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There's a sort of hazy silence to the afternoon.
It's not like there aren't any people, on the contrary, there are at least four dozen guests, all happily chatting and some already tearing up. They're all sitting in rows of wooden chairs at each side of a stone pathway leading to an arch on the cliff, the one that has the best view over Zephrah. The sun isn't close to setting yet but hopefully, when it does, it will be as magical as they'd envisioned.
Harp music starts playing from somewhere unseen, and a silence falls over the crowd as everyone turns their heads, just in time to see Orym walking down the aisle, his arm intertwined to that of an older halfling woman that looks almost exactly like him–his mother. He's dressed in a white vest lined with golden thread and leaf details in different shades of green and even orange. His pants aren't that different to the ones he usually wears, except these are white and paired with matching sandals.
What truly makes him look like some sort of Zephran prince is the arrangement of gold looking leaves and roses that crowns his head, along with the moss-green translucent sash that goes from his shoulder to his waist, the two moons of Exandria surrounded by clouds–also embroidered with a golden thread–on it.
His mom leaves him by the arch with a kiss on the forehead and a pat on the cheek, tears threatening to spill down her face as she makes her way to go sit by three similar-looking half-elven women; triplets. Two of them wave at Orym, the third one using a small piece of cloth to blow her nose, choking back a sob. Orym only smiles fondly and shakes his head.
The melody shifts slightly and everyone’s heads turn again. Orym takes a deep breath and exhales, smiling once again. The red haired woman behind him sets a hand on his shoulder, hoping to be as reassuring as possible and he breathes again, his smile becoming almost as bright as the sun at the picture before him.
There he is; Will. He's dressed in similar garments to Orym's own, except the half-elf's sash is a prominent green–embroidered with tree branches and cherry blossoms–which makes him stand out even more, a smile just as radiant as his own on his face. His arm is intertwined with that of an older looking half-even man.
Said man nods and smiles in Orym's direction once he approaches the arch and leaves Will there with a touch of their foreheads. Will then turns to Orym and can't help his excitement at taking his hands and interlacing their fingers as they both wait for the voice of the Tempest.
"People of the Air Ashari," she begins. "Lovely guests of these two families; today, we have been blessed to see their union come to fruition." She raises her right hand and, with a flick of her left hand, a single seed appears in the one hand she has raised, the orange leaves of her cloak moving with a gentle breeze.
Her voice is sweet and steady, speaking of years of wisdom and learning. She regards the two men before her with a noticeable love and patience, speaking of their love as this great achievement that isn’t meant to complete them, but rather make them feel complemented. The hand holding the seed lowers as Orym’s and Will’s joined hands come to meet it halfway, the seed being placed down on top of them.
“Together, you will bloom,” she says. “Together, you will grow.” The two of them get on their knees to dig a hole in the dirt under the arch, both hands helping in the process of planting the seed and once it is planted, both their hands rest over the dirt that covers it. “Together, you will wither.” She kneels too–Will and Orym put their hands away at this–and bends down to kiss the spot where the seed was planted. “But even then, your death won’t be truly a death. You will give back the gift this earth has granted you with, and your love will know no bounds.”
They rise in unison after that. Rings are put, kisses are had and cheering is heard loudly from the guests as the music keeps playing.
A bed of flowers grows under and around them and the place where the seed was planted, white and pink anemones that make them laugh through their tears of joy. Will doesn’t wait another second before he is picking Orym up and spinning him around in a tight embrace, the guests and their dearest family members clapping and throwing petals to the air. The sun finally setting behind them, golden light causing their silver bands to glisten, the scene around them like something out of a fairytale.
It is now, clearer than ever, how Orym looks so incredibly happy and at peace.
“Anemones…” Will whispers in the halfling’s ear, his voice filled with sorrow, something that makes Orym tilt his head curiously. “Ironic, how these are the flowers we chose for that day.”
“What?” Orym is still smiling but his eyebrows furrow. “Darling, what are you talking about?”
Will only sets him on the ground and chuckles, further confusing Orym in the hazy atmosphere that surrounds them, the guests no longer truly there but turned into some sort of ambience, blurry shapes and muffled chatter. Will kneels down to look up at Orym, tears streaming down his face.
