#wasted sam stuff

Tags: Slow burn, romantic, eventual smut, mutual pining, angst and feels, ongoing, F/M, Rolan/female drow.

Notes: I am very sorry for the update taking this long. Originally, this chapter was different, but I expanded some interactions and left some of the texts I've already written for the next chapter. I really, really appreciate you still supporting my longfic. If you want a better understanding of why chapters take this long, please refer to the notes at the end of the chapter on AO3. TL:DR - life is very stressful right now.

Also, as you can see, “Worthy” is now a part of the series, I will be including some of the shortfics I write in the future there. The first smutfic between Nimriel and Rolan has already been published there. :3

+++

Worthy

Part 3 | Chapter 20

Some things are greater than ambition

The whole time Rolan was speaking, Lia watched him like a hawk, trying her hardest to remain calm. She and Cal already knew about what had happened. Anxious Karlach jabbered all about the party's findings while she led them to the Tower.

Still, the way Rolan carried himself as he recalled his time with Lorroakan was haunting. The truth cost the wizard dearly, torn from his throat with scorching-hot pliers. He was a deer caught in the hunter's snare - eyes round and unseeing, already half-dead. An expression his siblings hadn't seen since the day they found him starving on the streets of Elturel. Or the day their mother passed.

At one point, Rolan stopped, too tired to go on. Lia glanced at Cal and pointed to the sofa, cozily hidden under a bridge-like construction of the room. Silently, Cal took Rolan's hand, placed it on his shoulder, and led him forward.

Lia sat on the sofa's corner, coaxing Rolan to join her. He reluctantly did, laying his drained head on her knees. The wizard remained silent for a long time, staring at Cal's face, who kneeled before him.

Patting his shoulder absentmindedly, Lia wondered if Rolan felt tears rolling down his face. It was better that he didn't. She didn't want his rare moment of vulnerability to remain unresolved. His expression was already darkened by deep shame and uncertainty.

Too devastated by her brother's condition, Lia shifted her attention to the Tower’s Throne Room. On another occasion, an experience of seeing something this grand would be indescribable. But the tall ceilings, vast spaces filled with rare tomes, and arcane flickering in the sun paled in comparison with the blood-covered floor and the air filled with memories of what happened here.

"It's been so long."

Rolan's unexpected, quiet remark took Lia out of her contemplations.

The wizard continued, "We left Elturel so long ago. Yet it still lingers in me." He slowly clenched and unclenched his palm, watching the scar creasing the skin around itself. "I am sorry. Our journey was necessary, but... if I knew it would be this torturous..." Rolan shrugged weakly.

"You would’ve gone anyway," his sister countered warmly.

"You think?" His tear-filled eyes met hers, surprised.

"I know. You always do what’s best for us. We just don’t want it to be to your detriment.” No matter how upset she was, Lia kept herself from reprimanding him. It was the last thing Rolan needed.

“We are together now, it’s all that matters.” Cal took his brother’s hand, carefully scrabbing remnants of blood on it with his sleeve. “Besides, it wasn’t all torturous. We found friends. I’d argue we even found family, with Dammon, Lakrissa, the kids, and others.”

A faint smile came through on the wizard’s face, “I... I thought about them, too,” he admitted quietly.

“See?” Cal returned the smile, “Don’t be sorry. We can’t change the bad that has already passed. But we get to keep the good.”

Memories surged through Rolan. But only those he wished to keep. Late-night beers with Dammon as they laughed the hardships of the day away. Regular debates with Zevlor that ended not in bad faith, but in a mutual understanding that they both wanted what's best. Bickering with Alfira over the simplest of things, which always weirdly felt heartwarming. Tiefling children who'd joke and follow him constantly in hopes he'll show them another magic trick. And... Nimriel. The woman who saw him and through him. The one who made him see.

Another deep sigh - he was ready to continue. He told them how the party barged into the Tower and about the fight that followed. How now he was left with a life-defining choice. And that, in truth, he was dreading it.

At last, a silent relief filled the Tower. Cal was the one to interrupt it.

"You've already chosen." Not a question, he knew his brother too well.

Rolan stood up, eyes drifting through the room he had frequented so often in the last weeks. "If you told me before, I was destined to rule the Tower, I'd cast celebratory fireworks all across the sky. But,-" he reached out his arm, watching the weave particles circling around it like fireflies. "I never considered the implications of this dream. That some things are greater than ambition."

