Work Text:
Zephrah was an unexpected change of plan, to say the least.
Ashton hadn’t expected to ever truly leave Jrusar, let alone Marquet. And yet, here they were. Stepping off an airship into the clean, fresh air of Zephrah. The air was dry, here. Or at least more dry than Jrusar where the jungle humidity felt like it was drowning him even on the coldest of days. The breeze was cool and refreshing, wafting the scent of hundreds of thousands of flowers into their face. Already, it felt open and free in a way Jrusar never had. With its buildings stacked on top of one another, crowded in and carved into the rock, Jrusar had always felt just one bad move away from collapsing in on them. But here, even just steps off of the airship, it was wide and open. The sky looked so much bigger, the sun so much brighter, the air so much cleaner.
Ashton could picture Orym growing up, here.
Another unexpected turn of events - though one Ashton probably should have expected all things considered - was the small group of people who rushed to greet them. The dwarf who all but body slammed into Dorian with an excited yell. A pretty young lady who tried her best to throw her arms around both Fearne and Orym, but ended up just clocking Orym upside the head, instead. The laughter that followed made Ashton’s chest tight, though he wasn’t too eager to linger on why.
It was the woman who caught their attention, though. He knew who she was, they all did. Orym spoke of her often enough. The Voice of the Tempest, the leader of the Air Ashari. Ashton didn’t often care much about societal structure or hierarchy. Didn’t care for offering respect to those above them because they didn’t think of them as ‘above’ anything. This, however? This was different. She was different. Orym respected her, Orym looked up to her. Orym fought tooth and nail to make this woman proud of him and Ashton knew they would never forgive themselves if they were the thing that brought any disappointment onto him.
Because Ashton knew how it looked. Knew that they didn’t deserve Orym. They knew Orym was far too good for some lowlife from Jrusar with more debt than honor but by the Gods, they wanted to be worth it. Wanted to be someone who could stand beside him and belong there. And they had hoped they’d be closer to that before they had to meet the leader of Orym’s people, but as it usually did, the universe had decided it best to throw that right back in their face and now Ashton was struggling to breathe the cleanest air they’d ever experienced as the leader of Zephrah approached them.
Ashton’s thoughts must have been loud, because Imogen nudged into him gently and offered that sweet little smile of hers when they looked at her.
“ It’ll be fine .” She said softly into his head, a comforting warmth following the words. Ashton’s lips pressed together, and they nudged her back.
Orym gently extracted himself from the group hug he’d been dragged into, stepping around his friends to meet Keyleth as she came closer.
“Voice of the Tempest-” Orym began, shoulders squared and looking more official than Ashton was sure he’d ever seen him.
Keyleth didn’t give him the chance to continue, though. Instead, she dropped down to her knees and reached for him. Cradling his face in her hands, moving it this way and that as she examined him with a little hum, and Ashton almost choked on nothing when they noticed the pink tinting the tips of his ears.
“Are you alright?” Keyleth asked. “You’ve been eating and sleeping? Not ignoring any wounds?”
“Keyleth, come on.” Orym sighed, the tone one might use towards an overbearing mother. Exasperated but still fond. “I’m an adult, I can keep myself from starving to death.”
“But not well rested and unwounded?” Keyleth countered, a pointed quirk to her brow.
Orym glowered at her and she laughed. A bright, almost musical sound as her arms wrapped around Orym to tug him in close. Immediately, Orym’s eyes slipped shut and his own arms lifted to hold Keyleth as well. He relaxed into her, as if she were lifting every weight he had from his shoulders and he could finally breathe deeply. And as stupid as it was, Ashton couldn’t help the swirl of jealousy twisting in their gut.
Orym squeezed her a little tighter, then stepped back. He cleared his throat a bit, then turned to gesture.
“Keyleth, these are our new friends.” He said. “Imogen and Laudna.”
Imogen offered a shy little wave, her smile growing when Laudna squeezed her hand. Keyleth nodded to them both, rising to her feet once more.
“Wow, you sure are pretty.” Letters announced, whirring out from behind the group. Keyleth startled a bit, then smiled brightly as she knelt right back down.
