Chapter Text
Dorian stood at the edge of a sheer cliff face. Strong winds whipped around him, making his hair and cloak swirl, but he didn’t feel like he was in any danger of falling. The air was cold and sweet and clear. It blew in and out of his lungs without any effort or real breath, with a rhythm like a heartbeat, like a song. His very essence felt at home here, where the elemental plane of his ancestors touched the plane he had spent his entire life on, but it almost felt a little too at home. Like he might just melt away with the wind and become one with the breeze, losing himself forever.
A nudge to the side of his knee tugged him back to earth. Quite literally--he felt his feet touch down lightly to the stone. Either the boots or his own magic must have been resonating with the elemental wind, lifting him up just a few inches off the ground. Dorian opened his eyes and looked down. Orym stood beside him, his tiny frame being buffeted even harder by the wind, but looking just as comfortable as Dorian felt.
“I knew you’d like it here,” Orym said, just loudly enough to be heard over the constant rushing air.
“It’s...incredible,” Dorian replied. “You were right, words don’t do it justice.”
“It’s home.” Orym smiled like he was trying not to cry. “And now I’m leaving again.”
The final decision had been given to the Voice of the Tempest yesterday afternoon. It was early morning now. Orym had softly suggested that they climb up to the peak of one of the cliffs to watch the sunrise, and even if Fearne and Dorian hadn’t wanted to, they wouldn’t have been able to deny him that. But they did want to, and they awoke easily in the early dark to begin the trek, reaching the summit just in time for the sky to begin lightening.
Fearne had settled back against the trunk of a stunted, windswept pine tree that clung to the clifftop. She had probably fallen asleep again with Mister curled up in her lap, but Dorian had never felt more awake.
“Where exactly is the Tempest sending us in Emon?” Dorian asked nervously. “I know she said, but...”
“Greyskull Keep,” Orym answered. “It was her home, way back when. It’s mostly empty these days. But somebody trustworthy will be there to make sure we get to the skyport safely.”
“I know you trust her, but...is she sure they’re trustworthy?” Dorian shuddered involuntarily as he remembered the sting of panic when they’d realized that the cart that Gilmore had lent them had been hijacked by the Nameless Ones.
“Handpicked guards by the Tempest’s friends on the council,” Orym assured him.
“Alright, alright.”
It must have been obvious that he was still nervous, because Orym reached up and took his hand. “I’m not too worried about that part,” Orym murmured. “Does that help?”
“A little. I trust you,” Dorian said. He squeezed Orym’s hand. “I trust you.”
“It’s all the parts after we get back off the airship that I’m worried about,” Orym added with a wry smile. “But you and Fearne are gonna be with me, so...”
“We’ll keep each other safe,” said Dorian.
“We will. I trust you,” Orym echoed. “I trust you.”
They both fell silent, looking off across the cliffs and valleys, the windmills and cherry trees and little round houses. Orym leaned out a little further. He rose up onto his toes and stretched out his free arm into the wind, tilting past the point where gravity would pull him backwards towards the solid ground. The only thing keeping him from being blown away was his hand in Dorian’s, strong blue fingers wrapped around his narrow wrist.
Dorian felt a tightness in his chest that couldn’t be chased away by deep breaths of the pure air. Orym’s trust in him wasn’t an empty, meaningless platitude, and it hadn’t been easily earned. It felt like so long ago when Orym had looked at him with wariness and concern and distrust in his eyes, when Dorian had been insisting on keeping the Circlet with the group. And it felt like so long ago when the Spider Queen had been twisting into his thoughts and making him feel so unworthy of the trust that Orym had begun to extend to him. He never wanted to feel like that again.
He wasn’t going to let Orym fall.
Orym took them to Will and Derrig’s graves later that morning. He had already visited a few times alone, of course, but the tentatively extended invitation came and Fearne and Dorian went, and they sat quietly with Orym while he wept. It was only fall, but a near-carpet of snowdrops grew everywhere on the hill that was Zephrah’s graveyard. Orym left a handful of other flowers on each of the graves, and so did Fearne. Dorian couldn’t conjure up flowers, but he left a small stone on each.