The wizard looked back at his siblings, "You are right, I have decided. I've had enough. I won't let anyone mistreat our family again. Or any of our kin for that matter. And the Tower will serve our purpose while I serve it just as diligently."

Seeing them smile in approval, Rolan paused, thinking. His mind was already heavy with plans. An endeavor that now seemed even greater than those that came before. "I have a lot of things to take care of," he replied after minutes of silence.

"You mean we have a lot of things to take care of, I hope," Lia cut in, "Don't think for a second we will leave your side from now on."

A warm, grateful grin graced Rolan's face, "I wouldn't dare to think otherwise. Well then, important matters first."

+++

The back door of the Throne Room led them to a dim, long hallway branching off to dozens of rooms. But the three didn’t have to go far - Rolan was taking them into one of Lorroakan’s studies next door.

Lorroakan’s heavy hand was felt in every decor choice: expensive trinkets and gold-encrusted furniture had simply been placed wherever there was room. A style over substance, one could say, only style was nowhere to be found.

Hesitant, Rolan descended upon the appreciable armchair at the desk. For a moment, the wizard thought he'd feel disgusted sitting where the bastard spent so much time barking orders at him. Yet, the armchair, as the rest of the furniture, remained just that - inconsequential to whom they used to belong. A wave of relief washed over him.

Cal and Lia sat down on the elaborate sofa that leaned against the wall, watching Rolan find parchment in one of the table's cabinets.

"If we want to stay and use the Tower, we must act fast," he uttered, "I need to list it down, bear with me."

The wizard rolled the quill between his fingers, humming quietly as he contemplated. "Collect our belongings and move them here," Rolan instructed while writing, "And then we need to inspect the Tower. We were never allowed beyond the main magic hall and this study, but..." he gave the ceiling an appraising look, "It must have dozens of rooms. I know other wizards stayed here, ceremonies and roundtables took place... The vaults, too," Rolan shook his head, thinking of the scope, "Not sure how many days it will take to check every single one. And, of course, you should pick the rooms for yourself, whichever you'd like," he added apologetically, trying to sweeten the pill of responsibility his siblings were about to swallow.

Cal whistled playfully, "Didn't expect a lavish life would find me so soon."

"What are we searching the rooms for?" Lia asked, "Magical trinkets?"

Containing the urge to roll his eyes at the word "trinkets", Rolan nodded, "Yes, and not only. Lorroakan is... was a notorious collector. Magical items, jewelry, rare paintings. Things that can be used for wizardry are our primary focus, of course. But," he paused, "the, uh, luxurious commodities, we'll need those, too."

"To sell?" Lia was intrigued.

"Yes. At least those things that are less recognizable. We'll need all resources we can get before further invasions hit the Gate," the wizard explained, "Armor, ingredients, things to reinforce the Sundries with. And I don't want to take money from the Sundries' budget. It has suffered enough under Lorroakan's negligence."

"You really did give it a great thought, didn't you?" Cal sounded impressed.

Rolan shrugged, "When you stand at the counter staring into the abyss, all sorts of thoughts are pouring in."

"You know, we can trade the rare ones to the Guild," Lia suggested, "They'll take it no questions asked."

"As in the Thieves Guild?" notes of irritation soaked through Rolan's tone.

"What? You object to trading with thieves after getting your hands on the Tower? That's rich."

Cal quickly interjected, "I know you missed arguing with each other, but let's resume planning."

"Alright," the wizard begrudgingly resumed writing, wondering how much his sister knew about the Guild. "For now, gather all magical and valuable items you find. Catalogue them and pile them in one room." As his siblings nodded, Rolan continued, "We need at least five guestrooms ready. And Cal, find the kitchen. I'm afraid the cooking duties will be on you."

His brother chuckled, "Wise decision. Dying of food poisoning just before the big invasion would be embarrassing."

"Which reminds me...," Rolan searched the desk's cabinets again. To no surprise, one of them contained a hefty pouch with coins. Cal and Lia watched in awe as he counted platinum and gold pieces. Once done, he separated the coins into two stacks and resumed writing.

"I will assist you with cleaning, too," Rolan assured, "But I need to send out some letters first. And learn how to fine-tune with the Tower's arcane energy. It will help run it more efficiently."

