Chapter Text
“Then why do you look so happy?”
“Because… I think I know what that was. And I must go to the library immediately.”
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The waxing moon hung high in the sky as Rolan leaned over his desk, dipping his quill into ink as he turned to the notebook laid out before him – the one reserved for quick scrawlings and disorganised thoughts, nearly full with – unsurprisingly – plenty of musings about his beloved Tavlyn.
His tail tapped a patient rhythm on the floor as his tongue absent-mindedly ran along his teeth in concentration. Then, with a determined hand, he took his quill to the parchment.
The answer to Tavlyn’s magic loss feels close at hand.
That it took me so long to develop any solid theories concerning this mystery is, admittedly, regrettable. Since learning of her condition, I have read countless tomes on the Tides of Chaos and rifled through text after text on spell plagues, yet none seemed to correlate with her experience. But ‘why?’ I asked myself. Why was her loss so chronic? A departure akin to abandonment by the Weave, as if such a thing was at all plausible? And why could I find nothing to answer these questions?
The answer to that, it turns out, is far simpler than I’d imagined: I’d been foolishly looking in all of the wrong places.
That was the thing I realised earlier this evening as I felt her magic enveloping us on the training floor, its brilliance and potency striking me like a surge of wild magic, yet Tavlyn insisted she hadn’t cast any spell beforehand. However, as I uncovered its source — abjuration, a school Tavlyn has never studied to my knowledge — an idea ignited in my mind, one I could scarcely believe I hadn’t considered before.
I immediately ascended to the library to seek out old journals and memoirs that had probably never even once been touched, and then I bolted to my study; a familiar thrill coursing through my blood: the age-old excitement that always accompanies the unravelling of a magical mystery.
How long it has been since I felt that rush. Of course, it is all thanks to her.
Hours later, I am now certain that the answer to my love’s magic loss lies not in the complexity of wild magic or historical accounts of spell plagues, but in something far more complicated…
Emotions.
Tavlyn's prolonged despair following the absence of her companions presents a logical explanation for the waning of her abilities. After all, are ‘emotions’ not the very essence of a sorcerer's power — both in a poetic and perhaps a literal sense?
Even so, this theory appears too simplistic. If emotional recovery alone were sufficient, her time spent healthy and content in Ramazith’s Tower over the past month would have restored her powers instantaneously.
At least, that should have been the case according to what the sorcerers documented in the journals I perused. Though it required extensive reading, two chapters in particular captured my attention where, in each, the authors casually referenced their inability to perform certain magic as if it were a regular occurrence for them:
*
‘I’m never visiting Candlekeep again!! Briony and I had been in the city for barely an hour before some confrontation was met, as is inevitable with my barbarian friend, bless her (she’s wonderful, of course, but not the sharpest axe in the smithy.)
Well — this wouldn’t have been a problem if not for the fact she’d also convinced me to try an apparent delicacy of a ‘raw fish roll’ that morning, which certainly did NOT settle well with my usual diet of green beans and carrot soup. My stomach hurt so terribly that my mood was foul, thinking only of my annoyance for poor Briony. Thus, when the fight started, I was unable to conjure abjuration at all! I had to rely on novice level evocation and it was mortifying! Needless to say, this did not impress Lady Helena.
Hopefully she’ll allow me a second chance to showcase my skills tomorrow when I’m feeling better. A good night’s rest will put me to rights again, I am sure.’
– Musings of Ogreene Weslo, Abjuration Sorcerer
*
‘Was a great shame that Keller wouldn’ let me wear me favourite gown to Jara’s party at the feasthall tonight. ‘E said “no wife o mine ‘ll be lurin’ the eye of grubby men ‘n women. Fat chance, me lass!”
Oh aye, I swear I could’a stormed away right then and there. ‘Oo ‘e think ‘e is? I told him as much, that shoulda married ‘Arold Borne instead.
Well, ‘e sorely regretted not lettin’ me — I’ll tell ya. I felt such an ugly one, that when Mister Ewan showed up, an’ Kellar says “oi Bonny, you charm ‘im, I’ll rob ‘im.” I said “sorry me love, ‘fat chance’! When I feel such a beast, enchantments won’t work nun!”
