivel into his robes, but he doesn't say anything. He holds you through it as the tears rip through your body, and he rubs comforting circles into your back.
"I can't do it. I can't fucking do it. It's too much, Rolan, it's too fucking much. I just want to go home."
He coos softly into your ear, comforting words and noises that ease your tears out of you and, as much as you hate yourself right now, it's soothing. In this one moment, there's no pressure. You don't have to be a leader. You don't have to save anyone. You get to just cry. You get to feel. It makes you wail harder, which makes him hold you tighter.
When you eventually quiet, and Rolan's robe at your shoulder is soaked through, you pull away, but he doesn't release his hold on you.
"I'm sorry."
He shakes his head, "you have nothing to be sorry for, truly."
"I do. Cal and Lia would have never-"
He grabs your face with his hands, "Cal and Lia would still be in Moonrise Towers right now if it wasn't for you. You saved them. You've saved so many people."
A stray tear slips down your face, and he wipes it away with his thumb.
"Tav, I owe you everything. You saved me, you saved my family. You are incredible . I have no idea how you do it. Find me in Baldur's Gate, I'll talk to Lorroakan, I'm sure he'll be able to help."
You scoff. "That's if I make it to Baldur's Gate." You feel another tear fall, but he catches it again, whisking it away before it can fall past your cheek.
"You will. I know you will." There's the briefest hint of hesitation in his eyes, before he seemly comes to a decision and places his forehead against yours. Your eyes slide closed on their own accord.
"Tav. I watched my home fall into the hells. I've come face to face with goblins and shadow creatures and cultists. There hasn't been much to be hopeful for. But you have done incredible, impossible things. If there was anyone strong enough and stubborn enough to do this, it would be you."
You laugh shakily, "you can't believe that, I don't even believe it."
You feel him shake his head, and he pulls away from you. You open your eyes and he's meeting your gaze straight on. When he speaks, it's firm and assured.
"I don't pray. I don't worship. I've never subscribed to any god. But if I had to bet on someone getting us out of this, you'd be my choice. If I believe in anything, it's you."
He leans forward and places a gentle kiss to your cheek. You close your eyes and bask in it. It's the gentlest touch you've known since your journey began. When he leans away, he's flushed.
"I'll see you in Baldur's Gate, Tav. I will , I know I will."
Despite yourself, despite the doubt and self-hatred swirling through you, you find you want to believe him.
Despite everything, you nod.