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Ashton wakes Orym up first.
He sent Laudna to bed, promising to wake the next shift himself. She didn’t resist much; he suspects she was ready to go curl up in her bedroll and be miserable on her own. He can hear her talking to Sashimi, but it doesn’t sound as playful as normal; just lonely and sad. A part of Ashton feels like shit that they couldn’t make her feel any better, even though he knows there’s nothing that can really fix it until they find Imogen. Until they find everyone , Fearne and FCG and Chetney. But Imogen especially, in Laudna’s case. He thinks those two might be the only people on Exandria (or the fucking moon, if that’s really where Imogen is) that can’t see what they are to each other. But then again what does Ashton fucking know?
Orym and Deni$e (gods, he fucking loves that name) had volunteered for last watch. Ashton wanted to argue that Orym had looked dead on his feet for the last few hours, and he needed to actually get some fucking sleep, but he knows by now that the halfling is stubborn as all shit, especially when it comes to dealing with his own needs, so he’d decided to let it slide. But that doesn’t mean they’re not going to check on him, especially now that Laudna is — momentarily — taken care of.
Ashton approaches Orym’s bedroll and squats down, wincing at the cracks their knees make. They’re looking forward to passing the fuck back out, but they have to take care of this first.
“Orym? Your watch.” He says. It’s usually enough to get the halfling moving; he’s a light fucking sleeper. But Ashton gives it a few seconds, and Orym doesn’t stir. He hesitates. Maybe he should just wake Deni$e and let Orym rest. He’ll be pissed at Ashton in the morning, but Ashton is used to people being pissed at them.
They start to stand and make their way over to figure out how best to wake Deni$e without getting a great sickle to the throat when Orym twitches, just slightly, in his sleep. Ashton pauses, watches.
There’s the faintest crease of distress to Orym’s expression, barely noticeable especially in the dim light. But it’s there. His muscles are a little too taut. Ashton has slept beside him enough to know something is off.
Orym twitches again, and a quiet noise whispers out of him, hardly more than a shaky breath. But it’s enough for Ashton. This is nightmare shit.
“This is probably a bad idea, but fuck it.” They murmur to themself, and then put a gentle hand on Orym’s foot, shaking once and then leaning back, hands to the sides and palms open towards Orym.
As they expected, Orym shoots awake. He doesn’t quite make it to his feet, his usual agility seemingly sapped by the dregs of whatever he was dreaming. Instead he crouches, one hand up in a defensive position, the other fumbling clumsily for his sword.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe.” Ashton says, voice low and as soothing as they can manage. They hold their position, letting Orym rake wide eyes over him. One thing Ashton has always hated about the fucking light show that is their brain these days is the fact that it makes them stand out like a fucking lightning bug in the dark, but at the moment they’re grateful for it as Orym’s eyes catch on the glow and his expression turns from defensive to guarded.
He may not be an open book, but at least he knows it’s Ashton.
Orym sits back on his bedroll and stops fumbling for his sword, turning so the firelight only illuminates half of his face. Hiding. Ashton recognizes the strategy. “Sorry.”
Ashton shakes their head. “Figured I might get a reaction like that. S’why I’m all the way down here.” They nod at the space between them, how Ashton is set up just close enough to be able to reach his long arms out and touch Orym’s foot.
“Guess we’re all a little jumpy.” Orym murmurs, as if that can brush away what he must know Ashton saw.
Most of the time, they’re a fan of letting people open up about their own shit in their own time. Hells, they fucking hate being pressured to talk about shit when they’re not ready to. But Orym…Ashton’s seen the way he bottles himself up. Better that Ashton pokes him until he explodes on them, than to wait and let the fallout hit one of the nerds, or Laudna, who’s on the brink as it is. They take a steadying breath. No matter how many times they end up in this role, they never seem to get better at knowing what to say.
“Nightmares will do that to you.” They respond, not waiting for Orym to admit that’s what was happening.
Orym’s unfocused gaze snaps to Ashton’s face, and then away. “M’fine.” He murmurs, not at all convincing. He blinks foggily, like he’s still trying to wake up.
“Really? Cause I’m not. Laudna sure as shit isn’t. I think it’d be pretty fucked up if you were.” They point out. “Look…I know what we saw back there was…it probably brought shit up for you. And you’ve checked on me before, when…yeah. So. I think this is one of those times where you’re supposed to ask for help.”
