#rolansummer

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+++

He arrived early - not that his status demanded him to. His punctuality was one of the reasons, but in truth, Rolan didn't want to make the grand entrance. It wasn't a conclave of archmages or even a council session. Just a simple masquerade night dedicated to Baldur's Gate finally being rebuilt after the Elder Brain's devastation two years ago.

The tiefling doubted he would attend such an event if not for the obligation to maintain appearances. He would much rather spend the evening playing chess with Cal while Lia would tell them about her day being a Flaming Fist trainee.

Alas, Rolan was already here, standing in the corner of a massive ballroom, the wine glass never leaving his hand. The black satin mask served no purpose - other members of high society recognized him right away. Being one of the few tieflings present at the Moonlight Masquerade didn't help the situation, either.

Thus far, he remained unimpressed by the evening: beautiful gowns and dances passed his attention by - every time Rolan considered joining the fun, someone would inevitably come up to chat with him.

"Ah, nobles and their dealings. Indeed, they would need something from the Sundries even when I'm on my deathbed," he thought while nodding with authority to yet another lord. He struggled not to roll his eyes at most of their ridiculous requests.

Still, Rolan knew he had to maintain a warm and composed facade. If it served to protect his reputation - and, by extension, the reputation of all Elturan tieflings, this was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

At last, the daunting conversation was over, and the wizard exhaled with relief. He was considering leaving the masquerade altogether if that's how the rest of his night was supposed to go.

Rolan cautiously looked around, dreading to be discovered by other noblemen. Suddenly, something interesting caught his eye. A glint of silver hair cascading elegantly over bare, ash-toned skin. Could it be?

Yes, unmistakably. The scar on the drow's left shoulder gave her away. He remembered the exact moment she earned it, back during the fight at the Last Light Inn. The red mask wouldn't help her cover her identity - not from him. The drow in the long, shoulderless dress was none other than Nimriel - the hero of Baldur's Gate. The woman who truly fascinated him.

It's been two years since Rolan saw her, but the surge of bittersweet memories made him believe it was only yesterday that they fought side by side.

The errands of running Sorcerous Sundries and Ramazith's Tower were so numerous that time flew in an instant. He wondered if it felt the same for Nim in Avernus.

Rolan watched from afar, catching her every move, every tip of the head, every smile. Many people approached, and some asked for a dance, but Nimriel politely declined. Despite all her grins and laughs he knew so well, something about her posture seemed distant and lost. It was the ultimate sign for Rolan not to approach her. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, and him barging into her life after years of silence felt quite rude.

Instead, Rolan contented himself with stealing glances at her across the room. Nimriel was still her kind, awkward self - and the sight warmed his heart. And gods, she was beautiful. The tiefling saw her bloodied and bruised too many times ever to picture her in something so sophisticated. He sighed, hoping that soon enough days would come when Nimriel wouldn't need to wear armor ever again.

After some time, a red-faced nobleman approached Nimriel, his ridiculously ornate outfit matching his inebriated demeanor. Rolan couldn't hear their conversation from where he stood, but he didn't need to. He knew the man, knew he was trouble.

+++

"...sorry, but I really am not in the mood for a dance," Nim said apologetically, barely tolerating the stench of booze coming from the stranger.

He, however, wouldn't back off, "Bhah, don't you be sorry to me! Do you even realize who I am?" suddenly, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer, "Or what, you think you are above me now?" he slurred.

Nimriel grunted, pulling her hand out of his clutches. The drow considered if she should ruff the bastard up a little. The crowd around them was the only thing holding her down. But, in the end, she didn't have to.

"Down."

A simple command brought the drunk onto his hands and knees immediately. The caster - none other than the Master of Ramazith's Tower - approached him slowly, shaking his head in disapproval.

"I would think a man of nobility such as yourself, Heywood, would know how to treat people right," the tiefling said with sardonic authority, stepping in front of the offender.

"Master Rolan?" Heywood lifted his gaze, realizing it was the wizard's spell that held him against the floor, "What is this sick trick? Let me go!"

"Trick?" Rolan asked, grinning, "Oh no, it would be a trick if I lifted you into the air and tossed you out of that window. Want a demonstration?"

The man gulped, shaking his head.

"Well then," the tiefling huffed, severely entertained, "Apologize to the lady."

"I... I am sorry."

"You can do better than that. Or do you want me to make you kiss the floor?"

Heywood was shaking now, realizing that everyone in the ballroom witnessed his humiliation, "I am very sorry, madam. I swear it will never happen again."

"Good," Rolan nodded, allowing the man to finally stand up, "Now, how about you go home? I'm afraid missus Heywood would not be pleased. It's a shame you didn't bring her with you tonight. Guess I would see her at the Sundries sometime soon."

The man didn't need much convincing afterward, his exit from the ballroom followed by countless gazes. The nobles wouldn't admit it aloud, but that was, perhaps, the most amusing part of the evening.

