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A sickening merriment had begun to weave through the citizens of Baldur’s Gate wherever they gathered. All manner of spiders and vermin were undoubtedly happy to take up residence in the countless runs of pine garlands creeping around every pillar, every bannister, every outcropping a public eye could see. Luxurious ribbons glimmering in rich, jeweled tones wrapped and wound and tied anywhere bare, embellishing the city in shimmer and tinsel that everyone would be sure to find traces of in their trousers for months to come. Parishioners joined in song could be heard wandering the cobbled streets all hours of the day, completing the farce that anyone in this city was actually happy during Waukeentide.
Upright and proud, save for the rapid swishing at the pointed tip of the master of the tower’s tail, Rolan surveyed Sorcerous Sundries from behind a holly-wrapped guard rail with a pensive contempt. This year was the first he had to endure the sight of the mandatory fun lacquered across his own home, as the merchants and artisans of Baldur’s Gate had become increasingly, vocally envious of the celebration in Waterdeep. Without shame in their crusade for greater vanity and wholly without regard for the burden placed upon the class of casters and arcane practitioners to execute this vision of tawdry tripe, every year it seemed that the infection had spread a little more. And now, the resplendent majesty of Ramazith’s Tower had been cheapened by the kitsch of city-ordered Waukeentide adornments.
Rolan fumed silently until his focus was disrupted by the crackle of weave blipping at the edge of his senses. Living in perfect attunement with the tower, Rolan knew the teleportation circle had been activated, and a tight smile threatened to neutralize the surly frown prematurely aging his features. Should this guest not be unexpected, then one of the only bright spots of the occasion had arrived. Rolan glanced at his watch as he pivoted on his heeled boot to head towards the tower’s private interior - they were a little late, as a matter of fact.
Only when Rolan saw him, standing politely beside the teleportation circle as all guests do, did his smile finally win. The ritual of being welcomed into a home endured in importance despite countless visits, no matter what form the entryway took, and the human wasn’t one to forsake such formalities. Dressed in fine attire and with a rucksack over his shoulder, Gale’s face lifted as he met eyes with Rolan.
“It’s about time, you know how terribly rude it is to keep me waiting.” Rolan managed to tease but an attempt at a smirk couldn’t diminish his earnest grin.
Gale’s smile was easy as the two approached one another, and setting his bag down at their feet he wrapped his arms around the waist of the taller Tiefling. “I do hope you can forgive me, I needed a full freshen after class ended today. I can’t very well show up at your magical doorstep with a hair out of place during Waukeentide and expect a warm welcome.”
Tension melts from his shoulders as Rolan drops his crossed arms to find their familiar places on Gale’s waist and shoulder. He catches the glow of Gale’s brown eyes just as he closes his own, leaning down to press a soft, slow kiss to his lips as Gale tightens his embrace around the man’s middle, swaying gently. As their kiss ends and eyes meet once again, Rolan’s voice was a low refrain, “Consider yourself officially welcomed warmly. Ramazith’s Tower is happy to host you for each of the merry tendays of this abysmal holiday.”
Gale rests a hand against Rolan’s warm cheek, breathing a small laugh as his gaze holds Rolan’s honeyed eyes. “Ah but, my love, despite your protesting I think I detect that your appreciation for the holiday may have actually deepened a little. You’re not nearly as stiff and grouchy.” A playful spark to his words, Gale pecks Rolan’s lips once more before pulling away and collecting his bag off the ground.
Rolan scoffs in return as the two find footfall beside one another, walking the familiar path to the family’s private quarters. “Well allow me to disperse such notions thoroughly, you won’t believe what they’ve made us do to the tower. Such an eyesore.”
Gale makes no effort to disguise the delight in his voice, “Waterdeep does set the standard, as a matter of course. It was inevitable that the full spectacle would make it to Baldur’s Gate eventually.”
“Yes, unfortunately. The worst part is that Cal and Lia took it upon themselves to bring the ‘Waterdeep Standard’ into our private chambers, so I’m not even safe in my own home.” Rolan sighed, grumbling. “They used my desk to make decorations and I apparently don’t know a cleaning spell powerful enough to banish all the gods-forsaken glitter that I keep finding on my things.”
Gale chuckled again, soothing Rolan’s shoulder. “Speaking of them, are they upstairs? I’ve brought some gifts.”
“No, everyone is still out right now. I’ve told you Cal has a new girlfriend right? She’ll be joining us for dinner at least tonight, probably more.” Another small frown pulled at Rolan’s lips.
The pair entered the living chamber, and as described, not an inch of the room had gone unconsidered. Gale slowed, cupping Rolan’s fingers in his own and motioning them towards the settee nearby.
Gale’s tone turned soft, “If it’s just us, then now is actually the perfect time. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to exchange our presents.”
Rolan sighed again, but smiled softly as he allowed Gale to guide him to sit. “Very well. It’s probably better this way, before family and friends of family arrive.” With a flick of his wrist, a mage hand had retrieved a small, wrapped parcel from the table across the room and the spell dissipated once in Rolan’s hand. Sat beside Gale and turning to face him, a hint of trepidation ran across Rolan’s features as he watched his partner sift through his rucksack. “Should I go first?”
Hand still in the bag, Gale’s eyes sparkled at the other man. “If you’ll allow me, I’d actually prefer to go first this time.”
Rolan’s reply was punctuated with stiff posture and a tiny wince, eyes watching Gale’s bag closely, “Of course.”
Gale pulled his own parcel out at last, wrapped crisply in parchment paper, and patted Rolan’s hand soothingly. “Not to fret, I heard you loud and clear from our previous Waukeentides. ‘No grand gestures.’”
