Chapter Text
Will never shut up when it came to the love he held for Orym's hair. The first time they bathed together, he begged Orym to let him wash it, bringing with him some sort of sweetly scented vial to pour on his head as he massaged his scalp and braided his hair. It was such a soothing experience, he nearly fell asleep at least three times in the time it took Will to fully care for his hair.
He loved playing with it, too. Always singing praise to its softness, the way he could run his fingers through without much issue or how it was the perfect length; slightly above his shoulders. He loved trying to use it against Orym during training and tugging on it lightly whenever they kissed. He would braid it in all sorts of ways and weave flowers in whatever hairdo he managed that time around.
In a way, the deep love Will seemed to hold for his hair had been the main reason he’d kept it reasonably long during the time they’d spent together. It was also the reason he’d chopped it all off – as short as possible – not long after the attack and kept it that way for the subsequent five years of his life as a wanderer through Exandria.
It was in the midst of year five that he’d found himself at the Everdawn party in Emon. The party was something he hadn’t really planned to attend but had ultimately decided to stay at for no reason other than it looked… fun. Fun was not something he’d gotten much of in a while, after all.
Even with the gap of a week in his memory, he remembered most of what the party had been in the beginning. A faun woman and a human girl dressed in hot pink, both of them loud and colorful and so unashamed of it, so young in spirit that he couldn’t help but feel like he was younger and his heart lighter, too. They’d dragged him to the middle of the dance floor where a way too drunk dwarf made fast friends with them, and Orym found himself watching over the trio. He'd noticed a fire genasi woman watching over the dwarf a few minutes later. They'd locked eyes and shared a look; a quiet sort of understanding of two people who were used to being protectors and now found themselves sharing a goal.
He also remembered how everyone had turned to look up, gasping and clapping excitedly as the roaring music continued. Fearne had scooped him in her arms1 without even asking, just so she could give him a better view and whatever complaint he'd planned on voicing died as soon as he saw the scene above them.
That was when he first saw what would become the last member of their colorful group. All charm, blue skin and billowing hair, an air genasi that was floating–no, dancing alongside two other air genasis like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Thus, The Crown Keepers came to be. Fearne, Opal, Dariax, Fy’ra Rai and Dorian, and Orym. He would be lying if he said he hadn't been enchanted by Dorian right away, despite their differences and the ways they clashed at times, he found himself immediately drawn to the man – a feeling that only grew and grew the more time they spent together. A feeling that shook him to his core.
When the time had come for their adventure to end and for each of them to choose a path to follow, he hadn't expected Dorian to say that he would follow him wherever he led. He'd been embarrassingly surprised, yet impossibly giddy at the thought.
˚ ♡ ｡˚
“Hi,” Dorian mumbles as he approaches. “May I sit with you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Orym scoots to the side of where he’s sitting at the cliff’s edge. He'd been staring at Catha's bright glow in the sky as it shone upon the now not-so distant mountain peaks of Zephrah.
They were a few days away from it now, each day bringing an uncomfortable dread that had Orym be even more aware of his anxieties and worries, feelings that swelled inside his chest like the pressure in a carbonated bottle that was being shaken over and over again. Feelings he thought he’d been doing fine at keeping under control. At least, until earlier that day.
They'd somehow managed to wake some sort of creature while making their way through the forest.
Glowing eyes and enormous claws that usually spelled bad news, cutting through the trees and chasing after them as they ran. He lost sight of both Dorian and Fearne, though with the beast right behind him that was the last of his worries. Orym tried leaping up into the trees in hopes of confusing the creature but just as he was about to make it to the top, he heard a roaring sound, a preamble of what was to come. One quick look behind confirmed his suspicion, the creature was fastly approaching with its claws at the ready.
He braced himself against the nearest tree branch, eyes shut tightly as he hoped for some sort of miracle, a world in which an attack like that wouldn’t immediately end with his life. Perhaps he could drop to the ground and leap further into the tree, though either action would have to be perfectly timed. With some luck, the damages would be kept to a minimum.