“Well thank you!” She said, offering her hand. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Fresh Cut Grass!” Letters said, taking the proffered hand in one of his own. Keyleth glanced at Orym, who just shrugged helplessly. Keyleth offered Letters her attention once more and smiled again.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fresh Cut Grass. I’m Keyleth.” She said.
Ashton knew they were next. They had to be, no one else was left, and it was so much more stressful than it had any right to be. Meeting this woman who’s opinion Orym held in such high regard, knowing they were standing there looking like some punk ass nobody from Jrusar because that’s exactly what they were. But, Orym’s hand reached up to take their own and Ashton suddenly felt like he could breathe, again.
“Keyleth,” Orym said, a more serious tone to his voice. Keyleth looked at him, and her eyes flicked to their linked hands.
Her smile faded, though she looked less displeased and more curious. She stood again, looking from Orym, to Ashton, then back again. Orym stood a little straighter beside them, holding on more firmly to their hand.
“This is Ashton.” He said. Simple, but something about it felt poignant. As if he didn’t feel like he needed to explain further, like just the name was enough. Almost defiant in how he stood, holding Ashton’s hand like he was daring Keyleth to question it and Ashton was terrified she’d call that bluff.
Those pretty, too wise eyes trailed over Ashton’s face. Taking in every detail, lingering uncomfortably long on the gold and glass. Ashton hated it, felt the need to move or yell or do something prickling under his skin. The silence felt heavy and deafening, pressing down on them until all Ashton could hear was an uncomfortable, high pitched buzz.
After what felt like an eternity, Keyleth’s expression warmed and she smiled as she offered her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ashton.” She said, and Ashton felt Orym relax beside him.
Maybe this wouldn’t be quite so bad, after all.
“So she was nice.” Ashton mused, looking around the room they’d be staying in for their visit.
“She is.” Orym agreed, already unbuckling his sheath and working on removing his armor.
“She, uh…” Ashton’s tongue poked out to wet their lips, and they hated the nerves eating away at them. “She like that with all her guards?”
Orym paused, hand hovering over the dagger he had just put down on the bedside table. Orym took a slow breath, like he was preparing himself, and Ashton immediately felt like they’d crossed some sort of line.
“No. That’s just with me.” He said, and Ashton hated that forced neutrality to his voice. The tone he used when he didn’t want to give away what he was feeling. Ashton despised it because it almost always meant Orym was trying to pretend he was fine.
Orym turned to face Ashton, examining them for a long moment before gesturing vaguely.
“Keyleth is my godmother.” He said.
Ashton paused, brain scrambling to process what had been said. Whatever it was he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. Not that Ashton knew what they had been expecting, of course. They stood there, gaping at Orym for a long moment, because how were they supposed to take that? As if Orym weren’t already far beyond anything Ashton deserved, now they were learning that the leader of his people had a personal stake in him?
“Godmother?” They asked, as if perhaps they’d heard wrong. Orym nodded, looking down briefly with a little shrug.
“My mother’s pregnancy with me was…difficult.” He said, after a little pause. Brows furrowing together, lips pressing into a thin line. “When I was born, my eyes were closed. I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t even breathing.”
Orym sighed, settling down on the bed. Ashton swallowed around the sudden lump in their throat, then slowly moved to settle beside Orym. They offered their hand, and it felt so much easier to breathe properly when Orym easily tangled their fingers up together.
“Keyleth was there to help. She’s always been the type to put her people first, and she was there with the healers trying to help my mom through it. According to my parents, Keyleth took me and spent nearly ten minutes pushing as much of her magic into me as possible. By the time I took a breath and started crying, they say I was laying in a mess of leaves and vines and flowers.” Orym smiled, a tender little thing, and he shrugged again. “She’s been looking out for me, ever since.”
Ashton nodded slowly, allowing himself a moment to let that all settle. And part of him couldn’t help but be…well. A little angry. Angry that the universe had made Orym’s life so difficult from the very start. That destiny or fate or whatever else had decided to make Orym need to be a fighter from the beginning. What could he have possibly done before even being born to deserve needing to fight that hard, why did the universe insist on making Orym fight and scratch and claw his way through everything? Why didn’t he get to just have something good without the worry of it being torn away from him at any given moment? They squeezed at Orym’s hand, offering the best smile they could muster.