Of course, ‘e tried it anyway and — nay surprise, bastard’s locked up. Serves ‘im right I say! Will let him rot a bit longer – that’ll teach him to know better than to try and control what I wear, me thinks.
I’ll try Mister Ewan by meself tomorra. I’ll wear me nice red dress and that’ll make me charms work…. Like… a charm.’
– Bonny Rine: Diary of a Jewel Thief
*
As unremarkable as they seemed, these short entries were the key to my revelations. They clearly illustrated the connection between emotions and magical proficiency, even if the cases weren't as extreme as Tav's magic loss. How could Ogreene Weslo heal when his irritation towards his companion outweighed his desire to help? How could Bonny Rine charm and enchant when she felt unalluring?
And how could Tav destroy anything when she so hates being a ‘force of destruction’?
It is the best lead I have. If her disdain for her destructive power is the root cause, then could rekindling a different emotional connection be the solution? I need experimentation, to find a way to reignite the magic that has always been an intrinsic part of her, just as I had seemed to have been able to do earlier this evening.
That magical reaction. That abjuration. It had felt very much like some kind of protective ward — one that was intent on connecting our very souls…
Rolan gulped, his cheeks turning hot as he remembered how he had accidentally coaxed the magical reaction from her.
When Tav had recounted her numerous deaths to him, he had been so suddenly overcome with world-shattering fear that his heart felt as if it had stopped. A world without Tav? His Tavlyn? It was unthinkable! It was so unthinkable, in fact, that he felt all at once like a desperate animal – a simple-minded being overcome with instinct to be one with her, as if merging their bodies would shield her from a past already written, from deaths he could never have prevented.
It was, perhaps, for the best that his advances had been… interrupted. But Zurgan, it was heavenly to think about. The feeling of her curves at the command of his fingers, the roundness of her hips and buttocks, the softness of the area where her cheek connected to her thigh, so close to her sex that he could feel her wetness on his fingertips, primal heat to match his own – and gods, when she had pushed into him, he had wanted it for so long that inexperience had edged him already to an early precipice…
He cleared his throat, urging himself back into focus. He was nearly getting as bad as her when it came to veering off topic.
He tapped his quill against his page, his finger against the desk as he clarified his mind. His notes before him were scrawls of organised chaos; writings with patterns that only he could possibly decipher. Within them, he was sure, was some kind of explanation for everything – if only he could link each chain together, repair the armour of her mind.
Destruction… Emotions…
He wondered if it had always been this way for her; if she’d truly never learnt from any other school but evocation. Why had it been so? He’d always thought that odd in itself – usually, a magic user would specialise in a certain school but still have access to others, so why not her? Especially considering how gentle she was as a person, how kind and altruistic — it didn’t suit her at all.
He wondered if there was a possibility that her distant past – memories she’d lost – would be able to explain anything. Surely the memory and magic loss were connected; they still hadn’t uncovered exactly why she’d forgotten the camp party, nor what the vision she’d had in the lake meant, though Rolan was sure that it all connected somehow. He just needed to find the root of it all. If he could, he was certain that the puzzle would unfold like magic in his hands. If only her memories weren’t so locked away…
He paused, a grin beginning to tug at his lips. But there was a way.
He turned to his shelves, rooting through the alchemy section until he found it — the noblestalk. Derryth had given it to him to pass on to Tav, but she’d insisted he keep it. Since then, he’d been dabbling in research into the fungi’s properties, investigating the strands of its biological makeup so that he might cultivate more, maybe even evolve it… But if she used it, could she unlock the secret of that vision she’d had at the lake? The past she’d forgotten? And if she could, would that vision, her past, reveal the answers they sought?
If there were even a possibility, he knew he had to tell Tav right away. He picked up the mushroom, carefully transferring it to a velvet pouch in his pocket, and headed for the stairwell.
────── ⟡ ──────
Rolan could hear the sound of Tav’s star-filled giggling intermingling with his sister’s brash laughter as he climbed the stairwell to his siblings’ floor.
