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"Thrain?"
The Captain looks up from his desk at the hesitant call, his pen pausing in midair above a page. Ororon hadn't meant to sound as uncertain as that, but his tongue is still unused to calling the Captain by that name, and he'd been feeling increasingly out-of-place his whole way through the methodically-spinning clockwork beehive of the Fatui encampment, and he has some words boiling up inside, itching to escape his throat, and… and he can't say with any confidence how this conversation is going to go, how these words he needs to let loose are going to be received.
"Ororon. Please, come in," the Captain says—intones, really—each word filled with a gravity that an augur would probably trade all their worldly possessions to be able to deploy at will. As always, the First Fatui Harbinger sounds like he doesn't have a single doubt about his place in the world, or anyone else's.
While the Captain sets aside his paperwork, Ororon lets the entrance flap of the Fatui command tent slip closed behind him. He takes two small steps further inside, but stops there, fiddling with the neatly-hemmed tassels at the end of his scarf. It's that or pick at his nails, and Granny has many times expressed her disapproval of that nervous habit of his. He's trying his best to avoid getting his hands locked into corrective mittens again. It's very difficult to garden with those on.
Ororon can feel the weight of the Captain's gaze. It's impossible to ever know precisely what the Captain is looking at, of course, but… he's probably watching Ororon fidget and drawing his own conclusions.
"Is there something you need from me?" the Captain says. He stands and starts to walk around to the front of his desk, taking slow, carefully-measured steps like Ororon is a little saurian hatchling he doesn't want to spook. "Ask. If it's within my power to grant, I'll see it done. I owe you at least that much."
"'Need' is... maybe too strong a word," Ororon admits.
"Then, is it something you want?"
"Yes, but I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything." Ororon worries at his lower lip with his teeth. Another nervous habit. He stares at the ground. "Just… can you listen to me for a bit?" he asks. "And let me say as much as I can first before you, uh, interrupt. Unless I'm making you uncomfortable. I'm not sure yet how this is going to go."
Ororon chances a glance up at the darkness behind the Captain's helmet. There's no expression there to gauge his reaction, but after a moment, the man's head inclines with a momentous care, thin golden chains swaying gently with the motion. He doesn't say a word, just as Ororon had asked.
Ororon takes a deep breath. Suddenly, the distance between where he and the Captain are standing seems too great, and he takes another step closer, then two, until they're near enough that either of them would be able to reach out and touch the other, should they dare to.
"I know we haven't known each other for very long," Ororon starts. "Just a few months now. So I wasn't sure it would be the right time to say anything at all. But, I don't want to have any regrets. So here goes."
He takes another breath and centers himself. For once, what he needs to delve into and reveal the truth of is his own heart, not anyone else's.
He starts the only way he knows how—with the precipitating event, the water that coaxed the seed to sprout forth. "I went to the feast the People of the Springs hosted for the Traveler," he says. "The Pyro Archon was there, too. And afterwards, people started talking about these dreams they'd had the previous night. And the Traveler's dream involved you, which was strange, since everyone else's involved loved ones who'd passed, which the Archon said probably had to do with what she'd done at the end of the battle—she'd strengthened the souls of Natlan's deceased."
But the dreams weren't really the point. Ororon shakes his head, forcing himself back on track. "So that's why I was talking about you to the Pyro Archon. And at the end, she told me that you... about me…"
Ororon falters. The Captain's unseeable gaze on him acts as obstruction and fortification both. He rallies despite or because of it. "She… she made the claim that I'm not just anyone to you. That you respect me. Which made me… Well, see, I'd previously suspected that maybe you just saw me as some tagalong kid, tampering with forces beyond my control." Ororon smiles wryly. "You wouldn't be the first."
The Captain draws breath as if to speak, probably to reassure him, and that's not what Ororon needs right now, so he hurries to cut him off.
"But that's still not the point! The point is that you two—the Pyro Archon and you—you're so similar that I figured she must know what she's talking about. For whatever reason, you care about me at least a little. And knowing that is what gave me the encouragement I needed to come here and ask you…"
He falters, again. He's still managed to skip a few steps, hasn't he? People hate it when he does that, when he starts talking about something as though everyone else has worked their way through the same thoughts as him already and he inevitably leaves them behind when he moves on to the next destination. He'd been trying to walk the Captain through it all piece by piece. He backtracks.
"So, what she said was—and, well, I know she didn't mean it this way at all, but she advised me to 'pose the question' to you, and suddenly all I could think about was…" No, still too far, too fast. One more step back. "Okay, I once overheard someone using the, uh, euphemistic meaning of the phrase 'posing the question', and I asked them what question they were talking about, so one of my grannies had to pull me aside and explain that the person was talking about a marriage proposal. So I heard the Archon use those words and obviously this is too soon since we've never talked about this before and I don't even know if you like me or ever could or even if marriage is something you've ever thought about but I couldn't help but imagine…" And he knows he should backtrack again, but the words are now spilling out of him too fast to redirect. "I started picturing it—nothing elaborate, just a small ceremony with a few close friends and grannies. You and me, standing across from each other, and… Um, I've never seen the traditional wedding attire done in all black before, but I think you'd pull it off. And I'm not sure what weddings were like in Khaenri'ah, or Snezhnaya even, but I'd like to learn."
The silver plating that denotes the shape of the Captain's chin has dropped a centimeter lower than it normally sits—the closest approximation to slack-jawed confusion that the stoic Harbinger can show. Ororon has to explain more, explain better.
"I want to learn because I want to know everything about you. What you think about, what you feel, your mildest opinions and your most deeply-held beliefs. I want to talk to you late into the night like we did when it was just the two of us alone trying to save Natlan together, so I can fall asleep against your shoulder again and wake up to feel your fingers in my hair."