“The roots of your love in my heart are as deep as time is endless.” He looks over the horizon, toward the setting sun. “No matter when my heart stops beating, when our time comes to an end, those roots won’t stop their growth.”
“ Will– ” Orym wheezes, suddenly breathless. Before he can say anything else, soft lips find their way on his. They’re so cold.
“I loved you,” Will whispers against his lips. “I still had so much love to give you.”
The sun finally disappears behind the mountains and in a blink of an eye, the night is filled with fire and distant screams and as he looks down in terror, all he finds is a nightmare in his arms. He is holding Will close to his chest, there’s blood coming out of his mouth and abdomen, tinting the bed of flowers under them a deep and shiny red. Orym himself is beaten and bruised and so helpless to the scene before him.
He doesn’t know where the wounds even came from.
All he knows is that Will is dying and there’s nothing he can do. He looks around, hoping to find some sort of help, but what he finds is just marble pillars and tall trees falling to the fire. It takes him a second or two to realize they’re no longer by the cliff, their clothes are different too, the two of them wearing their usual armor and their weapons at their side. Will tries to speak again but only a wheeze and a cough come out until not even that does.
Orym lets go, hands and body burning where they had met with Will’s body just seconds ago. He wants to cry and scream but neither sound is able to come out, there’s only the rumbling of fire and he recoils in on himself, covering his ears desperately as he tries to keep the noise out of his head but it only seems to make it stronger. He shuts his eyes as tightly as possible, a hopeless attempt, as if that would help quiet the screams somehow.
Then, the noise stops and he opens his eyes slowly.
He immediately wishes he hadn’t.
There’s no fire anymore, nor a bloodied Will laying limply in front of him. Surprisingly, the anemones are still there, still red and shiny under his knees. He doesn’t even remember kneeling at any point during the whole– whatever just happened and as his vision starts to clear out, that’s when he sees him.
Dorian.
He looks around again and all he sees is that cursed space under the Moon Tower, the one where Dorian went down while clutching Turtle F.C.G. close to his heart. Dorian is also bruised and bleeding a little from different scratches on his arms. Orym tries to make a run for him even though he doesn’t even know what his plan is. To drag him away maybe? Stand in front of him with his shield and sword and hope to be able to last as long as possible? But when he tries to stand up, his legs don’t respond to him. He gasps and groans as he tries to push himself up with the force of his arms, but he just can’t do it.
He looks up again–feeling desperate and hopeless for what feels like the nth time in this hell–and finds Dorian’s eyes from across the room. He sees his lips moving and although he can’t hear him, he still makes out the words.
I am sorry.
Orym doesn’t even get a chance at processing the pain those words ignite in him before long fingers are clawing at his friend and finally, finally; he screams.
At the same time Orym screams in his dream, the sound still tearing through her brain, Imogen sees him wake up from the other corner of the room where he was curled up against Fearne, the fire and flower petals and brick walls falling away from her vision as she feels like she's just woken up too. She keeps looking at them, Fearne snoring peacefully, unknowing of the terrors that went through Orym’s head only seconds ago.
He is gasping and sweating and trying to be as quiet as possible about it. As Orym looks around, his eyes lock with Imogen’s and he stops. He stands from where he was snuggled up with Fearne and walks to his bag, takes it, and leaves the room. Slowly, Imogen moves away from the bed and follows him.
"Orym, wait!" She calls for him once they're in the hall. Even with Orym's stature, he's faster than her. "Orym, please, just listen to me, I–"
He stops abruptly and turns to face her.
"You saw —"
"And I'm so sorry, I thought– I didn't mean to–" She breathes. "It… looked like a nice dream."
There's a pause; then, "It always does."
The halfling turns again and begins walking, much slower this time and, when Imogen doesn't immediately react, he turns his head to look at her and motions for her to follow him. She does.
They reach a window in the hall of the inn they're currently staying at, Catha's light illuminating the space as Orym sits by it. He pats a space beside him for Imogen to do the same.
" Orym– " She tries to start again but he simply raises a hand and she shuts her mouth.