Rolan finally faced Nimriel - she was no less delighted by the show, shaking her head playfully.

"Sorry for the display. He has been getting on my nerves for some time now," the tiefling shrugged, enjoying her attention.

"Look who is my knight in shining two-piece suit!" the drow proclaimed theatrically, "Can't believe you recognized me, Rolan."

He smirked, "And you still remember my name. Glad we are on the same page."

Nimriel chuckled, "You haven't changed - always the charmer. Thank you for intervening and saving me the trouble of punching that creep. I hope it won't cause you any trouble."

"Don't worry about it," he said with casual ease. "Sorcerous Sundries sees a constant flood of customers. Would I lose anything from refusing a service to a pig? I don't think so."

As he spoke, Nim was subtly looking him over: undeniably, it was still Rolan she knew: proud, witty, and handsome. Yet, something felt different. The fire in his eyes burned brighter now, filled with strength and confidence. Maybe it was because he no longer carried every burden alone.

"I hope so. I am happy to see a friendly face here. Well, half-friendly," she teased.

"I am glad to see you too. Although it is unexpected. Are you returning to the city for good?"

The drow's smile slightly subsided, "Just for the night. We all got invited, but Karlach couldn't come, naturally. So Wyll suggested I unwind a little while he looked over her in Avernus. So I selfishly took the offer."

"Nothing selfish about wanting to escape the Hells for the first time in two years," Rolan replied earnestly, recalling dreadful times of Elturel's descent, "What of the others? I know Gale is researching the ruins of Myth Drannor, and Lae'zel would hardly return to the Sword Coast for a masquerade night."

"Well, Shadowheart is hard to track, I doubt she will be back to Baldur's Gate soon. And Astarion," her face went down, "Doesn't really want to relive the experiences of his past life. I mean, I knew they wouldn't be able to make it. But, to be frank, I misunderstood what this whole Moonlight thing was all about. I expected to see some of our old friends here. But turns out it is a rich-people-only club. So I am really happy to see you here."

A small, genuine smile graced Rolan's lips, "In that case, I am happy to be here. To be frank, I wasn't too thrilled to attend. But maybe we can make our collective misery a little more bearable," he pondered, inviting Nim for a dance, "If you want to, of course."

The drow glanced at his stretched-out hand, and for a moment, Rolan thought he saw her cheeks flush.

"I'd love to, but I can't dance, really," she said apologetically, "I've never done it before."

"Well, lucky for you, I am an impeccable dancer," the tiefling boasted, "All you need is to follow my lead."

Nim couldn't help but giggle, "Since when are you an impeccable dancer?"

The wizard's brow rose, "I will pretend I didn't hear you mock me just now. For your information, I am highly skilled in many things. Dancing is just grazing the surface."

"Sorry, I am being very untactful," the playful lilt returned to the drow's voice. "I trust you."

As the music swelled again, she placed both her palms firmly on his shoulders. "Well, how it goes?"

Now it was Rolan's turn to laugh at Nim, but only ever so slightly, "Gods, aren't you an eager student? First of all, please don't put me in a chokehold, we are not that close," he snickered, "Slide your left hand a little lower down my shoulder. And hold my other hand with yours."

He paused, a tingle slipping down his spine as he carefully rested his hand on her waist, "Mine goes here," Rolan exhaled, trying not to meet her gaze.

But Nimriel didn't catch on to that, "What about legs?" she asked nervously.

The tiefling looked down, "Don't worry about it. Your dress is quite long - I doubt anybody would pay attention to how you move them. All you have to do is keep up with my pace. I am sure you will handle that perfectly well. Ready?"

She nodded, and Rolan immediately took her into a swirl, his enthusiasm for dancing suddenly fueled by the partner he dreamed of.

Nimriel quickly realized that the tiefling wasn't exaggerating about his skills. Rolan moved with both fierce and grace, like a red dragon roaming the vast blue of the sky.

Tonight, Nim saw a side of him she utterly adored: the way he defended her honor, ignoring possible repercussions for his own reputation. The way he led her now, brimming with confidence and strength. The way his hand lay carefully on her waist, the warmth of his touch sifting through her dress. Now, Rolan was truly free to live his life as he deserved. And it suited him stunningly.

As they danced, he told her all about the two years she missed: how all the tieflings finally settled in Baldur's Gate, pardoned by Ulder Ravengard. How Lia, Cal, and he finally began their lives anew. And how the influence of Ramazith's Tower was quietly stretching far beyond the city's walls, its reach growing with each passing day.

"You did pretty well for yourself, Master of Ramazith's Tower," she teased lightheartedly, listening to him speak.

"Master of Ramazith's Tower," Rolan mocked her tone as he guided her into an elegant spin. His composure remained impeccable, but beneath the surface, the unraveling had already begun. From her lips, his title sounded like a name for a deity.