“Why a stone?” Fearne asked curiously. Orym didn’t say anything, but he had given Dorian a glance with a wondering expression as well.
“It’s...traditional,” Dorian struggled to explain. “Where I’m from. Sort of? We aren’t buried, but...when the ashes are thrown to the wind, we throw stones as well. The people who are gone can float away unburdened, but the grief we carry is heavy and permanent. Like stones.”
“Oh, that’s sort of lovely,” said Fearne.
Dorian gave a little shrug. He had never experienced the death of anybody he was particularly close to, so it wasn’t like he felt a strong personal tie to the tradition. Still, he had always found it beautiful. It sometimes felt like all of the cultural practices that he remembered or performed unconsciously were like stones themselves. They weighed him down or kept him grounded depending on the moment. He resented them and was grateful for them on an unpredictable oscillation. Sometimes both at the same time.
Before they left, Orym reached out and brushed his fingers over the stone on Will’s grave. He looked at Dorian with an inscrutable expression, but still didn’t say a word.
Watching Orym say goodbye to his family made Dorian feel like he was intruding on something intensely personal. Orym talked briefly with his sisters’ children, holding the baby and kissing him on the forehead probably a dozen times before finally handing him back up to Maeve’s partner. One by one, his sisters embraced him. Berenie ruffled Orym’s hair and made some hidden part of Dorian ache as he tried to convince himself that he didn’t miss his brother. Lita knelt down and wrapped him in a crushing hug that had Orym laughingly pleading for mercy, and Maeve just picked him right up to hug, which was a liberty Dorian had never seen anyone take with him but which didn’t seem to faze Orym at all. He kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear that made her tear up before placing him back on the ground.
While that was all happening, Nel sidled up to Dorian and Fearne. She took their hands in hers and said, “You two have been taking care of him, I can tell.”
“Well, he’s just very special,” Fearne said.
“We’ve been doing our best,” Dorian added quietly.
“Thank you,” Nel told them. “He is special. We all...we all just want him to come home someday. When he’s ready. He just has to keep himself safe until then.”
Dorian nodded. “We’ll do whatever we can to help him do that.”
He looked away as Orym said his final farewells to Nel and his mother. He stared at the trunk of the tree, and his eye was caught by Keyleth, standing beside the trunk with a faraway expression. For some reason, he felt drawn to walk over to her, and she offered him a small smile.
“It was nice to meet you,” Dorian said, feeling weirdly shy.
“You too, Dorian,” Keyleth said. She touched his arm. “You know, when this is over, if you ever decide that you’re done traveling, or just want somewhere to rest...I know a lot of air genasi who feel at-home here, when not many other places can give them that.”
Dorian took a shaky breath. He wanted to ask how did you know I have no home? but it was pretty obvious, he figured. “Thank you.” Not sure what else to say, he added in Primordial, “May fair winds find you.”
Smile-lines crinkled at the corners of the Tempest’s bright green eyes. “May they fly at your back,” she replied.
“Any advice for us?” he asked, still in Primordial.
Keyleth thought about that for a minute. “Gods, I’m bad at giving advice,” she admitted.
“That’s alright,” Dorian said quickly. “I just...I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”
She snorted. “Yeah, that one I can’t help you with.”
“Ready,” came a quiet, determined voice. Orym and Fearne were walking up to the tree. “Thank you for the transportation, ma’am,” Orym said.
Switching back to Common, Keyleth said, “Of course. Orym, we’re dealing with a lot right now, but if you need help, or if you learn anything you think I should know about, find a way to reach me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Orym gave a steady nod. “Kaitiaki, Tempest,” he stated.
“Kaitiaki, Orym.” The Tempest raised her hands and her staff. The green gem suspended in the crook began to glow. “Run quickly, the doorway isn’t open for very long.”