"Come on, Rolan, you can trust us with the cleaning," Cal budged in, "You clearly have a lot of your wizard-y stuff to figure out."

The wizard rolled the quill between his fingers again, giving them an unsure look, "Are you both fine with this?"

“Hm, let me think,” Cal stretched out his arms, “weighing” their options, “Stay at a rich, protected tower and clean it, or - resume living in a one-room box, doing nothing. Tough choice.”

Rolan cleared his throat. His brother made the point quite clear. "Thank you, you are very helpful. Give me a moment, I need to write the letters."

His siblings exchanged glances as he took out more parchments and fell silent, absorbed in writing. Soon, the wizard finished the first three, marking one with the Tower's seal.

The words for the fourth soon-to-be letter didn't come to him with the same ease. Rolan froze, ember gaze burning through the parchment. He was suddenly painfully aware of how dry his throat and lips felt. Dragged under a heavy current of feverish thoughts, Rolan struggled to move or breathe. He bit his lip again, but this time it was to hide an abashed grin.

"Rolan?" Lia asked with concern.

"Huh?" his response was distracted, voice low and strained. Meeting their eyes, Rolan's cheeks flushed deep red. With a small, shaky laugh, he collected the parchment and ink. "Sorry," he moved briskly to the door, "I need to think about this letter on my own for a bit." His words were hurried, almost desperate. "I'll be back soon. Rest, or look around as you wish," the wizard muttered, leaving quickly.

Undeterred, Cal stood up to marvel at one of the paintings above the couch.

"He really is so out of it," the concern still read in Lia's voice.

Placing a finger onto the canvas in a child-like curiosity, her brother replied, "Well, understandable. But I wouldn't worry too much about him storming out."

"Why?"

Cal chuckled, "I think it's pretty obvious."

"Not to me, apparently."

The tiefling was quite entertained: yet again, his older brother and sister showed the same level of emotional unintelligence. "I'll give you a hint: it's affairs of the heart."

"What?" Lia blinked rapidly, "You mean... he is in love?!"

"Most likely, yes."

"Ah, wait a moment," she scratched her forehead, "No way."

"Keep on guessing, this is mighty entertaining," Cal laughed laudably, "Come on, Lia! Don't tell me you didn't notice his brows flying off his face every time he'd mention a certain someone?"

It took her a moment to realize, but she was surprised regardless, "Nim?!"

"Duuuuuh," Cal guffawed, "The signs were always there, but his reaction today confirmed it for me."

"Like what?"

He shrugged, "Rolan always seemed too tense when she was around. At first, I thought it was all because "damn drow constantly snoops around" thing," Cal explained, mimicking Rolan's tone, "But then, I started noticing other things. His eyes would constantly linger on her a moment too long. The way he'd felt the need to stand close. Hells, even how he'd square his shoulders to seem more imposing. It was so damn obvious all this time."

"Gods, Cal," Lia gave him a measured look, "Nothing escapes you, huh? I am already dreading the day I'll find myself a mate."

"Oh, trust, I will watch their every move around you," he replied in all seriousness.

"Right, right, we'll see," she replied quickly, trying to recall the instances when she'd see Rolan and Nimriel interact. In truth, she never put much thought into her brother's love life. The way his past relationships would always end as abruptly as they'd start, Lia figured that he wasn't that interested in them to begin with. "You think Nim likes him back?"

"Hm... that I can't say. You know, Nim has this energy about her that screams she can be interested in everyone and no one at the same time. And besides," Cal frowned, "Haven't seen her for so long."

"True," Lia agreed. The last conversation between Nimriel and her still lay heavy on her heart. "Anyway, now that we know, do we let Rolan know that we know?" she grinned, seeking a distraction.

Cal pretended to fall into a deep contemplation, "Let's give Rolan a day or two to pick himself back up. But then - he won't hear the end of it."

+++

When Rolan returned, Cal and Lia had already changed topics. The duo pondered how many rooms the Tower actually has, readying for a monumental cleaning operation. Rolan smirked, happy to see their enthusiasm. Writing a letter on the balcony, where the sun shone for him, and the wind gently stroked his hair, helped to clear his mind.

He sat back at the desk and quickly tucked the fourth letter into the envelope. “Now everything’s in order,” Rolan assured, though his voice still sounded shaky, "Before other chores, I need one of you to go to Rivington, and the other to deliver letters to the party at Elfsong."