“Always been a tough bastard, then.” They said. Orym chuckled, lifting their joined hands until he could brush his lips over Ashton’s knuckles.
“I’m just someone lucky enough to have a lot of help.” He said, brushing it off like he always seemed to. Ashton wished they knew how to make him accept those compliments, make him view himself as the strong, determined, brave survivor he was.
“Orym-” Ashton began, but Orym released their hand. Reaching up, instead gripping the front of their vest. “That’s cheating.”
Orym grinned, tugging. Ashton went easily, putty in Orym’s hands like he so often was. Orym shuffled back on the bed, frustratingly graceful as he was in all things, and he pulled Ashton along with him. Lying down against the pillows, and urging Ashton to lean over him.
“You gonna’ stop me?” He said, the challenge clear in his voice despite how both of them knew Ashton wasn’t going to put up a fight worth mentioning. Ashton huffed, glowering down at Orym.
“You’re the worst.” They said, but they were already leaning down as Orym’s hands reached to cup their face.
Maybe making Orym believe he was inspiring could wait for later.
Halfling families were large. Despite how there were plenty of races other than halflings in Zephrah, Orym had never actually realized this until he started adventuring, started leaving home and would go off to other cities where families were so small. Brothers and sisters growing apart as they aged, moving away from home, only having a child or two. Orym, himself, was the youngest of five. And growing up, he’d always been surrounded by his cousins, as well. And even the non-halfling families in Zephrah felt large and welcoming, inviting anyone and everyone in. A community built on family and love. And it felt good to come back home, to lead his friends into the family garden and suddenly be surrounded by dozens of family members calling out his name.
Orym had intended on giving a proper introduction. Telling his mother, at least, about these new friends and perhaps letting her know he was finally moving on with Ashton. But, he wasn’t given the chance. His mother swooping in and dragging him into the kitchen without so much as a hello.
Lyra was a round woman, her chestnut hair graying and pulled into a braided bun at the base of her skull. She pulled Orym in, offering him a brief kiss to his cheek before pushing him towards the counter in the kitchen.
“Get those vegetables chopped up, dear.” She instructed, voice firm. And it felt so good, welcomed home as if he’d never left, because you certainly didn’t get invited into a halfling’s kitchen unless you were someone special.
“Mom,” Orym chuckled, picking the knife up off the counter to begin cutting up the vegetables he’d been instructed to handle.
“Your sisters have already handled dessert, Auntie Thea made the pasta we’ll be using for the main course, we’ll need to get the pot filled with water, your cousin Mica made that amazing cheese bread that he does,” Lyra continued on, and Orym couldn’t tell if she hadn’t heard him or if she simply didn’t care to let him speak before she got through the dinner plan. Despite the nerves steadily bubbling in Orym’s gut, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Mom.” He tried again, glancing over his shoulder in time to see her stretching her arms up over her head to reach the spice rack above their oven.
“The kids are collecting some eggs, I've got the cream all ready to go for the sauce. Do your friends mind chicken? If I need to send Timur down to the butcher for something else, I can.” Lyra kept going. Lost in thought, it seemed, and eager to keep her finely oiled machine rolling to get food out as quickly as possible.
“Can we make your orange scones?” Orym blurted out, louder than he’d been before.
He could feel her stopping. The tension in the air, the heaviness he’d been so afraid would be there but that he knew would be impossible to avoid. Orym took a slow breath, then turned to face her. She was already turned around, looking at him with an unreadable expression and Orym hated that.
“I know they’re typically for special occasions.” He said, careful to keep his voice steady. “But I…I brought someone home, mom. Someone…someone important.”
Lyra’s eyes widened, and Orym could see the information sinking in. Could see her realizing what he had said, what it meant. She took a shaky breath, tears filling her eyes as she took a step forward and reached out for Orym.
“Oh, my baby,” She said, voice cracking despite how she was barely whispering.
