Archive of Our Own

But, of course, it makes sense. Fearne is so imposing, so strong, and so incredibly soft at the same time. When Orym thinks about it, really sits and thinks about it, falling for her makes total sense. She is the epitome of what a home should be: warm, welcoming, safe. Maybe that’s why he finds himself enamored with her. Besides, it’s not like the feelings would be reciprocated. Orym doesn’t have the fingers on his hands to list the reasons why: Fearne stands at a whopping seven feet tall and he barely cracks four, she lives life off the cuff and spontaneous and he needs rigid rules, she knows what she can do and her limits and he either pushes himself or doubts himself. Opposites attract isn’t always a thing, he reasons, so Orym keeps his mouth tightly shut and plays his cards close to his chest. (Of course, that’s what he’s doing with almost everything in his life. Force of habit, maybe? He knows it’s more likely a lack of confidence, but admitting that to himself is a little too painful.)

So he tamps down his feelings, doing his best to keep level with every member of the party - except maybe Mister. Orym has a soft spot for the elemental, especially when the monkey decides that he’s the favorite for the day. They get strange looks on a normal day when Mister is curled somewhere in Fearne’s robes but get looks that linger a touch longer when Mister situates himself between Orym and Dorian, holding both of their hands. Fearne is right behind them - Orym can hear the soft clip-clop of her hooves on the cobblestone, even over Opal and Dariax bickering in front of him. They’re arguing about where to eat and the argument doesn’t have any real teeth. If it did, either he or Dorian would step in, surely. Maybe even Fearne, but with a glance over his shoulder Orym realizes that she’s more focused on the public botany of Emon than on anything else. He smiles softly, nothing more than an upturned quirk of the sides of his lips. It’s nice to see her enamored with the city, especially when he finds it so terrifying - everything that Keyleth had said it would be.

But Fearne is so open with everything - within reason. Orym can still see how guarded she is, but still so open to learning. Especially when - the memory makes his cheeks and neck redden to a ruddy color compared to his more neutral look - when Opal mentioned being taught about rope binding she and Fearne spent dinner pouring over different techniques. He had sat only two seats away and listened to the whole thing, shame and something like yearning mixing in his gut. He was red then and he’s red now just thinking about it. Dorian must catch it out of the corner of his eye, because he starts chuckling under his breath.

“What?” Orym asks, softly enough nobody else notices but still properly grumpy.

“Oh, nothing,” Dorian grins, looking over Little Mister to Orym’s stoic, red face, “You’re simply looking a little sunburnt, friend.”

“Shut up,” Orym grumbles, shoulder hunching up by his chin. Dorian is ridiculously perceptive when it comes to him and anything that can be used to make fun of him. It’s an annoying little quirk that comes almost as naturally as lying about his name. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m talking about your little crush,” Dorian bends over, grinning far too wide for comfort. “Please, we all know.” Like ice water down his back, Orym skids to a stop. Little Mister keeps walking, even when Dorian also stops, and shrieks when he can't’ go any further without letting go of their hands.

“You all know?” Orym steps closer to Dorian, Mister having drawn the attention of the rest of the party, “All of you? Every one of you?” Dariax surprises him, throwing a dense arm over Orym’s shoulders.

“Well, not all of us,” He clicks his tongue, “Some of us are just as oblivious as you when it comes to that sort of thing.” Orym tries to shrug him off but Dariax is deceptively strong when he wants to be. Opal leans against Dorian and winks as she clicks her teeth.

“I could teach you too, you know,” She teases, “It can go both ways.” Orym flushes harder, if possible, and Mister scrambles away from him as Fearne joins their group.

“Oh, Orym,” She looks down at him, her ears bright and tall showing how excited she really is, “Are you going to learn rope discipline, too?” He splutters, mind creaking to a halt to try and formulate an answer that will be some modicum of appropriateness. Fearne keeps talking, though, excitement bleeding out of every corner of her being. “Oh, we could take the lessons together! I’m sure Opal would be fine with that, right?”

“Well,” Opal says, in a tone of voice that makes it very clear she is not only having fun but having fun at the expense of her friends, “It would be easier to have another body to show examples on.”

“So it’s settled!” Dorian claps Orym on the shoulder as Dariax shakes him a little bit, “You’ll join Fearne and Opal!” He weakly agreed and the gang continued on while his mind spun down torturous worst-case scenarios. He does that a lot - finds himself in downward spirals of anxiety and what-ifs instead of grounding himself in reality. Orym trails behind his friends working himself up until they stop in a bakery and the smell of fresh bread brings him back to reality. He shuffles when Fearne gestures to a private table, goading him with a large, fresh loaf of bread. Had she seen through him that easily? He decides to face the music and takes a seat across from her, smiling when she splits to loaf with her hands and passes his half over to him.