"I'll go to the Elfsong," Lia volunteered, "If you don't mind, Cal?"

"Not at all," her brother shrugged, "Sooooo, Rivington - is it what I think it is?”

“Yes,” Rolan placed the sealed letter next to the pile of golden coins he had counted previously, “Buy passages for all of them. If the guards stop you, show them the letter. If it won’t help-,” he threw his arms up, “bribe them.”

Lia hemmed, “Should I bring up my point about the Guild once more? Don’t get it twisted, I am happy we are finally getting the kin to the Gate,” she added quickly, seeing Rolan’s forehead bunching up, “Are the guestrooms for them?”

The wizard nodded, “I doubt they will have enough money to settle somewhere at first. It will be safer for them here. I will show you one of the passages that leads from the Sundries’ backdoors straight to the Tower. We will all use it not to attract unwarranted attention.”

“That’s wonderful,” Cal smiled, placing the coins into his small bag, “Maybe they can help us search for the kids and other kin in the city, too.”

“We can ask them, sure,” Rolan agreed, turning his attention to Lia. The wizard gave her two neatly folded letters first, “Pass these to the party and wait until they write a response.”

“Oh?”

"They will forge Lorroakan's handwriting,” Rolan explained, “We need convincing evidence that he left in haste and appointed me to run the Tower in the meantime."

Lia took the letters, contemplating, “And when they realize he’s not coming back, will they let you stay and run it still?”

The wizard scratched his jaw, taking a deep breath before answering, “By the time it happens, I plan to impress the Gate so much they would beg me to stay.”

“That’s the Rolan I know,” his sister patted his shoulder energetically.

His confidence, however, quickly vanished once the tiefling remembered the final letter. Hesitant, he handed the envelope over to Lia.

“Please give this one to Nimriel personally. Tell her it’s important, regarding the scrolls we discussed prior, she will understand,” he gabbled monotonously, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

Lia smirked faintly, but didn’t pry further. In truth, she was eager to get to the Elfsong as soon as possible. Nimriel and her had unfinished business.

+++

Fate had them meet sooner than Lia anticipated. Nim and the others sat at the big table outside the Elfsong tavern, resting as they waited for supper. To passersby, they looked no different than any other group of travelers: chatting and snickering to kill time before their food arrived. Still, their lighthearted demeanor, casual closing, and the absence of weapons couldn’t fool Lia. To her, they were the unlikely heroes, whose mission had now left a permanent mark of hardship across their bodies.

Always on the lookout for trouble, the drow noticed Lia first and swiftly ran up to meet her. Lia froze: the right words wouldn’t come after they parted on such a sour note. But Nim didn’t need to hear anything. Without hesitation, she pulled the tiefling into a soft hug.

“I am so happy to see you,” the huntress blurted, refusing to let go, “I am sorry for being dismissive, Lia. I wish I could have voiced it better.”

“I-,” Lia hugged the drow back, exhaling slowly. Nimriel’s first step was supposed to make it easier on her. Yet, her heart now was further shadowed with sorrow. “I am sorry too. But really, do you expect me to be mad at you after you saved Rolan? If it wasn’t for you, I...,” she carefully pulled away, voice cracking, “We should’ve known something was wrong with him, we should’ve visited him still when he forbade us.”

Nimriel shook her head, taking Lia’s hand, “Don’t blame yourself. It’s clear that Rolan did all he could to hide it from everyone. I’d probably do the same to protect those who are close to me,” she paused, realizing she did the very same to them in the Last Light Inn. “It doesn’t make what he did right,” Nim added hastily, “But I understand why he did.”

“Maybe,” Lia dipped her chin hesitantly, “Either way, thank you. I don’t know where our family would’ve been if not for all of you,” she added, greeting the rest of the adventurers with a wave. They waved back at her, watching the interaction from afar.

“Want to join us?” Nimriel pointed to the table, “We’re about to have dinner.”

“Thanks, but some other time. We have lots of work to do in the Tower. Which is why I am here,” she opened a small bag, producing the letters. “Rolan asked to give you these. He’s on board with your “little scheme,” Lia uttered the last few words in a mock-dramatic tone, “He asked you to reply as soon as possible.”

Nimriel’s heart leaped, feeding her hastiness. She unwrapped the parchment and began reading right away.