"To whom I owe that, I wonder?" the tiefling smirked, drawing her closer again.

"Only to yourself."

Nim caught him off-guard. Rolan studied her expression, trying to understand if this was a trick or a tease, "It wouldn't be possible without you," the wizard finally scoffed.

The drow shook her head, "You truly do owe it to yourself. You were brave, stood your ground, and helped many of your kin along the way," she jokingly patted him on the shoulder, "The best candidate to become the Master of Ramazith's Tower."

His eyes widened in disbelief, "Better than Gale?"

Nim gave him the kind of smile that made Rolan's heart stumble - the one he'd dreamed of ever since it first began to beat faster in her presence, "I don't think he'd be half as passionate about it as you are."

No right arguments would come to the wizard's mind. Nimriel disarmed him with ease. All it took were just a couple of kind words. And that smile, those eyes gazing at him so attentively, making him melt.

After everything he had accomplished - all the joyful days shared with Cal and Lia, the hard-won respect he'd earned - could he truly dare to want more? Would it be selfish to offer his heart to someone and hope to be cherished in return?

"So quiet all of a sudden," her voice returned Rolan back from the depths of contemplation, "Can't believe you ran out of witty remarks."

Rolan faltered, "I'm a... I think I need some fresh air," he blabbered, slowly halting their dance, "How about you?"

"I don't mind at all."

As they were leaving, Rolan realized that he was still holding her hand. Nimriel didn't pull away, trusting him to lead her wherever the tiefling pleased. It was as if he was anchoring himself to her and a precious moment they shared. And he had no intention of letting go.

They stepped onto a secluded balcony overlooking the lower city. Nim couldn't help but gasp, mesmerized by the scenery, "I can't believe they rebuilt it so fast. It looks just like the day we arrived. Maybe even better."

"It's mostly Jaheira's doing," Rolan explained, leaning onto the balcony railing next to her, "She oversaw the construction like a hawk."   

A bittersweet grin appeared on Nim's face, "Wouldn't expect anything less from her." She suddenly fell silent, brows twitching, as the surge of memories has overtaken her.

Rolan didn't need to question if she was alright. It was the same look as earlier in the night. The tiefling didn't mean to pry, but his body disobeyed. His hand slowly landed on her shoulder, offering a silent gesture of support. And Nimriel accepted it, squeezing it in return.

They stood in silence for a while before the drow spoke again, "Can I ask you a favor?"

"You can try," he joked, but the words sounded more like an invitation.

But Nim didn't ask - Rolan's expression told her she wouldn't need to. The drow reached up, carefully untying the strings of his mask. And once she was done, her mask followed.

"Now we look just like the day we met," Nimriel pondered softly, meeting his gaze without hesitation or shame.

His breath caught, and he masked it quickly with a quip, "I was hoping I'd age like fine wine. Glad to know I haven't turned to vinegar."

Nim wouldn't laugh. Her light, purple eyes held his, unwilling to let go of the moment.

Silence stretched between them like a tail rope, ready to be torn any second.

"I missed you more than I thought I would," Nimriel revealed quietly, placing her hand gently on his arm, "I am sorry I didn't write. I wanted to. But each time I would sit and scribe something to you - to any of my old friends, really - my hand would freeze. The memories are too much to bear. Knowing we won, knowing we could actually live here together after it all... somehow that hurt even more."

Rolan nodded, understanding what she meant. Unsure at first, his hand rose to cover hers, fingers intertwining in one reverent motion.

"You have a good excuse for not writing, at least," his smirk was bittersweet, "I don't have any."

A gust of chilling wind swept across the balcony, pulling them instinctively closer. The world itself conspired to narrow the space between them.

If there is a moment to tell her, it is now.

Rolan let out a long, quiet sigh like he was trying to breathe courage into his lungs, "It doesn't mean I didn't think about you. You gave me a wonderful night and brought so many memories from the past. I cherish those times, no matter how harsh I had it."

He stepped closer, leaving next to no space between them, "The Gate is not the same without you. Many hope you will return. Especially me."

His voice dropped to a murmur as Rolan leaned closer, worried that the wind would steal his words, "And maybe then, I can show you around the city. I know it now as well as the wizard's spellbook."

Once he fell silent, the wind lost its voice, too. Nim didn't say a single word, either - her expression spoke louder. A bittersweet realization, a mourning for the time they've lost, lingered on the drow's face. But the moment didn't stay in sorrow for long.

"Show me tonight," Nimriel whispered.

Before he could react, Nim wrapped her arms around Rolan's neck and drew him down to meet her parted lips. Her kiss was tender yet filled with urgency - they had wasted years on unspoken desires already. Rolan felt her passion filling his lungs with lightning-like resolve. The tiefling pulled her into a tight embrace, his kisses growing hungry and breathless as the pressure of his longing finally broke him.