Except, the attack never actually reached him.
He heard a loud scream, a thud and the decreasing wailing of a monster as a screeching monkey seemed to chase it away. Looking back, he saw the flaming form of Mister as he scared off the creature that had attacked them, with Fearne right below the tree branch he was perched on. She was doubled over something on the ground.
No, not something.
Someone.
He jumped down faster than he could think, rushing to Fearne’s side. There, he saw Dorian’s body. Unmoving, with a slash across his chest and a stain that only spread further as the seconds passed. Dorian’s hand twitched as it tried to reach for Orym’s, falling to the ground without ever really finding purpose but Orym rushed to hold it all the same. He saw the light and crackle from Dorian’s eyes that he'd come to love fade, panic reflected on his own. He looked up to Fearne to find her with a similar expression on her face as she struggled to hold onto their genasi friend, pouring her magic into him and hoping, praying for it to work.
Orym felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he cradled Dorian’s head in his lap. “Please.” His voice was nothing short of a broken cry. “Don’t do this to me again. Please, don’t leave me, Will–”
“So… Are you alright?” asks Dorian, voice impossibly soft and caring, as if Orym had been the one to almost die instead.
“I should be the one asking you that…” He puts a hand in the center of Dorian’s chest with as much care as he can manage, his thumb caressing the bandages there. “You almost–”
“But I didn’t.” The genasi instantly takes his hand and squeezes. “I am fine. I am here. You, on the other hand...”
Orym holds his breath.
“You’ve been on edge lately, don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Dorian continues. His hand moves up Orym’s arm, stopping where the two moons are tattooed. “And Fearne told me you said something interesting while I was… out.”
"Yeah I– I guess I did." He can't help but shudder as the words leave his mouth. A part of him had hoped that, maybe with the frenzy of it all, Fearne hadn't heard him. He should've known better than to hope for something like that.
He takes a deep breath and sighs. It’s been a long time since he's had to talk about his life in Zephrah. About his life with Will.
Regardless, thinking about Will is something he does most days. Will is in the smells and tastes Orym remembers to be his favorites. He is in the music that plays on the streets and the tall trees in the mountains, all similar to the ones they used to climb and fall from back home.
Will is in the way he has caught Dorian staring his way a few times, his eyes filled with a devotion he isn't quite sure he can reciprocate.
"If you…" Dorian sighs, his honeyed voice interrupting Orym’s musings. "It's okay if you don't want to talk, y'know? I just wanted you to know that… I am here. Whenever you need it." His gaze drifts towards the moon as he sighs again. "I know what leaving home is like, even if our reasons may differ– I don't know yours but I know that if I had to go back home right now I… I don't know, I'd be terrified. I would be all alone. But you have us, Fearne and I, we're here for you." He squeezes Orym's shoulder before letting his arm fall to his side again.
And Orym's heart aches. It aches at the loss of contact, a type of warmth he hasn't experienced in a long time. It aches at the fact that he’s come to care so deeply about Dorian, yet he knows he isn't in a place to… let that care grow into something more. It aches because he was so terrified – is still terrified – at the prospect of losing Dorian, so much so that it reminded him of one of the worst days of his life. It aches because he wants nothing more than to hold Dorian tight and feel his pulse and feel his breath and just feel him. His bright, living, beautiful self. Right here, right now.
It aches, because it knows it is too broken to be loved or give love ever again.
The moon keeps on shining brightly in the sky, its glow casting Dorian in a light that shouldn't make him look as ethereal as it does, yet part of his brain is still fixated on Dorian's words. What had he meant by alone? The bard has him and Fearne, too, does he not?
"My… when you… earlier today–" he stumbles over his words, not quite able to get his thoughts right. Dorian takes both his hands this time, wearing a ridiculously charming, reassuringly soft smile on his face.
"It's okay. Breathe."
And so he does.
"...Will is– was, my husband's name," he says in a hushed tone, his hand immediately reaching for the back of his head, grasping at the little amount of hair there.