Subordinates of the Sorcerous Sundries, be informed, I, Master Lorroakan of Ramazith’s Tower, must urgently depart for Athkatla. The matter concerns the location of the Night Song, which requires my thorough investigation. Make no mistake, the lead might appear to be a hoax. Therefore, you must continue diligently collecting all the tips about the relic. Due to my departure, I delegate all my responsibilities as the Master of Ramazith’s Tower, including full authority on trade and negotiations, to my apprentice. I demand you keep a close eye on his every decision and report to Tolna if you uncover any miscalculations on the boy’s part. Your noncompliance will result in severe punishment. - Lorroakan, Master of Ramazith’s Tower

Nimriel chuckled to herself: it was exactly how she expected that late colossal prick to sound. She turned to the other page, reading:

This is the letter we should proceed with. As per our further plans, I invite all of you to visit Ramazith’s Tower and discuss it. Come in three days, let things settle. Thank you for reuniting Cal and Lia with me. I will make sure to extend my gratitude to you in any way you’d find suitable. - Rolan, Master of Ramazith’s Tower

A familiar tingle filled her stomach with pleasant anticipation once Nim saw Rolan affirming his new title. She wanted him to be confident about himself again - that was the least he deserved.

“Everything’s right?” Lia smirked, noticing Nimriel’s cheeks go a shade darker.

“Oh yes, this is very good. Full authority on trade and negotiations, huh?” Nimriel chuckled, imagining Rolan writing it down, “How convenient,” she beckoned Lia to follow her, “Come, you can rest with us while Shadowheart copies the letter.”

“Sure! But wait a moment,” Lia took Nim by the wrist, stopping her, “I have one more,” she took out the envelope and carefully handed it to the drow, “This one is for your eyes only.”

Nimriel stumbled, looking at the envelope as if it could explode, “It…it is?”

Lia held back a grin, remembering Cal’s observations, “Rolan said you’ll get it, something important about… scrolls,” she replied allusively.

The drow exhaled shakily, trying to mask it with a small laugh, “Of course! Sorry, so much happened today, I forgot. I will read it later. Need to think how many scrolls I will need, you know?” Nim blabbered, quickly shoving the envelope into one of her pockets, “Now, let’s get you some snacks, while you wait, yes?”

+++

The thoughts of a mysterious envelope haunted Nimriel deep into the night. Scrolls? Funny how a smart man such as Rolan couldn’t come up with a better lie to send her a private letter. Which only made Nim suspect that he had written it in a hurry. Something got him in a chokehold so strong he couldn't wait to break out of it.

The sentiment excited Nim, and yet, she was anxious. Their last conversation, although cathartic, was turbulent to say the least. Opening the envelope with her companions nearby didn’t seem like a bright idea, but her patience was wearing thin.

And so, all she could do was silently guess the letter’s contents, feigning composure in front of her friends.

“Stop rubbing it, or it won’t heal properly!” Shadowheart’s nagging remark quickly sent the drow from her reverie back into their shared suite. The party sat cozily in the lounge zone, listening to Wyll’s retelling of the Legend of Ansur.

“Sorry, it itches,” Nim replied, quickly removing her hand from her bandaged ankle - one of the few injuries she suffered during this morning’s fight. “You mentioned trials, Wyll? What trials?” she asked the warlock absentmindedly.

Wyll blinked. “I am not sure. But, in theory, if we pass them, we can awaken Ansur. Or maybe unlock knowledge that can help us.”

“See, it’s the “in theory” that irritates me,” Astarion chimed in, “Why would we risk our lives once again chasing some “in theory” ghosts?”

“For once, I agree with the bloodsucker,” Lae’zel tsked, “We will only be wasting time.”

“Alright, alright, this is all not helping,” Nimriel stood up, sensing she couldn’t deal with them arguing right now, “Here’s what we’ll do. Wyll, let’s ask Florrick if she knows anything about the trials. Then we will consider if going to Wyrm's Rock is worth it,” she took out her pipe, “I need a breather.”

Karlach’s ears pricked up, “Want me to join?”

“Uh, let’s go together later?” Nim asked apologetically, “Sorry, I need to think some things over.”

“Sure thing, soldier!” the barbarian replied, already curious about what was on her friend’s mind.

+++

The moment Nim reached the Elfsong’s roof, she pressed the pipe between her lips. A couple of quick puffs - nothing. The anticipation only coiled tighter. She lowered herself onto the roof’s ledge and drew out the envelope.