Before they’d moved into the tower, it had been a floor entirely dedicated to Lorroakan’s chambers — a ridiculously large and lavish room with a luxurious en-suite to match. Rolan had only briefly considered moving there himself after Lorroakan’s death, but knew that it was too close to the man that had abused him relentlessly. He wanted nothing to do with him, and that included sleeping in his bed, even if it might have been somewhat poetic. Instead, he’d remained in the former guest room — preferring the simpler decor anyway — and had a contractor split Lorroakan’s room in half so that Lia and Cal could have the whole floor to themselves. Secretly, he’d also withheld some hope that, should Tav have visited, they would have a floor to themselves…
He laughed now to think how that secret desire had come to fruition, even if it was a year later than he’d hoped.
Striding along the hall, he noticed he needn’t knock on Lia’s door as it was wide open, allowing the echoes of girlish humour to ricochet through the hallway. However, as he approached and saw the two sitting crossed-legged on her bed, seemingly engaged in some hilarious conversation, he decided that knocking on the open door would be the polite thing to do regardless.
Both turned to him with tears in their eyes as he lingered in the doorway, his arms folded as he regarded them with a wry smile.
“Gods Rolan, your girlfriend was just telling me about how a Djinn turned her into a cheese wheel—“
“He was cheating!—”
“Who in the hells insults Djinn directly to their faces without a death wish? You’re mad!“
Rolan joined their laughter as a blush rose to his cheeks, delighting in something that seemed so simple and youthful as Lia referring to Tav as his ‘girlfriend’… yet she was, wasn’t she? The two had declared love endlessly yet had never had a conversation regarding any sort of ‘officiality’ between them — it never felt like there had been a need. But still, to hear it said so boldly and to see Tav accepting such a claim on him without even batting an eye… it filled his heart entirely.
“As wonderful as that is,” he chuckled. “I have need of my girlfriend for a private word—”
Lia threw a pillow at him with a jovial scowl, folding her arms around Tav defensively as she laughed sweetly, amused at his sister’s antics.
“Absolutely not, Rolan!” Lia protested. “You get to see her enough, it’s my Tav time!”
He made a point of glancing at Tav with an eyebrow raised, a smirk on his lips as she shrugged with an equally wry smile — you heard the woman! She seemed to say.
“So be it. Then I’ll just have to join you.” He pestered, walking over and sitting on the bed next to them, his tail possessively wrapping around Tav’s waist as Lia groaned. “Please, continue. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”
“Smarmy bastard,” his sister grinned. She unwrapped her arms from Tav and shuffled back to make space, shaking her head as she looked pointedly at Tav, her smile wide. “And you just put up with this?”
“I have no choice, he’s enthralled me!” She groaned, theatrically swooning against him. He beamed at her as she did so, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and supporting her head in his arm as she laid back further into him.
“A timeless tale of woe, my love,” he sighed, kissing her on the forehead. “Though better me than a mind flayer.”
“I don’t know… The Emperor was at least 7-foot tall after all…”
"Hm! Bad thrall!" He flicked her with a chuckle. She opened her mouth and dramatically gasped in response, scrunching her nose ever-so cutely before reaching around to pinch his side, causing him to laugh even harder.
“Oh bloody hell! Fine, take her!” Lia moaned, lying back and draping her arm over her eyes. “Your flirting is even more unbearable than your bickering!”
"We're not flirting, this is a very serious discussion!" Rolan deadpanned, sliding off the bed and smoothing the wrinkles on his robes. He then scooped his arms under Tav's knees and lifted her up, her laugh as she locked her arms around his neck sending tingles through him. "A rebelling thrall could be a terrible indicator of my enchantment abilities, which could mean carnage for the tower. I shall have to research this specimen at once!"
“You two are gross,” Lia moaned again, repressing a laugh as she chucked another pillow at him with a force so surprising that he nearly dropped Tav. “Now get out or I’ll tell Tav about the time you were kicked out of the Elturel Library—”
“Ah, no need for all that, please, enjoy the rest of your evening—” he hurriedly uttered, carrying Tav out of the room with haste as she giggled in his arms.