There is also a part of him that is mesmerized at how… easy it feels to tell Dorian about his late husband. He better leave those thoughts for later.
"Your… husband..." Orym doesn’t miss the way Dorian almost chokes on the word ‘husband’, nor the way he takes a sudden interest in the horizon beyond the cliff. He doesn’t know what sort of reaction he was expecting, but he assumed it must be quite a lot to take in. Especially for Dorian.
"He died six years ago. Assassins."
"Oh, Orym," He breathes, his voice impossibly soft in a way that tugs at the ache in Orym’s chest. He looks back at him and opens his mouth a few times. No matter how many times it looks like he’s going to make a sound, his mouth always ends up shut.
Orym sees the journey in Dorian's face clear as the day. Surprise, followed by realization and a deep sorrow that he can't bear to look at right now, immediately averting his eyes before any of his or Dorian's feelings could come pouring further. He feels Dorian's hands on him again, this time looking for his own and he can't find it in himself to stop him when he weaves their fingers together. Somewhere in his head he thinks how hilarious it is that he has somehow managed to leave a bard of all people speechless.
But Dorian has never been just any ordinary bard, has he?
Maybe it’s the fact that he has already talked his way through the hardest part or maybe it's the warmth that Dorian’s hands provide him with, but he feels compelled to continue talking to him all the same. He needs to tell the whole story.
"We were guards in Zephrah for the Voice of the Tempest, but we'd known each other for ages. He was my best friend in all of Exandria; knew everything about me and I knew everything about him, yet we still managed to surprise each other." Orym recalls with a half smile. As much as the memories are happy ones, it doesn't stop them from leaving a bitter aftertaste. “I actually got this not so long after our wedding.” He gestures to the tattoo covering the majority of his arm, his fingers lingering on Catha. “Big moon, little moon.”
“That sounds lovely,” He whispers. Then, a little hesitant: “...He sounds lovely.”
“Mhm,” Orym chuckles softly. “He was also a bit of a prick, if I’m being honest? He dared me to climb to the top of the Matron’s tree once. He kept telling me not to cry or get sad after he beat me so, naturally, I won to prove him wrong. Or rather, I was about to win when he grabbed my ankle and pulled.”
“I– what?” Dorian wheezes, a slight grin forming on his face despite the tears in the corners of his eyes.
"Yeah. I broke my arm because of the fall that day– you should've seen Will's face. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Though, he probably did, y'know? Life flashing before his eyes and all that as he thought of ways to explain the situation to both his mom and my ma without getting himself skinned alive." He chuckles again, a little louder this time. Dorian echoes the sound and squeezes his hands affectionately.
"So, what did he do?"
"I took the blame. Told my ma I'd been reckless while climbing and that Will found me. I doubt she fully believed me but… it spared him from Nel's lecturing that one time. We were always protecting each other like that, y'know?” He smiled. “He complained to me endlessly about it later in private; said I should’ve let him take responsibility but… I took great pride in being able to protect him. In battle he had my back and I had his, we were unstoppable. At least until–" He breathes shakingly. "Until they–"
He feels his lip trembling as he tries and fails to gasp for air, tears gathering on the corner of his eyes before cascading down his face as though a dam broke down. He tries to still himself, lock his feelings inside and hide like he’d done so many times before, but he can't. He'd almost forgotten Dorian was there when all at once, strong arms wrap around him and draw him in close.
All the fight in him melts away as he revels in the warmth of Dorian's embrace. The soft rumble of his chest as he hums a tune Orym recognizes as one of Dorian’s most popular songs whenever he plays at a tavern. There’s also the smell of ozone and freesias that’s weaved into his hair. His heart aches again at just how safe he feels in that moment, letting himself cry in Dorian's arms for what could have been a few minutes to hours and hours on end, his hands clinging to Dorian’s shoulders, trying not to damage the bandages on his chest. Bandages that had been his fault, too.
"I miss him so much, Dorian," he whispers, his voice broken. "H-him and Dad and–" a squeaky hiccup cuts him mid sentence and he resolves back to crying.