Orym dropped the knife, not caring that it hit the edge of the counter and landed on the floor. He stepped forward, eyes clamping shut when his mother wrapped her arms tightly around him. Cradling him close, pressing him into her neck like he was a child again. He didn’t realize he was trembling until she squeezed him tightly to her chest, kissing the side of his head as a wave of emotion Orym could hardly even identify crashed over him. Intense, somewhere between pain, regret and relief and Orym’s hands tangled up into tight fists in the back of Lyra’s dress.
It felt good to be able to break down like this and not worry about disappointing anyone. To know his mother would be there holding him until he could stand back up on his own. Orym hated breaking down, he always had. So afraid that if he broke apart he wouldn’t be able to put himself back together, again. But it was safe to do it, here. Possibly the safest place he could be, wrapped in his mother’s arms in her kitchen. With the heat of the cooking food keeping him warm and the love of his family waiting to catch each of those broken pieces.
Lyra cradled his face in her hands when they pulled away, smiling at him through her tears.
“The orange tree should have a few ripe and ready to go. I’ll get the cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.” She said, smile growing with every word. “Who is it?”
Orym let out a wet laugh, ducking his head and wiping at his eyes. He could feel a blush tinting his ears, spreading down to the back of his neck.
“Their name is Ashton.” He said, bending down to pick up the dropped knife if only to give him something to do so Lyra wouldn’t see the besotted look in his eyes just from saying their name.
“Go! Go, get those oranges and when you come back tell me all about them!” Lyra insisted, stranding a little straighter. Wiping the tears away before shooing Orym towards the door.
Orym laughed, handing the knife over to Lyra before wiping his own eyes. He shook his head, pausing at the door long enough to take one more breath to calm himself. Then, he slipped outside. No one seemed to notice him, of course. The family too interested in the newcomers to pay him any mind. But Orym was okay with that, especially considering he was sure his eyes were still swollen and red.
The orange tree was a welcome sight. Planted long before he was born and he was sure it would live on long after he was gone. A piece of home Orym loved, fond memories of climbing up into the branches and plucking fresh fruit for his mother, sitting up above the ground eating the oranges with his brothers and sisters. He climbed up the side like he always had, picking off the ripe oranges. Cradling them all in his arms as he jumped back down.
If it was possible, the others paid even less attention to him on his way back to the door. He turned, trying to rearrange the oranges in his arms so he could get the door back open. It left him facing, vaguely, out into the garden proper. Movement caught his eye - though he didn’t know why, exactly, because it was hardly as if a family of this size was staying still - and Orym’s chest went tight.
Across the garden, Ashton was sitting with one of Orym’s cousins. Laid out on Ashton’s arm, cradled against their chest, was the newest member of the family. Only a handful of months old, just barely able to hold her own head up. So small against Ashton, dead asleep with her head and half her body safely nestled in Ashton’s hand. He held her close, cradled against the bulk of his chest as they looked down at her with an almost fascinated look. Like they couldn’t quite believe this tiny, little baby was really there in their hand.
And Orym couldn’t breathe. His chest so tight it almost hurt, dizzy with the sudden realization that it looked so natural. Looked so right for this little halfling infant to be held close to Ashton’s heart. Curled up in a soft blanket and sleeping soundly in Ashton’s arms. Gods, Orym wanted that. Wanted to see the way that Ashton could carry this sweet, precious little baby around like she was a treasure. Holding her close while she slept, the two of them handing her back and forth. Could Ashton make her laugh? Cause those perfect, screechy little laughs babies were known for? Would they let her chew their fingers when she was teething, hold her little hands as she learned how to take her first steps?
Orym’s arms went a little lax, half the oranges rolling and hitting the ground as he struggled to remember how to breathe. And all at once, the door behind him opened and he nearly fell right through it.
“You best pick those oranges back up and get to cutting, Orym, or you won’t get the chance to do anything more than daydream about babies.” Lyra said, lips tilted up in an amused little grin. She laughed when Orym sputtered, the blush lighting up on his face even as he rushed to pick the dropped oranges back up.