As they reached the stairwell, though he was confident he’d have easily been able to carry her all the way to their room, the narrowness of the stairs proved too much a hazard and so he reluctantly let her down, taking her hand as he led her up the steps.
“I must say, I’m impressed,” she laughed. “I was sure I’d be knocking at your study hours from now to find you in some kind of mad wizard fever.”
“You give my talents for quick study so little credit!” He berated dramatically, inciting another sweet giggle from her.
“So you did find something out then? About… whatever that was?”
“I did,” he said with restrained eagerness, leading them into his room and to the silk two-seater at the end. He indicated for her to sit down before joining closely next to her, pulling out the velvet pouch from his pocket. “Though the truth seems a bit more complicated than would be… ideal.”
Tav’s brow furrowed as she looked at the pouch worriedly, holding her hand out as he unlaced it and pulled out the noblestalk, placing it delicately in her palm.
“Ah…” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Must it always come back to this?”
“Not necessarily,” he replied, a small smile seeking to comfort her as he rested his hand on her knee. “But it’s the working theory.”
He took out his notebook and held it out to her, guiding her through his scribblings and diagrams. Their faces moved close together as they read, and she smelled of blossoms and sweet tea—a concoction of the most beautiful scents he could imagine. The fragrance was so alluring to Rolan that, were it not for his excitement to unravel his findings, he knew he would have been unable to resist laying a thousand kisses on her rosy cheeks and nuzzling his nose against the soft line of her jaw.
…But there was a puzzle to solve.
“These sorcerers I’ve noted here. They spoke of experiencing magic loss too — specifically of losing the ability to cast the required schools when combated with emotions that contradicted the nature of their need…” He turned the page, notes detailing the intricacies of Tav’s sorcery — the spells she knew, the talents she’d held.
“If we were to apply the same logic to your sorcery, it could be argued that having no need or desire to fight would inhibit you from casting spells that are intended to harm and destroy. But then, were that completely true, you’d still be able to perform other spell work — conjurations, illusions, enchantments…”
Rolan’s eyes lingered over his words as if explaining them aloud might spark some new idea, yet all that circled in his mind were the same conclusions. Questions answered by only more questions.
“…I think what happened earlier in our training session was your wild magic, only not as you know it. I believe your emotions in that moment sparked abjuration and that, perhaps, your wild magic never ceased at all — only sparked in a way that was unrecognisable to you. Not explosive or destructive, but healing. But why did it happen without any spell having been cast? Why did it change in such a way, steered away from evocation, and why were you only ever able to effectively cast evocation in the first place? Was it always that way for you?”
He looked at her then, his eyes bright and his grin wide, and found her wearing that dreamlike, distracted expression he so often saw on her — her head tilted as it rested on her hand, her full-moon eyes glistening with adoration and admiration. As a teacher, it frustrated him at times that she seemed to zone out amid his explanation. As a lover, however — the part of him infinitely more prominent — it sent him giddy with longing for her.
“Oh, sorry—” she stuttered, her eyes sharpening. “I was listening, I promise, it’s just that…”
She blushed pink as a sheepish smile took to her face. So cute.
“… I love it when you get so passionate. The way your mind works, how you work through such puzzles — it has always astounded me. In the best way.”
She turned her head to kiss his cheek and he huffed a short, amused breath through his nose.
“Honestly, Tavlyn. What am I to do with you?”
She blushed further at the question and her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and Rolan mirrored her, his thoughts once again returning back to earlier that evening. What was he to do with her? Her face instantly betrayed that she might have some ideas, and a swelling heat in Rolan’s core reminded him just how much he’d like to hear them…
Agh! But there was work to do!
“Hm. Anyway…” He cleared his throat. “Going back to what we were discussing…”
“Right,” she nodded, her cute sheepish smile turning to a tight line of determination. “You asked if it was always this way for me?”
“Mm.”
Tav looked thoughtful, her gaze veering upwards as if she were trying to recollect something in the recesses of her memory.