Orym stands up, strapping his sword and shield to himself, acting for all the world like he didn’t hear a word Ashton just said. Based on the out-of-it expression on his face, Ashton wonders if that’s actually the case. “It’s my watch.” He says, voice flat. He starts to head towards Deni$e’s bedroll.
Ashton intercepts him, ignoring the way his body protests at the quick rise from his previous position. “Hey. Don’t do this shit. We take care of each other. That comes with being part of the fucking group.”
“The group’s gone.” It’s not angry, like Ashton expects it to be. He’d take that, Orym yelling, maybe even throwing a few punches, something, over the quiet hopelessness that seems to have overtaken him. He looks down at his sword, and then up at the sky. “We’re on our own.”
Before Ashton can say anything else, Orym has darted between their legs, nudged Deni$e awake, and taken up a position on the other side of the fire, staring out into the darkness.
“Fucker.” Ashton mutters. Deni$e raises an eyebrow at him, and he waves her off. Much as he likes her, he doesn’t know her well enough to air this shit with her. She shrugs and follows Orym. Ashton stares at the halfling’s small, slumped shoulders for a long moment, and then wanders back to their own bedroll.
***
“Well, I know I don’t look it, but I am a hopeless romantic.” Deni$e muses. She has an ability, not unlike Fearne, Orym is discovering, to talk without needing much input from him. Which is good, because he’s barely here.
There are memories slashing through his mind like throwing knives. The Vanguard man and his locket. The sound of his neck snapping. The attack five years ago. Will bleeding out in his lap. Will training under the cherry blossoms, looking beautiful. The Voice of the Tempest as an earth elemental, crushing the last of the Grey Assassins, too late. The Tempest, frozen and bloodied, going down right in front of him this morning. Yesterday? He has no idea.
“What was I talking about?” He breathes, the curiosity about how much time has passed since the Solstice shaking him clear enough from the memories to realize he’d started a sentence but not finished it.
“Your friends. You leave someone behind?” Deni$e supplies.
Orym catches the thread and clings to it, fighting to stay in the present moment. In his pocket, his fingers feel for the locket chain, wrapping it around and around until the metal bites into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to hold him here. “I was going to say that you do strike me as a romantic.”
Deni$e smiles. “You too.”
“That’s also true.”
A beat. Orym starts to wander again. He pulls the chain tighter. “Well, do you have someone?” Deni$e asks.
Will. It’s like a blow to his gut, the image of him smiling, and then a stabbing pain through the core of him as it’s replaced by his body lying still and cold, the resurrection failed, the Tempest’s tearstained face as she looked at him—
Orym squeezes his fist around the locket, lets thorns bloom from his hand and bury themselves into his palm, rips himself out of the memory by clinging to the pain in his body.
He looks up at the sky. At the pale light of Catha, just barely visible through the branches above. At the empty space where Ruidus normally hangs. It’s such a ridiculously perfect metaphor, Somewhere to the south, the little moon is tethered to Exandria, ripped from the big moon’s embrace. He exhales, fighting tears.
“No.”
***
Ashton stirs in their sleep and starts to roll over, but freezes when the voices register. Well, who knew? Deni$e has evidently got Orym talking. More than Ashton managed, anyway. They try not to feel bitter about that. Whatever helps Orym is good, even if Ashton had selfishly wanted to be the one to do it.
The one constant in their fucked up life has been its fucked-up-ness. They learned quick that rolling with the punches, fixing other people’s shit, being—no pun intended—their rock meant people would want to keep them around. Problem is, they don’t always know what to say.
“That’s also true.” Orym murmurs. Ashton tunes back into the conversation.
“Well, do you have someone?”
Yes. Ashton thinks. Even if Orym doesn’t want them in the way she means, Orym has Ashton. Fuck, he’s got Fearne. FCG. Chet. Imogen. Laudna. He’s the heart of the fucking group. He’s got everybody.
There’s a long pause. A painful breath. Ashton waits.
“No.”
It shouldn’t hurt. Ashton knows it’s not like that. Not yet, at least, even if there have been moments where…but again, what the fuck does Ashton know? It’s not like they’ve had a great track record with this shit, and Orym’s had an entire marriage. Maybe Orym’s never wanted anything more than friendship with them, and Ashton’s been misreading all of the signs. Because he…wants. More than he’d realized he’d allowed himself to.