“Thank you,” Orym is earnest when he says this, hoping to distract Fearne in some way from whatever she wants to bring up. He slips a piece of the bread in his mouth and avoids her eyes. Fearne, surprising him, picks at her food and apologizes.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Orym,” He shivers when she says his name, flushing again, “I was just excited that someone else was excited to learn from Opal. I didn’t mean to drag you into it.”

“Wait, what?” He says, shocked for one of the first times since he’s begun traveling with them, “No, that’s not - I’m not uncomfortable, Fearne.”

“Oh,” She looks down at her hands, her ears twitching back against her head, “After our conversation you got so quiet.” He sighs and shakes his head, spying the rest of their friends two tables away, very clearly listening in. Orym grinds his teeth for a brief second, counting backward from 10 in his head before he speaks.

“That is… My fault,” He explains in a low voice, “I am having some conflict with myself, and I shouldn’t let that affect how I treat you.”

“You are?” Fearne’s ears shoot up as she leans forward, pushing her bread to the side, “So am I. Do you think it’s the same thing?”

He chuckles and looks off to the side, “I’m not sure about that.” He takes another bite of bread just to buy himself some time - partly to avoid the conversation and partly to figure out what to say to her. Orym finally clears his throat, “I have been having… New feelings as of late, Fearne, and I’m not sure they’re something you’d share.”

She reaches out for his wrist, “Well, you never know! Perhaps that’s what I’ve been feeling conflicted about.” She smiles at him, and Orym can feel his chest tighten, a traitorous sprig of hope growing somewhere in his chest. “Would you like to confide in me? That’s what friends do.” He can’t help but feel completely out of his depth, but there’s something about Fearne - probably whatever drew him to be so fond of her in the first place - that makes him want to tell her. (Orym would be more worried if she had bought the Ring of Truth instead of Stonkey’s Ring, honestly. He doesn’t feel like he’s been Charmed, but who’s to say?)

“I suppose,” Orym shifts in his chair, making sure not to jostle his arm too much so that Fearne doesn’t let go. “I have been having… Deeper feelings than I am used to. More vibrant feelings. They are… Targeted at someone who I am sure does not have these same feelings… For… Me.” He tears his eyes away from hers, shame bubbling over whatever hope he’d had before. Fearne squeezes at his hand, calling his name softly to bring his attention back to her.

“Orym,” She says again, “You’ll never know if you don’t try. I know that I… Well, I don’t know much about deeper feelings but I know that I feel that way about someone, too.” She glances away from him, flushing darkly.

“Really?” He blurts, “For who?” He knows that he sounds too eager, too young, and naive, but he can’t help it. The possibility that Fearne feels the way that he does is growing in the back of his mind, almost solidified when her hand squeezes his wrist again. She looks bashful, and it’s a strange expression on her face. Orym’s chest tightens and he leans forward, trying to keep his face clear and open so that she’ll feel comfortable confiding in him. He’s thankful that the rest of the group had gotten the hint and scrambled off, otherwise, he’s sure that he’d be waiting with bated breath to learn whether or not Fearne was feeling the same way that he was. He lays his other hand over hers, fighting the urge to avert his eyes and bring the conversation to a standstill. Orym fights everything inside of himself and musters all of the courage from his days as a guard to keep his eyes on Fearne’s.

“Well,” Fearne sighs, dropping her eyes from his to the table, “I’ve never… I’ve never told anyone this before, or tried to tell anyone this before so I don’t know if I’ll do it right… But I suppose I should be honest with you,” She nods like she’s trying to find the courage inside of her to tell him - which is weird because Orym thinks she’s one of the most courageous of them all. Coming to Emon, straight from the Feywild? That takes courage Orym is sure that he’ll never have. Still, he tries to give her a comforting smile, hope building and building until he’s worried that he’ll burst. “Um, I’m not sure how to say this, but lately I’ve been feeling… Deeper, as you said, about… Um, well, about you.”

At first, Orym is caught up in the soft lilt of Fearne’s voice, and the way that her ears twitched, her large, doe eyes… And then he processes what she’s said and it catches up with him. “M-me?” He chokes, “Oh, goodness!” He laughs, relief flooding his system like a high-quality healing potion. “Fearne,” He pulls her hand closer to his chest, a bright grin on his face, “I’ve never done this before, either, but my feelings… They’re for you.” There’s a brief moment of pause before the air around them suddenly becomes fragrant with other-worldly floral scents. Orym flushes, finally glancing away. It’s so overwhelming and he’s not sure where to go from here - apparently, neither is Fearne.

“I”m not sure what to say,” She laughs nervously, “I thought, surely, when you said you had deeper feelings that it wouldn’t be for me.”

“That’s what I thought,” Orym confesses, “That you would never… See me like that.”

“But I do,” Fearne smiles softly, setting her other hand on top of Orym’s, “I do… See you like that, and you see me like that.”

“I do,” He smiles, “I surely do.”