“Well, I’m not sure. I can’t remember anything since before I was 10, but that’s pretty normal.”
“So you don’t remember how your magic began? I suppose that if it was very young, it makes sense you wouldn’t remember its beginnings.”
“No — sorry, I meant that I don’t remember anything before then, not just the start of my magic.”
Rolan blinked at her, his forehead wrinkling in alarm.
“Anything?”
“Mmhm, though like I said, I think most people struggle to remember things from their early childhood.”
“Not to that extent!” He exclaimed, summoning a Mage Hand at the end of the room to fetch a quill from the desk for him. Dipping it in an inkpot, he retrieved it and began writing on a new page of his notebook. “It must be as I theorised — something happened that changed your abilities, and whatever it was also impacted your memory. And now, for whatever reason, it’s changing your magic all over again.”
“It makes sense… I think?” Tav huffed, “but then what is it I have to remember with the noblestalk? You think it will… cure me?”
“When it comes to helping your magic return… I’m not certain, but I think it will at least help us gain insight. As for what to remember, I think you already know.”
He put down the quill and turned the pages of his notebook back to near the very beginning, where there he’d illustrated the scene she’d described to him a month prior. As he did so, Tav bit her cheeks and turned the noblestalk around in her fingers.
“The vision…” she said, quietly.
He nodded. “Not a vision after all, but a memory.”
Rolan could sense Tav’s hesitancy, her eyebrows knitted together in thoughtful concern, her lips pursed as she breathed slowly but unsteadily. He was sure that if he felt her heart right then, it might be beginning to race.
“…But you don’t have to remember it, Tavlyn,” he said, his voice gentle as she turned her face back to him. He closed his notebook and placed it on the side, holding her free hand with both of his as he looked softly into her eyes. He knew why she was hesitant. If such a memory had been repressed, why would she want to recall it now? It was sure to cause her pain. He didn’t want that for her either.
“I believe it would help us understand the nature of your magic, why it might now be starting to change…” he continued, “…but we can find another way to mend this. If my theory is correct, that this is all related to your emotions, we can perform experiments, study further. There must be another way—”
“No, no…” she murmured, taking a deep breath before smiling affirmingly at him. “We might not need to know why I am this way to… fix me. But how can I truly know myself — truly be able to heal, if I don’t know what caused it all in the first place? The reasons for why I am the way I am might have gone away… but, clearly, the feeling never did.”
She clutched the noblestalk tightly, her face turning from soft uncertainty to a resolute sharpness. It was the face Rolan remembered meeting her with in the Grove — the look of a hero.
“…I have to do this.”
Rolan squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips, planting a loving kiss on her fingers as they curled around his own. She smiled at him for a moment before returning her gaze to the noblestalk, her thumb gently running over its frilled texture. Overcome with adoration and admiration, Rolan couldn't help but sigh like the lovesick fool he was. Strangely enough, however, he found that he didn’t care how foolish he might seem. He could be the most idiotic man in the world when it came to his Tavlyn, as long as he could make her happy and heal even a speck of her heavy heart.
“My brave sorcerer,” he breathed, resting his blushing face against her hand. “I wish I could take all this trouble from you. I wish you didn’t have to experience so much hurt.”
His voice broke a little as he buried himself in her, breathing in her essence like it was the only thing sustaining him.
“I wish that I could do the same for you,” she smiled, resting her forehead against his. “But I want to do this. I want to finally lift whatever this darkness is that’s always been a part of me.”
Rolan leaned forward, tenderly kissing her lips. He took her other hand which held the noblestalk and enclosed it within his, a silent promise that he’d be there. He’d always be there.
“Whatever that darkness is…” he repeated. “I promise that I’ll be here to guide you through it.”
Tav nodded, shifting and laying back so that her head rested in his lap as she raised the mushroom to her mouth. She looked into his eyes with a determined glimmer and a small smile, and his heart began to jump. His fierce and utterly lovely Tavlyn.
“I’ll hold you to it.” She said, taking a bite.
Her eyes closed, and Rolan held his breath.