Once that sting is out of the way, they realize it’s not even about their own selfish desires. The fact that Orym thinks he doesn’t have anyone…no. That shit can’t stand. Especially not right now.
“The thing is, I don’t think I’ve ever…” Orym’s voice is barely a whisper. Ashton closes their eyes, focuses on the sound. “I just don’t think I’ve ever felt so small.”
Ashton’s heart aches. They remember what it felt like, wandering the desert outside Bassuras alone. They remember how afraid they’d been when they started shifting from flesh to stone, and no one cared to try to figure out why. They remember waking up in Milo’s workshop, everyone else gone, broken and in pain and almost entirely alone. They hear that same feeling in Orym’s voice now. They want to deck Ludinus in his fucking face. Orym’s always been the one with hope. To hear him sound like this… It just reminds Ashton how important it is that they keep their shit together, so Orym and Laudna don’t fall apart. Be the fucking rock. Tomorrow. They’ll do something about it tomorrow.
***
When Ashton had woken up again this morning, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and Orym was still sitting, staring into the woods.
Ashton can’t remember a single morning since they met Orym that they haven’t woken to see him working through the steps of his swordplay. They’d be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy watching him; the way his body flows through the familiar motions, the calm focus on his face. Ashton has made a habit of waking up just a bit earlier than they normally would, just to make sure they catch part of the practice.
The fact that Orym didn’t engage in his typical routine today would have been enough of a sign that things are off, even if Ashton hadn’t overheard his conversation last night.
He’d decided to wait until they were on the road. He doubted Orym would open up with the others near, bustling about as they had been, trying to prepare to head towards the nearest city and figure out exactly where the fuck they are. They don’t know if he’ll even open up now, but they’ve got to fucking try.
It doesn’t take long for Orym to fall to the back of the group. Maybe it’s his short legs, maybe it’s his penchant to pause and scan the trees around and behind them for danger following. Ashton can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. Despite having no fucking clue where they are, there’s a prickle of unease that’s been growing steadily more difficult to ignore the more time they spend in this place. It feels weirdly…familiar, and considering everything they don’t know about their fucking past, that can’t mean anything good.
Whatever the reason is, Ashton takes the opportunity to slow their own steps, and fall back next to Orym.
“So. Shit’s fucked.”
Orym huffs, shaking his head.
Ashton guesses that’s better than arguing with him. Ashton lets the silence hang in the air between them for several moments. The halfling doesn’t take up the offered conversation. Great. That mean’s Ashton’s going to have to stay in the lead, and they suck at this shit.
He studies Orym, walking next to him, eyes trained straight ahead. One hand is tucked into his pocket. That’s odd. Orym, like Ashton, usually makes a point to have his hands free, ready to reach for a weapon at a moment’s notice. But the tension of Orym’s shoulders, the vigilance in his gaze doesn’t indicate a sense of comfort with their surroundings. Ashton takes a closer look. There’s a faint gleam of silver spilling out of the flowing brown fabric.
“What’s that?” He asks, nodding towards Orym’s pocket.
Orym blinks, as if he hadn’t realized Ashton was still beside him. He hesitates, seeming to struggle with himself for a long moment, and then his shoulders sag, and he produces a silver locket on a long chain, wrapped tightly around his hand.
Ashton recognizes it. Orym had taken it from the dragonborn Vanguard he’d killed and pocketed it before Ashton could. They’d all gotten a glimpse of the child’s portrait inside. Ashton feels a twist of…something in their gut, remembers the snap of bone under their hands when they’d killed the other guard. He looks away for a moment.
“Might wanna loosen that grip. You sorta need your fingers to swing that sword.” They point out.
Orym huffs. He doesn’t release the chain.
“Orym—”
“M’fine, Ashton. I told you last night.” He interrupts, before Ashton is even sure what they’re going to say. He tucks the locket almost protectively back into his pocket. He doesn’t sound fine. Doesn’t sound angry, necessarily, although Ashton wishes he would. He just sounds…distant. “Just don’t feel like talking.”