And the trunk of the tree split, and widened, and Dorian could see a garden on the other side. For a second, he was frozen with awe at the casual display of such powerful magic, but Orym was taking his and Fearne’s hands again and pulling them through, and they were emerging into a...greenhouse, of sorts. A large tree stood behind them, the doorway closing just as Dorian glanced over his shoulder. Above them was a roof made of pale stained glass. The sunlight poured through it, making the shape of a winged figure in the glass seem to glow golden.
“Ohh,” Fearne breathed. “It’s beautiful.
“It’s a temple,” Orym replied. “To the Everlight.”
There were lovely white stone benches and flowering plants laid out to mirror the same winged figure on the ground. A shiver ran down Dorian’s spine. “I thought you said it would be a keep ,” he said.
“It is. This is the central courtyard. The Tempest’s friend, who used to live here as well, is a cleric of the Everlight and had this place built, thirty years ago.” Orym began walking towards a set of doors. “Come on, the Tempest said our escort would be waiting just inside the gates.”
Despite Dorian’s anxiety about getting through the city safely, the guards were competent and careful with them, ready with measures to cloak and disguise them. And even though he knew that the Nameless Ones were surely lurking everywhere, there was a sort of nostalgic comfort to walking the city where he had met his friends. Still, he didn’t stop feeling the need to hold his breath with worry until they were settled in their cabin on the airship.
They weren’t allowed on deck until an hour after takeoff, which clearly made Orym feel restless, because he was doing pull-ups on the curtain rod.
“I’m gonna go try to find some food,” Fearne announced after the captain’s voice echoed through the ship to let them know that they were free to move about the ship.
“Don’t steal anything,” Dorian said immediately.
At the same time, Orym said, “Please don’t cause any trouble, Fearnie.”
“I won’t!” And she giggled as she ducked down and out of the little door to their cabin.
Orym let out a long-suffering sigh, dropping back down to the ground and giving Dorian a look .
“She’s going to get us thrown off the ship,” Dorian stated.
Orym’s mouth twitched. “Probably. Lucky that we’ve got you to catch us.”
Dorian didn’t know how to answer that.
“I desperately need some fresh air,” Orym continued. “Come with?”
“Sure.”
They found a quiet bench on the bow, out of earshot from any of the other passengers milling about. There was wind rushing by them, not quite as crisp and perfect as the wind in Zephrah, but nice all the same. Most of the sky was blue, with a few wispy pale clouds. Dorian could just see some darker grey ones off in the distance across the ocean, and he could see the coastline slowly receding behind them.
“Can I ask you a question?” Orym said abruptly.
“Oh--um, yes, of course,” Dorian said.
After a few seconds, Orym asked, “Why did you leave home?”
Dorian stopped breathing, a little.
“You don’t have to tell me, I...gods know I’d be a hypocrite to try to push anybody to answer a question like that before they’re ready.”
“No, I...I just...” He exhaled, inhaled. Remembered how to breathe, and did it again. “I don’t have any sort of... reason , not like you. I just wanted to leave. Figure out who I was, make my own way for a while, I...”
“Your family...pretty important folk?”
“You could say that.”
“And you have an older brother,” Orym recalled.
“Yes.”
Orym was looking at him like he was putting some pieces together.
“Do you know,” Dorian said, pushing through a tightness in his throat to make the words form, “I’ve been envious of you, sometimes.” It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d say out loud.
“In what way?”
“Lots of ways.” He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, the gently curving edge of the world in glittering ocean blue. “You’ve got a purpose, you know what you need to do, and...you’re wise, and you’ve seen so much. And you’ve got this confidence--”
He heard Orym make a little incredulous noise, though it probably wasn’t intentional.
“You do,” Dorian insisted. “Not...not like you think you’re always going to succeed, not like that, not arrogance. But like you know that even if you fail, you’ll fail doing the right thing. Because you have a purpose .”
“You don’t think you have a purpose?” Orym murmured. Reflecting it back to Dorian. There it was, that wisdom. He could tell that this was about Dorian, not him at all.
“I was born without a purpose,” Dorian responded. “Just a backup. A spare. A-and you’ve got family back in Zephrah, and they love you, and...and they see you, and they want you to come home--on your own time, for your own reasons, and I just...”