“Please,” Rolan tersed through a smile, posture relaxing in increments.
“Please,” Gale emphasized with a squeeze of his hand, returning an earnest grin. “Per your request, this year I decided to take a different approach. As you know, my feelings can be… Well, they are considerable, and difficult to contain at times, particularly when I am feeling so especially sentimental during such a romantic holiday. No matter how much you protest! But with your wishes in mind, instead of giving you something that could demonstrate to the whole world beyond a shadow of a doubt the depth of my devotion, I thought I would select something that says it rather more symbolically.”
Rolan doesn’t say anything when Gale hands him the present. It’s clearly a book, and as he tears the paper back modestly he can feel some manner of arcane interplay between the tower and this gift dancing across his senses. As his mind began to work, Rolan’s eyes widen in recognition and then shock. “How do you have this? Where did you find it?” Incredulous.
Gale’s smile softens as his eyes shine into Rolan, voice lowering. “I’m afraid this gift must come with an apology, for I stole The Annals of Karsus from this very tower during the conquest against the Absolute. I hope you will forgive me for desecrating these halls, even before they belonged to you.”
Rolan’s face twists through microexpressions; rage, sorrow, confusion. “Yes, I remember very well when it was stolen. I could never forget, Lorroakan took that plundering out on me. I just don’t understand why you still have it. Why you never told me about this.” The hurt edge creeps into his voice, expression winded. “This was years ago, Gale.”
Gale offered a hand to Rolan, halfway threading their fingertips together as he began. “I’m sorry that I did not return it sooner. This book represents my past, the person I was in an uglier time. Desperate. Hungry. And with it, I had hoped to seize the Crown of Karsus from the Netherbrain and reforge it. Grasp that power in my hands and become a God, rise above everything and claim the marbled throne in Elysium I believed I deserved.” The painted enthusiasm faded as his voice lowered.” As you know, in the end, the crown fell out of easy reach, and fortunately that left me with time to think.”
Gale paused to breathe a moment. The intensity of his gaze held Rolan’s eyes as he was willing to meet them, the tiefling not able to sustain the prolonged eye contact. “For a long time, my eye would be drawn to this tome on my shelf, and then naturally to the fantasy of fishing the crown out of the Chionthar someday. Straying from the path I was on to escape into divinity; my secret contingency plan. An encompassing solution to any problem I had. Could have. A reimagining of myself into someone better, whole and unsullied.” Gale’s passion grew before dropping once again somewhere serious.
“Rolan, today I’m returning it to the master of the tower I stole it from, because I am grateful every day that I did not.” Rolan completed slotting his fingers between Gale’s, claws dimpling into the back of the human’s hand as his heart pounded in his chest.
“The truth is, I had let this tome grow dusty on the shelf and realized I hadn’t once thought about it in half a year or more. With all godly ambitions not only cast aside but having escaped me without even my notice, I hope this gift can express how you have humbled me. I now only desire the success of my pupils, quality time with Tara, my mother, your family, and most of all… The love, the shared sweetness, I have already been blessed a lifetime over to have found with my beloved.” Gale lifted his open hand to Rolan’s cheek, deep sincerity across his every feature as his fingers cradled from cheek to pointed ear.
Rolan’s wide eyes and parted lips wobbled, the fluttering in his soul causing tremors in his body. He inhaled and then sighed deeply, the smirk that appeared on his face offsetting the adoration in his gaze. “You really do have a hard time sticking to the agreed upon gift exchange terms. You absolutely devastate me every year.”
Softness hung in that moment. Gale guided their foreheads together, his thumb still caressing Rolan’s cheek. As it passed, Rolan rubbed their noses together as he used both of his hands to place his present into Gale’s. “Please open it, love. It’s your turn. It’s nothing compared to how far you’ve taken things once again, but I hope you will… Find some enjoyment out of it all the same.”
Gale begins to unwrap the smaller item, unfolding the paper. Delight floods him as he holds a seemingly handmade booklet, complete with amateur binding. “Love Coupons?” he read aloud, the smile pulling across his face lilting his voice.
Rolan’s brow furrows as he tries not to look half as sheepish as he feels. With a dignified clear of his throat, “Yes. I got the idea from Lia, one of her friends made something like this for her husband. I thought it could be fun to have throughout the year and that… You would see my own heart, I suppose, as well. In this.”
The smile on Gale’s face only grows as he flips through the booklet, reading offers like “1 Hug” and “1 Bubble Bath” with enthusiasm. “Ooh, best not read these ones out loud.” Gale teased, passing through a naughtier run of tickets. And even though he put them there himself, Rolan couldn’t help the flush darkening his cheeks. Gale finally grew quiet, lingering on a particular page. Smirking and casting his eyes upwards to meet Rolan’s. “Win 1 argument? And I see there’s but a precious single ticket for that particular item.”
Rolan nodded, embarrassment waning enough to find the mettle to tease again. “Yes. One should always strive to keep their lover on their toes, after all. I can’t go too easy on you.”
“Just the one speaks volumes, my love.” Gale murmurs, closing the book delicately in his hand and leaning towards Rolan.
Rolan’s expression finally relaxes. Grabbing Gale by the sweater, he pulls the human’s lips to his own. Soft passion bubbling between the familiar slide of their lips, spiced oranges and chamomile swirling on their tongues. Rolan pulls back to chuckle again, grinning broadly.
“You know, I will admit... I do very much prefer Gale of Waterdeep’s authentic Waukeentide to the poor imitation of an import.”