Orym kept his eyes down as he gathered the oranges back up, still struggling for a proper breath. It was…a fluke. It had to be. He was emotional, already. Raw from telling his mother that he was finally moving on after six long years of grief and loneliness. And the atmosphere, surrounded by family and friends and a love that was so intense it was palpable. It was far, far too early to be genuinely wishing for a future - a family - with Ashton.
He hurried back into the kitchen, set in the idea that he’ll have moved on from the thought come morning.
They hadn’t planned on sleeping at Orym’s parents’ house. The group really had intended on going back to the lodging they’d been provided. But, one drink had turned into two had turned into three and before they knew it, they were all piled in blankets on the living room floor.
Orym woke early, just like he always did. There was something strange about waking up in his parents house, though comforting in it’s own way. What was less comforting was reaching out for Ashton at his side and feeling empty space. His hand landing on a blanket and finding no warm body there. Orym turned, carefully avoiding disrupting Fearne as he did so, and his brows furrowed as he sat up. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, but just as he’d suspected, there was no Ashton anywhere. Immediately, worry churned in Orym’s gut, because Ashton was not an early riser. He would sleep all day if you let him, complaining about it being ‘too early’ regardless of what time you woke them up. Orym had gotten rather used to the feeling of waking up beside a still sleeping genasi, warm where their skin pressed together. It was worrisome to wake up and see no sign of him.
Carefully, Orym got up to his feet and stepped out of the blanket nest. Making sure not to accidentally step or trip on any of his friends. Now that he was stranding, had moved out of the cuddle pile, he could hear noise. Quiet, muffled. His lips pressed together, and he followed after that sound.
It didn’t take long to find the source. Outside the front door, in the front lawn, Orym found Ashton. That bright, beautiful grin on their face with one of Orym’s nieces hanging off their bicep as she giggled and swung herself back and forth Two of Orym’s nephews attempting to tackle them, cackling as they repeatedly crashed into Ashton’s legs and each other in a futile attempt to knock them off their balance.
The worry in Orym’s gut melted away, and he leaned against the door jamb as that same feeling from the day before crashed over him. An overwhelming sense of right, like everything had settled to exactly where it was supposed to be. It was too much too soon but Gods above, Orym wanted this. He could see this for them, a future where Orym could wake up to a couple little kids crawling all over Ashton. Where he could cook a nice breakfast for them to share, watching as kids run off with their cousins to play. Babies cradled in their arms, tucking toddlers into bed. A home that they could build together, where their sharp edges didn’t cut quite as deep and they didn’t need to worry about whether they were too broken to make this work. Orym wanted that, wanted it so badly his soul ached with it.
Orym remained there for a few more minutes, watching the way the kids climbed all over Ashton and they way Ashton just let them. Each smile and laugh hitting Orym’s chest harder than the last. Each second ticking by just making Orym more and more certain of how good this could be.
Ashton noticed Orym while he was trying to dislodge one of the kids from their knee, and the smile that broke across Ashton’s face made Orym’s heart leap up into his throat. Ashton straightened up a bit, nudging the kids away from him.
“Alright, alright, you little brats.” They said, grinning at the laughter the comment earned them. “Go on home, get breakfast.”
“Can we come play, later, Ashton?” One of them asked, and the three put on their best pouts. Going so far as to clasp their hands in front of them. Ashton snorted a laugh, rolling their eyes dramatically.
“Fine, fine. Later. For now, go back home.” They repeated, shooing them. Ashton watched them leave, and Orym watched Ashton.
He pushed off the door jamb, wandering on over to Ashton. Still staring up at them, throat tight as he tried to come to terms with the sudden, intense desire swirling around in his chest. A family. They could have a family, one day. Would Ashton want that? Someday, maybe not soon but someday. Orym still felt dizzy, like his entire world was trying to realign and wasn't giving him the time to adjust. Ashton smiled at him, a bright little grin and he was striking. Early morning sun casting a glow over them, reflecting little rainbows off the slag glass.
"Hey." They greeted, sounding a little breathless from playing with the kids, and Orym nearly whined at the sound of that in his head.