The cruel part of his brain keeps repeating the same thing it has for the past six years. That Derrig and Will dying had been his fault. That he hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough, strong enough. That he hadn’t been enough.
The logical part of his brain, the one that makes sure he eats every day and sleeps enough every night – the one whose voice sounds painfully similar to Will’s – , reminds him that it had been out of his control. That his father and his husband wouldn’t want him lamenting the fact that he’d lived.
They would want him to live, after all, and in a way he had.
He’d gotten to travel across so much of Exandria and made sure to visit all the places he and Will had dreamt about.
He'd also left a bouquet of Will's favorite flowers in every single one of them.
He’d gotten to experience things he wouldn’t have otherwise, too. Some sort of spicy wine from Terrah, the kindness of strangers sharing their fire on the road as he made his way through Westruun, being chased by a hoard of chickens on his way out of Kymal of all places. And most important – though at the time seemingly inconsequential – of all, went to a grandiose party in Emon and ended up meeting a group filled with colorful people that eventually crowned themselves as the Crown Keepers. In them he’d found the care and companionship he hadn’t allowed himself for a long time. He’d found himself a family in Fy’ra, Dariax, Opal and Fearne and Dorian.
And Dorian…
The bard’s gentle hands on his hair are quick to remind him of the present, of what they'd been talking about, of what he’d been doing before getting lost in memories of years past. He isn’t sure how long he has spent up in his head but he knows he hasn't stopped crying through it all. Even through all the tears and snot that leave Orym, the disgusting stain that it's probably leaving on Dorian, he never complains. He keeps on humming until Orym's crying turns to trembling shoulders and soft, shaky gasps. He doesn't press Orym to talk nor does he attempt to pull away at any point, and that alone just makes the halfling almost start to cry all over again.
Briefly, Orym wonders when was the last time he'd felt this loved by someone. Let himself be this loved by anyone.
After what feels like yet another eternity, he pushes at Dorian's chest lightly to break their hug. He isn't really ready to lose all contact just yet, but he wants to be able to look Dorian in the eyes.
"I'm sorry–" His voice comes out much more hoarse than he’d expected, so he stops. How long had he been crying?
"Don't. There's no need." Even with their now broken hug, Dorian keeps his hands on Orym's arms, something the halfling won't quite admit he likes as much as he does.
"...Thank you, then." He puts one hand on top of Dorian's and smiles. "You're a great friend."
"I try." Dorian returns his smile, adoration written all over it and for a moment Orym can't help but look directly at that perfect smile of his. He looks away almost immediately.
With a sigh, he wipes the leftover tears away. “We should go back to our camp.”
"Right!" Dorian laughs nervously. He lets go of Orym and looks down to fidget with his hands for a second. He looks up at Orym a moment later. "Wait, before we go– I wanted to ask you something?"
Orym was already on his feet and making his way back to their camp, but he stops at Dorian's words and turns around. He raises an eyebrow and waits.
"You know I care a lot about you, right?" Dorian whispers, avoiding his eyes. "You do so much for me– for us, everyday. I just–" he sighs. "I am not as skilled a fighter as you are, nor a tactician, as seen today but… I'd like to protect you. If you'd allow me the honor."
He can't help the gasp that escapes him, not with the way Dorian looks so soft and open and true. The words almost catch in his throat and tie into a bow, rose-colored and made of a silk similar to Dorian's favorite sleepwear.
He swallows before any of that can take place and says, "As long as you allow me to protect you, too."
Dorian seems to assess him for a minute or two, his eyes clouded with something Orym can't quite read.
"Deal," he says with a smile and they walk back to the camp.
˚ ♡ ｡˚
It's only a few hours before Dorian leaves.
They'd spent barely a week in Jrusar before his past catches up to him and Orym can't help but feel like he has failed the genasi yet again, as though he could've stopped this from happening somehow.