The sharp inhalation from Captain probably means he didn't think Ororon had been aware of that, and Ororon can't help thrilling at the knowledge that he'd learned a secret that the Captain hadn't deliberately given away.
"I never returned the favor, but I want to. Every sunrise since we parted ways, I've opened my eyes disappointed you're not there with me. Dreams aren't enough—they just make me miss you more. My aphids and my vegetables are all feeling neglected because I keep getting distracted thinking about things I want to tell you and things I want to ask you. Whenever I hear someone coming up the path now, I have to go down to see who it is myself, because they've gotten too jealous to tell me if it's you.
"I always want it to be you," he says. "I've lived apart from the rest of the Masters of the Night-Wind ever since I first learned to plant a seed, but somehow it feels intolerable now, because I'm apart from you."
Ororon's pulse is racing in his chest. His throat is the driest he thinks it's ever been, and he tries to swallow, but it doesn't help.
"I never want to be apart from you," he says. "So, that's why I want… I want to ask if you… Would you ever consider marrying me?"
As the question finally passes his lips, he can feel the frenzied energy that had carried him here and through that impassioned speech abruptly subside. He wavers like a leaf, and then ducks his head and closes his mouth with a click.
From behind a curtain of untamed dark hair, he waits silently for the Captain's reply.
The Captain's fists clench and unclench at his sides. "Is this Mavuika's revenge for my attempt to interfere with her plans?" His voice is soft, quieter than a whisper, like he doesn't mean for Ororon to hear. "Even if she still doesn't know the extent of it, this seems too cruel."
"Cruel?" Ororon furrows his brow and shakes his head, slowly. He hasn't been turned down flat, but this doesn't feel like an acceptance of his suit is forthcoming either. "No, she's never been cruel. She's just… brave. Braver than me. So brave that no one can resist following the trail she blazes. But I'm a coward, really, more suited to staying in the shadows. Nothing compared to her, or you."
"Don't say that," the Captain says, sharply. "A coward wouldn't risk his life to help some strange, tired soul far from home. You're as courageous as anyone I've ever met. For the short time we've known each other, you… you've been a balm and a blessing unearned."
Ororon's heart skips a beat. He stares at the gauntleted hand now raised outstretched in front of him, hovering suspended before his eyes as if caught in the middle of reaching out to stroke Ororon's cheek.
But before Ororon can blink, the Captain withdraws his arm again, then draws himself upright, folding both hands firmly behind his back.
"But, I'm truly sorry. I cannot respond to your feelings," he says. He sounds sorry. He sounds like it pains him to say, but he sounds resolute nonetheless. "It wouldn't be fair to you. My heart is… spoken for. It has been for five hundred years."
Ororon nods and looks aside. His chest feels tight and his stomach is churning, even though he thought he'd prepared himself for this. "Do you mean Guthred?" he asks, tentatively. Maybe he shouldn't want to know who exactly he's lost to, in a competition that ended centuries before his birth, but he does. Hadn't he said as much already? He wants to know everything about this man, and he'll treasure every bit of information he can snatch. "He felt very strongly about you. When his soul possessed me, I felt what he felt. But…"
"But?"
Ororon hesitates. "But… it didn't feel like he loved you. At least, not… not the way I've come to."
The Captain lets out a slow hiss of breath, but he remains still and otherwise silent.
Ororon can feel his ears drooping. "It's okay that you don't feel the same way. And you don't owe me any answers or explanations. I'm the one who got carried away and… and saw smoke where there was never any fire. I'm very sorry to have burdened you with this, and I'm grateful that you stayed to listen to me at all."
"Ororon, I—no, please don't apologize," the Captain's voice bursts out, raw, like it had been pulled from his throat. "Your feelings are unexpected, but in no way are they a burden, nor does my rejection reflect on any failing or lack on your part. And it is fully understandable that you feel the way you do. I…" He presses a hand to his heart, curved metal claws digging into his chest. "The opacity of my intentions is clear to me in retrospect. I can only ask your own forgiveness for the part I played in influencing you. I hold you in the highest regard, and I deeply regret my carelessness. I should never have allowed myself to lead you astray, and I know that soon enough your generosity of spirit will lead you to someone who can give you their heart in full, as you truly deserve."
"That's kind of you to say," Ororon responds, helplessly, "but—"
"I have never been kind, but you've made me want to try to be. That is why I must refuse you."
Ororon has rarely cried in his life—especially not when he was a child—but there's a burning sensation at the corners of his eyes that tells him he might do it soon. If not today, then likely tomorrow. His eyes are probably looking a little red. The Captain doesn't deserve to have to see that, with how gracious he's being, going as far as to blame himself for the absurd little crush that Ororon had the gall to propose about. Ororon abruptly turns to go, blood rushing in his ears.
But, as his hand brushes the edge of the tent flap, two strong arms wrap around Ororon from behind, making his breath leave him in a gust.
"I'm sorry. Truly sorry," the Captain says, wretchedly, into Ororon's hair. "I wish things could have been different. But it would be better for everyone if you forgot about me."
Quietly, Ororon turns in the Captain's arms and buries his face in the Harbinger's chest. Metal adornments dig into his cheek, and he hopes beyond hope that they'll leave marks on his skin. He snakes his arms around that broad back, clinging on for as long as he's allowed to. "I don't think I'll ever be able to do that," he says. For now, he can't do anything but stay right here where he can hear the Captain's heart—the heart that doesn't belong to either of them—beating erratically under his ear.
"Forever is a long time. Trust me." The Captain is trying for lightness, but the faint chime of delicate chains shifting sounds like pain. "You're still young. You'll move on one day, and find someone more suitable."
But, as Ororon is left staring at the seated warrior atop his frozen throne… he isn't sure he ever will.