"What you did was horrible, Imogen." He says, voice stern yet trying to be understanding. "Those dreams– those nightmares. They aren't meant for anyone else but me and whoever I choose to share them with."
"You… seemed to be having trouble sleeping as of late," she tries to justify, her hands folded in her lap. "I wanted to find out why. Maybe see if I could help, I… I should've asked first," She sighs. "I’m sorry."
Orym hugs the bag closer to his chest, rocking himself back and forth slightly. Even with the fact that he's a halfling, he looks weirdly small right now, in front of her. Ghosts of tears on his cheeks and purple bags under his eyes.
Imogen considers talking to Orym in his head, hopefully making this conversation a bit more private but a feeling inside her tells her that, perhaps, that is not the best course of action right now.
"You…" She starts, unsure of what to say exactly. There's so much she wants to say, how Orym had looked lighter in that memory, how horrible the fire had been, how Dorian had been there too and how terrible she felt for it all. She ends up settling for what she thinks is the lightest note. "That was The Voice of The Tempest, wasn't it? She said very beautiful things. Your culture seems… nice."
A small grin makes its way into Orym's face.
"Thank you," he hums. "Yes, that was her… Did you know she picked the tree we would plant herself?" He chuckles. "A cherry tree, she said it fit us."
He finally moves the bag away from his chest to pull something out from it and Imogen only watches him silently. He pulls out the green sash he wears most of the time, the same one she saw Will wearing in the dream, except it seems to be wrapped around something. When Orym unwraps it, she can see the wooden box Chetney had gifted Orym with a few weeks ago.
"Our previous party, the one Dorian, Fearne and I were a part of before this one, we went to a special place once." He opens the box and tilts it so that she can better see what's inside.
The blue flower they'd found while on their way to the Heartmoor, the sending stone, a small coin pouch and what seems to be some sort of seed.
"A special place?"
"Yes." He takes the seed out, carefully rolling it between two fingers. "Someone important there gave me this." He holds it up toward Imogen. "At the time I didn't… understand. I wasn't sure what it meant, surely, something great or similar. We had to leave that place, then we had to leave our friends and now Dorian is gone and I…"
A seed. Just like the one The Voice had conjured.
"You… miss him a lot, don't you?"
"I…" Not for the first time in the evening, Orym takes his sweet time to reply. Imogen doesn't dare to try and rush him on his answer. "Yeah."
"You… also miss your husband a lot, don't you?"
Orym holds the seed closer to his chest now while looking at it with longing. He closes both hands over it, takes a shuddering breath and exhales.
"Yeah," he whispers. "I do."
She moves to place a hand on top of Orym's, slow in her motions to give him time to move away if he wants to. When he doesn't pull away, she cups his hands and rubs her thumbs against them.
"You know, I've heard reforestation is supposedly really good for the environment," she says. "I know we already have tons of trees pretty much everywhere but I think that if you decided to plant one, no one would think less of you for it." Orym finally meets her eyes again and sighs. "In fact, I think you'd be very good at taking care of a tree."
There's a few minutes of silence before Orym is laughing softly at her words and the tears he'd been trying to keep under control ever since they’d left the room finally find their freedom. He leaves the seed inside the box again and stands up to go over Imogen and hug her tightly. There's hesitation as she wraps her arms around him in return, but once she does, she runs her hand up and down the halfling's back as he cries on her shoulder. It's funny, how barely a few days ago she'd been the one confiding in Orym and listening to his guiding words over the whole situation with Laudna.
She continues her patting until eventually Orym calms down and pulls away.
"No more peering into people’s dreams, okay?" he says, the stern edge to his voice being watered down by the way it cracks slightly.
Imogen makes a face, not particularly pleased with having her source of entertainment during her nights of insomnia taken away from her–though it's not like Orym can actually take it away from her–but she understands why. She'd known it maybe wasn't the best idea from the first time she ever did it.
"I promise," she says and Orym hugs her tightly again.
There's much to talk about still, Ruidus's faint red light shining through the window, illuminating their embrace. But right here, in this space, she knows she has someone who will be there for her no matter what, and she hopes to be as much of a comfort as well.