That stings, more than Ashton cares to admit. Probably because their mind tacks on two small words to the end of Orym’s sentence. I don’t feel like talking to you. He’d chatted with Deni$e their whole watch. Had admitted that he wasn’t fine to her . Told her he didn’t have anyone, when Ashton is here, sucking at making things better, yeah, but fucking trying at least, which is more than plenty of people get. More than Ashton’s ever gotten.
Maybe if Orym would yell, or lash out, or punch something, Ashton would know what to do. Maybe Ashton wouldn’t feel like such an asshole for wanting to do the same.
“Look, if you’re pissed at me, you can just say that. It wouldn’t be the first time I pissed a frie—someone off.” They catch themself, assuming too much, claiming something they don’t know is theirs, and pull back. “Fucking hit me if you want, it might make you feel better.”
“M’not mad at you, Ash.” Orym closes his eyes. His voice is so empty, so quiet. Ashton wants to shake him.
“Then what the fuck are you feeling? Because you won’t talk to me.”
There’s a long beat of silence, and Ashton thinks they’ve fucked this up again. Maybe they should just let Deni$e work her weird ass magic, trust her to open Orym up and take care of him. The thought makes Ashton’s skill crawl. They’ve only just gotten to the point where they trust the rest of the Hells to watch out for each other. There’s no guarantee that these new people won’t take off when shit gets hard. And it’s always fucking hard around them, it seems. Maybe if Laudna were more alright, she could get through to Orym. But she’s not, and Ashton is…well, their baseline is fucking lower. Shit’s fucked? What else is fucking new.
Finally, Orym speaks. “I don’t know, Ash. I just feel…empty.” He shakes his head. “Talking won’t fix any of this. What do you want me to say? I don’t know if the Tempest is alive. I was right there in front of Otohan and I still couldn’t stop her. I’m here because these people killed my family, and I wanted to stop them, and now there’s some kid out there whose family we killed, and why is that okay? I just…I thought the gods were watching. I thought that was a good thing. But now…” He shakes his head. “Now I’m wondering why they left us to deal with this mess on our own.”
Ashton nods. “Personally, I think it’s better if the gods aren’t watching.” They murmur. “Life’s not fair. And you either believe it’s not fair because it’s chaos, or because there’s a lot of gods messing around saying ‘You don’t get to be a winner.’” They shrug. “Personally, I prefer the cold universe to a pantheon of interventionist deities that are out there pulling on the strings of fate, and deciding that my shitty fate is fucking fine. ” They nod at the necklace. “And that kid…they’re gone, whoever they were.”
That finally gets Orym’s attention. “Gone?”
Ashton nods, a surge of certainty coursing through them. “Why else would you wanna kill the gods unless you were given a shit deal?” They shake their head. “It’s the only good reason to be there. And even then…” They sigh. “This is what happens when people start blaming shit on the fucking powers that be. They don’t have to take accountability. They can point fingers and get pissy and act out, instead of just rolling with the fucking punches.” He shakes his head. “We didn’t make an orphan. I didn’t. Your hands are fucking clean.”
They have to believe that. Just like they have to believe that the gods don’t fucking care. All this down here is a blink to them. Why would they intervene? Why would they intervene with some people and not with Ashton? Either everyone’s small or just Ashton is, and they’d rather be on a level fucking playing field.
They feel Orym’s eyes on them. “Has anybody asked if you’re okay, Ash?” For a moment he sounds like the old Orym. The one they felt like they could lean on.
But the vertigo stirs in their stomach, and they’re scared shitless of falling.
“M’fucking great.” They say, purposefully keeping Orym in their blind spot, so they don’t have to see his expression. They’re not sure if they’re more afraid of what’s there or what isn’t.
Maybe this is their fucking problem. Why everybody fucking leaves, as soon as they give a shit about keeping them. Everyone looks stable to Ashton, compared to the fucked up question mark that is their very existence. Any foothold will do, when you’re clinging to a sheer cliff face like Ashton is. But nothing can hold them for long.
“We’re both really bad liars, you know that, right?” Orym asks from beside him. It sounds like he wants to say more, but he holds back. Fear and anger stretches like a chasm between them. Ashton remembers on the airship, when they’d both promised to ask each other for help if they needed it. They hadn’t realized they’d been lying then, too, but here they are.
Ashton nods. “Yeah.” They sigh. “Yeah, I fucking know.”
Orym speeds up, and Ashton lets him go. They watch from behind as Orym squeezes the locket in his pocket.