One more long pull. Not that it helped, but it was worth a try. Her fingers, still trembling, unfolded the parchment.

His handwriting. Elegant and sharp-edged. She knew it well by now, as the book he had gifted her was strewn with his notes. But seeing her own name written by Rolan’s hand made her entire body stir.

Nimriel, I thought a lot about today. Everything happened so fast, and my reaction would never be able to express the way I felt in the moment. You must know: I owe you everything for what you’ve done. I shouted at you, and I regret it gravely. You have an indescribable effect on me. When you are close, my every emotion balances on the edge, barely contained from spilling over. You make me burn, Nimriel. Burn in the ways I never realized that I could. Yet, only you can soothe this fire. I am overwhelmed with thoughts of you embracing my burning body. Of the feeling of your cold, soft skin veiling over me - the silver ash born out of my fever. All I want is to be smothered in that precious ash, finally at peace. I wish I had asked you to stay once the battle was over, to simply stand by my side as I collected the pieces of myself lost to Lorroakan. But, for the sake of the Tower aiding the city, I need time to make things right by it. I can only hope you won’t deny me a visit in three days’ time. I apologize for being so direct. You told me before that you regretted that I wasn’t truthful. I am now. I refuse to let this feeling vanish, to hide it in my hesitancy when I speak to you in person. And so, I carve it into parchment, to let this moment live on between us, no matter what happens next. I am ridiculously out of line, but I’d rather you know than misinterpret my outbursts and behavior. Yours, Rolan.

She only read it once, couldn’t handle the pulse ravaging her temples any longer. Nim’s face went numb with blush, eyes stung so badly she shut them solid. Breathing rapidly, she hugged her knees, resting her head against them.

“You make me burn, Nimriel. Burn in the ways I never realized that I could. Yet, only you can soothe this fire.”

The echo of his confession rang vividly in her skull. The chessboard was no longer for a show - Rolan made the move loud and clear. So ruthless in putting them both on the spot. And now, she must carry out the sentence for what happens next.

Furious with herself, Nimriel bumped her head against her knees. The drow didn’t know what she wanted more: to flee the Gate and bury herself deep in the woods or barge into the Tower and spend all night in his arms.

The words of the man, whose hands never drifted below her clothed waist, felt more intimate than any past lover’s touch. Nimriel’s mind shrieked: has anyone made her feel so intense before? How could she be sure she didn’t misunderstand his letter? Or that Rolan wouldn’t change his mind once the novelty of her virtue wears off?

Nim dreaded to be fooled again, clinging to any and every excuse.

And yet...

Suffocating, Nimriel lifted her head. The mercy of a sea-soaked night breeze soothed her lungs. Sure enough, the Tower loomed ahead. No place in Baldur’s Gate could escape its glare. Just as the thought of Rolan couldn’t be dimmed in her mind, no matter where Nim went.

The drow shook her head at it, as if its new Master could see her from afar, “Prick,” Nim murmured softly. Her hand began gliding against her neck and chin. Caressing, imitating his touches.

Nimriel wondered if the light glimmering in one of the Tower’s windows was his. If his mind was still consumed by visions of them together. It should have been - Rolan deserved to yearn some more after teasing her with such vivid imagery.

“Couldn’t you tell me in person? As if you didn’t know I would’ve stayed?” Nim whispered, as her gaze remained glued to the window.

Her imagination spiraled, feeding Nimriel’s desire to go to him. Visions came one after the other:

Rolan’s surprised, sweet expression once he’d noticed her in his room.

His amber eyes: looking, devouring the sight of her undressing.

Her quiet “I want you, too”. She wouldn’t need to be as elaborate with her words as he was to push Rolan over the edge.

His knowing, hungry smile - a signal of his surrender.

Big, clawed hands, raking across her body possessively. It belonged to him now just as much as his body would to Nim.

The confessions Rolan would pull from her trembling lips once their bodies would collide.

Their moans echoing, filling the endless space of darkness.

Nim sighed, trying to remain composed. So bold in her fantasies, the drow was too much of a coward to act upon them.

Three days, he said? Let them pass then.

Reluctantly, Nimriel stood up, finding the light in the window one last time. “Next time, I need you to be braver. For both our sakes,” she said bittersweetly, before returning to the chaos of their suite.