Orym comes to envy the way Lord Estheross glares at Cyrus. Comes to envy the way Chetney basically barks at the man. He, too, wants to scream at him. Wants to bash his head against a wall and cry, how could you have been so naive? How could you have been played so easily and how dare you drag Dorian down with you. How dare you take him from me– He knows it's cruel to think like that, but he can't help it.
Dorian shouldn't feel like his brother's failures are his responsibility. He shouldn't need to get on a skyship and fly to another continent. Shouldn't need to babysit his idiot older brother. He should stay with his friends. He should stay with Bell's Hells. Should stay with Orym.
It's only a few hours before Dorian leaves and Orym hasn't been able to rest his eyes for even a minute. He looks up to the ceiling in hopes that a plan to fix everything that has gone wrong today will show itself to him in the lines that trace the wood. Maybe the spiderweb in the corner has a twisted answer to his sorrows.
Fearne taps his cheek lightly from where she'd been laying close to him, her soft finger making him realize just how tight his jaw is set; how hard he'd been biting down his lip. He thought she was already asleep. Everyone else is, including Dorian, who looks painfully serious even though he's supposed to be resting between him and Fearne. Their usual arrangement is different; but tonight isn't like any other night.
"You seem stressed, Orym," Fearne whispers. "You don't want him to leave…"
"Do you?" He knows asking such a thing is silly, Fearne's answer already on his mind before she even voices it.
"Never." She has that sad puppy look to her face again, the one she'd given Dorian earlier while nearly crying, saying they'd find a way for him to stay. How they could change his hair and give him new clothes or use magic, even if they both knew he wouldn't budge.
"Yet we can't really… He's made up his mind, you and I both know there's no changing it now," he sighs, one hand coming to rest on top of the one Fearne had placed over his face.
"Then I'll just chain him to this room. He'll be safe if he doesn't leave. We can bring him food!" She tries to sound enthusiastic, and even though the volume of her voice makes him cringe a little – He's grateful Dorian is a heavy sleeper – , Orym doesn't miss the way her face seems like it's going to fall off the deep end with every word.
"You don't mean that," he hums.
"... I could if I really wanted to."
That makes Orym chuckle a little. He remembers how, when they'd first arrived at Jrusar, the first thing Fearne had done was to steal something. Always so used to looking at something she likes and simply deciding that it belongs to her now. She'd stolen from someone without them even noticing. The memory, as exasperating as the moment had been then, is one that wraps itself around his heart just like many others where Fearne and Dorian are both there.
He tries not to think about the way most flowers need at least three petals to truly look like a flower.
But he can see now, in her eyes, a sadness that's so contagious he has to force himself to look away. Orym knows that she'd love nothing more than to keep Dorian with them, dress him up through either physical or magical means. Orym knows he wants it as well.
Yet they know Dorian would be against it. Not because of a lack of love for them, or a desire to leave, but because the genasi loves them too much. When Dorian had called himself a burden, Orym almost found himself about to slap such nonsense out of him to then take his face in his palms, hold him and tell him just how unforgivably wrong he was.
He looks up at Fearne again, quiet tears rolling down her face sideways, lips quivering.
"It's only temporary–" he mumbles, struggling to believe the words himself. "He'd come back. You'll see. It's not good-bye. It's see you later."
Fearne hums thoughtfully, her hand moving away from his face in favor of Dorian's, putting a stray strand of hair back where it belongs before she kisses his forehead.
"I'd burn down the whole of Exandria just for you. Know that, okay?" She whispers into his hair as though it were a prayer and then looks up to Orym again. "That goes to you as well."
"Thank you, Fearne." He smiles at her before a yawn overtakes him, a sign that tells him he should actually try and get some rest.
Fearne yawns as well before rolling around, her back pressing against Dorian's. "Night, Orym."
"Night…"
It doesn't take long before she starts snoring. Doesn't take long for Orym to seek comfort in the warmth of Dorian's body once again, his heartbeat a welcoming sort of calm. He almost starts sobbing again when Dorian, sleepy as he may be, wraps his arms around him and places a kiss on top of his hair followed by a quiet whisper.
"Good night."