“Hey.” Orym echoed back, reaching his hand out for Ashton’s. Ashton gave his hand up willingly, that grin softening a bit, shrinking down to that gentle little smile they only ever seemed to let Orym see. “Can we talk?”
Ashton’s head tilted in that way it did when he was confused by something, but Orym squeezed their hand. A silent promise it wasn’t anything bad, nothing to be concerned about. Because it was hardly as if Orym was foolish enough to bring up his sudden, burning desire for a family when they were still so new to this.
Ashton nodded, glancing over their shoulder before stepping back towards a stump. Settling down on it, tugging Orym in between their legs. Leaving them more or less eye to eye. Orym let go of Ashton’s hand, reaching instead to trace his fingers over the gold lines embedded into Ashton’s skin. Ashton’s hand landed on his hip, gripping perhaps too tightly. The only sign Ashton offered that they were at all nervous.
“Ashton,” Orym’s voice was quiet as he spoke, like he was afraid speaking too loud would shatter this delicate, precarious moment.
“...Yeah?” Ashton said when Orym didn’t continue, matching his tone. Orym’s hand went from sweetly tracing the metal to cupping Ashton’s cheek.
“I know this is new for us. And I’m not saying this because I expect a response. I’m saying it because I mean it and I want you to know.” Orym took a breath, thumb brushing over the corner of Ashton’s mouth. “I love you, Ashton.”
For a long moment, it seemed like Ashton genuinely didn’t understand what had been said to them. Then, their eyes slowly grew wider and wider as that pretty, purplish black blush spread over their entire face and down their neck. Their hand gripped more tightly at Orym’s hip, and they tried once, then twice, to say something before an incomprehensible choking noise came out of their mouth. They winced, then shook their head. Then, that shaking morphed into nodding.
“Yeah.” They choked out, the word sounding like it had been punched out of them. “Yeah, I…me too.”
Ashton’s eyes clamped shut, their entire face scrunching up with obvious regret and even with the tense nerves Orym felt deep in his stomach, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Fuck, wait, let me try that again,” Ashton insisted, glowering through their embarrassment when Orym laughed.
Instead, Orym shook his head. His free hand coming up to curl around the back of Ashton’s neck and he dragged him in to kiss him. Soft and slow, sighing through his nose as Ashton sank into the feeling. Ashton’s arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer.
“I love you, too.” Ashton said against Orym’s lips, voice quiet but firm.
Orym wasn’t sure how he expected it to feel, whatever expectations he felt paled in comparison. There was no explosion of bright lights or heavenly choirs. Just an overwhelming sense of right, of belonging, that washed over them and a sloppy, uneven kiss as their lips crashed together through their smiles. Real and messy and so damn good, Orym could feel the backs of his eyes stinging even as Ashton tilted into the kiss.
Just as Orym made to step closer, to press flush against Ashton’s chest, there was a chorus of children gagging and ‘ooh’ing at them. Orym turned, trying his best not to be annoyed at the abrupt and unsatisfying finish to their kiss, and saw the same niece and nephews who’d been playing with Ashton, before. As well as a few others coming towards the gates with Orym’s siblings trailing behind.
“Mom!!!” One of the girls cried out. “Uncle Orym was kissing Ashton!!”
“I saw.” Orym’s oldest sister mused, hands resting on her hips. “Let’s go inside to get grandma and grandpa, let uncle Orym finish talking?”
The laughter followed the children into the house, and Orym’s brothers and sisters waited until the children were gone before making their own teasing faces and gestures. Orym waved them off, rolling his eyes as he turned his attention back to Ashton. The blush had lit up on their face again, but there was a shine to their eyes and a bright smile on their lips.
“Am I gonna’ have to get used to that?” They asked, and Orym grinned.
“Probably.” He said. “C’mon. Let’s go in. Mom and I can teach you to make pancakes?”
Ashton nodded, pushing up to their feet and started for the door. As soon as he crossed the threshold, halfling children nearly tackled him down with Dariax following after them. And Orym figured that idea of a family and children was meant for the future. Right now, this was the only family Orym really needed.