They shattered together under the light of a full moon, ruining each other's composure with every second passing. Clothes grew ruffled. Hairdos - disheveled. Lips - bruised with want. And once they finally parted, the sense of urgency wouldn't leave.

"When do you have to return to Avernus?" Rolan asked, caressing her cheek with gentle care.

Nim leaned into his touch, still unable to catch her breath, "Tomorrow noon at the latest," she sighed.

"Then we'd better hurry and create more happy memories before you depart."

Rolan smirked, catching her confused gaze, "I told you - many here expect your return. Don't you want to see them, too?"

The drow's eyes widened, "Isn't it too late to wake them up?"

But the wizard just pulled her into another warm hug, "You're worth losing sleep over. Many nights, if it comes to that."

+++

Rolan was right - the Elturan tieflings were overjoyed to see Nimriel again.

Throughout the night, the two of them wandered from one home to the next, visiting everyone she and her party had once saved on their journey. Laughter, embraces, and happy tears followed them like a trail of light. With time, the reunion swelled into a private celebration, culminating in the familiar warmth of Sorcerous Sundries.

Wherever they went, Rolan was never far from Nim. Pressing his shoulder to hers as they strode the streets of Baldur's Gate. Holding her hand gently under the table while they chatted with others.

And between houses, Nim and Rolan would sneak away from the group into the dark alleys. There, they would kiss senselessly under the moonlight, holding onto each other as if they were always meant to be one.

Rolan fusses with unpacking his picnic basket and placing everything on a soft dark blue blanket he spread out. It has to look perfect. Fruits, cheese, dried meat, wine, and wildflowers… He paces while trying to figure out if he left anything. The wildflowers and strawberries come from his own garden. He is quite proud of them.

He found the most beautiful place in a hidden glade beyond Baldur's Gate’s walls. It is on a hill that overlooks the water. The view of the Sword Coast and the sun dancing on the waters is breathtaking. It's perfectly shaded under several trees and the sunlight makes patterns on the soft grass through the leaves. Butterflies flutter on nearby flowers. A few birds chirp happily. There is a light breeze encircling him and the scent of ocean waters fill the glade.

He places another thicker reds and blues blanket down next to the variety of food and wines. Bread, cheese, fruits and dried meats. He brought both a few wines as he couldn't make up his mind. A bouquet of wildflowers accents everything on the blanket.

There, that should do it. A light breeze rustles through Rolan's long brown hair and he pushes the strains back. He pulls his robes down, anxious about when he will show.

He stands waiting, unsure if sitting wouldn't look as nice or harder to get up right away. His stomach made noises, more out of nerves than anything else. He stares out at the waters while he continues fidgeting with his robes. He wishes he had thought to change clothes before rushing out of the tower.

“There you are!” a familiar voice says behind him.

Rolan turns around to see Dammon approaching him. He changed out of his blacksmithing attire. He was wearing black leather pants and a dark blue open button shirt that accented his eyes. I should have changed clothes. Damnit!

He smiles and asks, “Trouble finding it?” He takes a deep breath as Dammon moves closer to him. He breathes in a mixture of spices and fire with a hint of chocolate. It makes his heart race having him so close.

Dammon smiles, scrunches his nose and says, “Just a little.” He takes steps closer to him and says with a grin, “But I did find it and that's what is important.”

Rolan says, “Yes, truly.” as he nods. He jesters with his hand for Dammon to sit and he sits next to him on the blanket.

Dammon asks, “So, you wanted to talk?”

Rolan answers, “Yes, I wanted…well we both work constantly. You have always been good about making sure I get some rest away from the tower. I figured you deserved the same. I thought that we could both take the rest of the day off.”

Dammon leans closer and says, “I just think you wanted kisses.” He grins and softly lays his lips against Rolan's lips. He always tastes oranges on him and his aroma is similar to old books and spices.

When he pulls away Rolan says with a smirk, “Yes but I always want kisses from you.” Rolan notices Dammon's cheeks turning red and he smiles.

Dammon smiles and looks down at his hands in his lap. He says softly, “Me too. I always enjoy you kissing me.”

Rolan places his two fingers under his chin and lifts Dammon's face to him. He tilts his head, his golden eyes are intense as he watches him, and leans closer. He whispers, “You can always have kisses from me, anything you wish.”

Dammon's smile widens as Rolan places his lips passionately against Dammon's lips. They press harder with desperation as his hand softly glides to the back of Dammon's neck. There is no air between them, only longing and strengthening emotions. Dammon's hands are propping himself up as Rolan pushes further into the kiss. He doesn't stop until Dammon starts whimpering, leaving them both wanting more. Rolan always loves this feeling, desperately wanting…desperately wanting for each other, because later it will ignite into fiery passion.