“I’m sorry,” Orym said. “That you don’t have that.”
Dorian swallowed and shrugged. He suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything.
There was a long silence, and then Orym said, “Do you know...I’ve been envious of you, sometimes.”
Dorian frowned and looked at him. “Why?” he uttered, genuinely confused.
Orym gazed up at the sky, tracking some clouds that they were flying past. “Lots of reasons,” he said, still echoing Dorian. “Your freedom. The way people like you and trust you even when you feel awkward around them.” Another pause. Orym blinked a couple of times, his eyes shiny. “And because Dariax came back.”
Once again, Dorian stopped breathing.
“I’m sorry,” Orym added instantly. “I don’t mean--obviously I-I’m glad Dariax could come back, it’s just...”
“No, I understand,” Dorian managed.
“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.”
“You--Orym, don’t... apologize ,” Dorian said weakly. “Don’t do that.”
Orym was chewing at his lower lip, still not looking at him. “We tried, you know,” he stated. “When Will and Dad died, we tried bringing them back. It wasn’t quite that quick, but we tried, we tried different spells, we...”
“I know, you told us that. I’m so sorry, Orym.”
“It didn’t work. ”
“I know.” Gods, this hurt. Watching Orym fight back tears...it hurt. He’d seen Orym cry several times now, and it always just hurt.
“Anyway.” Orym cleared his throat. “Anyway, the point is, I don’t know that having a purpose is...better. Sometimes it just feels like a burden. It’s a direction, sure, but sometimes it feels like an anchor and the direction is just down , it’s just pulling me under the waves.”
“Well, if you ever want...” Dorian struggled for words. “A hand. Something to stop you from drowning. I’m...” He put his hand out towards Orym.
Orym took it and squeezed. He took a deep breath. “Thanks,” he whispered.
Dorian went back and forth on it for a moment, but decided to just do it. “When it seems you’re all but drowning, may the water quench your thirsting,” he sang, very softly, and he heard Orym let out a tearful little laugh. “When the burden’s beyond bearing, may you know it’s not yours only.”
“We’re more alike than different, aren’t we?” Orym said.
“In some ways, for certain.”
Orym shivered. He stood up, letting go of Dorian’s hand, and walked right up to the railing. He sprang up and balanced on the top rung, which made Dorian’s heart do a nervous little leap, but Orym was steady. “Let’s walk back to the stern,” Orym said. “I want to watch.”
So Dorian stood as well, and walked with him, shooing off a concerned airship worker who tried to tell Orym to get down from the railing. There were even fewer people at the stern of the ship. Dorian leaned over the railing next to Orym, who put a hand on his shoulder.
The green and brown shore of Tal’Dorei was still visible, miles and miles away, just a smudge on the horizon. Soon, it would be gone entirely. A whole continent, completely out of sight. It wasn’t the first time Dorian had watched the land disappear, but it was the first time he was being carried away from a continent where the people he cared about remained. Opal and Dariax were fading into the distance, and Fy’ra Rai somewhere, and their friends in Niirdal-Poc, and Zephrah, and everyone else they’d met on their travels.
“There you two are!” Fearne’s hoofsteps rushed up behind them. “What are you looking at?”
“Tal’Dorei,” answered Orym. “Did you find some food?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, loads.” Fearne put her chin down on Dorian’s shoulder, looking past him just as the distance completely obscured the continent, and it disappeared. Who knew how long it would be until they saw it again? Would they ever see it again? Anything could happen, now.
The ocean stretched out before them, and Marquet beyond that, and people and places and dangers that Dorian knew he couldn’t even begin to imagine. He didn’t know how he had gotten to this point. Every new twist in the road had shown him something unexpected, expanded his idea of what the world could be, and taught him that any path could be worth walking if the people with him were people that he loved. But it still confused him.
Maybe someday, with some perspective, it would all make sense. Until then, he’d have to accept that none of it could really be explained.
Maybe it was more fun that way, anyway.