Chapter Text
The night’s wind was cold and silent, despite the senseless humming in his head. Usually, Fearne’s warmth and fur were a comfort on the colder nights, but Orym couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe. Leaning his back against the warm chimney on the roof of the Spire by Fire, Orym tried to settle his rampaging heart. He relaxed his mind and once again practiced the breathing exercises that Derrig had taught him all those years ago in his first years of training. He settled into the ever-familiar rhythm. In. Out. In. Out.
Derrig’s instruction had never wavered in patience for his pupils, despite Orym’s proclivity for distraction in his younger years.
“Sit still, seedling,” Orym could almost hear his father chuckling now while ruffling his hair. “Sit still and listen to the wind inside you. Or just watch Will.”
Will. Will.
Orym jumped up from his spot on the roof, clutching his chest. His ribs tightened and his throat closed. The clear night did nothing to help him feel that there was enough air in all of Exandria to fill his burning lungs. Breathing hard, Orym ran to the other end of the roof towards the sounds of life and laughter inside the inn. He listened to the singers at the bar below but only heard the screaming chaos that uprooted his life six years ago. Orym watched in silenced horror as friends and colleagues were cut down in seconds, as the Voice of the Tempest cut down those who terrorized her people. In these breathless moments, he knelt down and felt Will gasp his final breaths with the poison flowing through his veins. The melody of the music streaming from the inn only followed one rhythmic beat in Orym’s mind.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
Tears fell from Orym’s cheeks while he struggled to breathe deeply and slowly. He didn’t know what to do, not after the mess they found at Eshteross’ manor. First the tragedy in Zephra, his fall in battle against Otohan, and now the death of the patron that brought Bell’s Hells together. Why… why couldn’t he be strong enough to save those around him? After everything they’ve done to ensure Laudna’s resurrection in Whitestone, he still failed to protect the group and their patron. Bell’s Hells had to go to such lengths for Laudna because Fearne chose to save him. If it weren’t for his weakness, they could have made it in time to help Lord Eshteross without a delay in Tal’Dorei. He knew, he knew it was his fault Otohan found the lord’s estate. And… and oh, gods. What if he just led their enemies straight to his home on the other continent or to Dorian?
His hands shook as he paced the roof.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
Without realizing it, Orym pulled that precious sending stone from his pouch.
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“It’s my fault… all my fault. She… Eshteross. I wasn’t enough. It should have been me… focus on keeping everyone safe… I can’t let Dorian-“
Orym’s soft voice emanated from the stone, pulling Dorian from sleep as the early light of Tal’Dorei’s dawn peaked through the window. Dorian quickly moved to grab it from his traveling pack, trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts from his dearest friend. Wait… Eshteross? What happened? Looking into the faint runes glowing, Dorian gently asked, “Uh, Orym? I can’t tell, are you well? Please answer when you can. Be safe until then. I miss you- you all greatly.”
Dorian placed the now dark stone onto the dresser next to the inn’s bed. It seemed to be an accident, maybe Orym grabbed the wrong sending stone? Did he have more than one? Dorian wasn’t sure. There was something… strange in his voice, an emotion Dorian didn’t think Orym had ever shown to anyone. At least, not while Dorian has known him. He knew Orym had a life before Bell’s Hells, before the Crown Keepers. But after fighting at each other’s side so often, Dorian felt he knew his friend fairly well. He knew his past, knew it enough to realize that certain aspects of his regard for Orym might be unwelcome in the scope of all that Dorian knew he had lost in the last few years. But when it came to the halfling, Dorian couldn’t help himself. It hurt to leave him, to leave all of Bell’s Hells in Marquet for his brother’s safety.
He lay on his back watching the slow golden rays of the sun pour in the window and enjoyed the space of a bed to himself. Once again, though, he couldn’t help missing his dear companions. Opal and Dariax had been quite the relief to find once he and his brother made it safely to this continent, but his mind remained elsewhere, in a tavern across the world looking fondly at his close friend illuminated by the soft firelight of the lanterns. Stop. No. Dorian shifted over onto his side, facing away from the sun. A line was drawn in the sand, and he should not cross it. His hand rose to his neck and grabbed the still kind of gross tooth necklace Fearne had made for him. Surely there could be no harm in finding a way to check on Orym or the rest of Bell’s Hells, for that matter. Right?
Dorian looked towards the dormant sending stone again. Something was deeply wrong and the genasi knew he could not live with himself if he failed to help in some way, even if there was no way to physically assist… Unable to rest his eyes any longer, Dorian grabbed his gear to set about finding the nearest skyship port to Byroden.
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"...you all greatly."
Well, shit.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Orym said aloud to no one in particular. He watched as the runes slowly faded to their normal dark color around the stone. Surprisingly, he felt grounded despite his still racing heart. Dorian always had that strange effect on him. Normally, Orym chalked it up to his soft nature and sincerely gentle voice, but this time he couldn’t deny that just hearing Dorian’s answer set his heart at ease knowing his safety was assured for now.
Orym deposited the stone back into the pouch where it rests and began his quiet descent back to the room he shared with Fearne. Hopping over the railing of the balcony, Orym leaped through the window he had left open. As he landed on the floor of the room, the door creaked open and a sliver of warm light shot into his eyes.
“Orym? You there?” Fearne’s breathy voice greeted him after his initial shock.
“Oh, Fearne. Yes, sorry.” He sheathed his sword back into its holster on his back.
“Where were you? I thought I heard you leave and went downstairs to look.”
“Uh huh, is that why you have two glasses in your hands?”
Fearne giggled and looked down at her hands. “Well, I thought while I was down there, I might as well make the most of my time and grab another milk and whiskey.” She turned to the dresser by the door to set down her glass and slowly ignite the lantern in the room.
After a moment of silence, Fearne spoke up, “Well, you didn’t answer my question though. Where were you, Orym?”
“Just needed some air,” he replied as he turned away to set down his sword and shield for the night. Fearne approached him slowly and knelt down next to him. She grabbed one of his hands and gently turned him towards her to look him in the eyes.
“Orym, you know I’m not always good at this. But I think something is wrong. I’d very much like to talk to you if you need me.”
“I know, Fearnie. Thank you. I just wanted some air.”
“It has been a hard few days. How about we visit Laudna and Imogen tomorrow at their place?” She looked at him intently. He only nodded as they both crawled into the bed, in their usual spots: big spoon and littler spoon. “And maybe we’ll see Dorian soon.”
“Maybe, Fearne. Maybe.” Orym didn’t say that he’d rather let Dorian stay safe for as long as possible, away from Otohan, away from the disaster he seemed to bring anywhere he went. But, he might as well rest while he can and hope for a better day tomorrow. Resting his heart and mind, Orym drifted off to sleep wishing for a chance to keep those he loved safe.