WHERE Their shared room (with Fearne!) at the Crossed Quills WHEN Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, who is paying attention WHAT Neither can sleep, so they discuss dreams, worries, and (always) there's music. STATUS Complete! WARNINGS None! ART beeuma @tumblr
Dorian couldn't sleep. It wasn't unusual to toss and turn in the middle of the night, but that had stopped the moment he was able to curl back between Fearne and Orym in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place. There was also the worry about Cyrus and how he was fairing without him, that was keeping him up at night—Dorian could only hope that Dariax, Opal, and Fy'ra could watch him while Dorian was missing? Gone? It was still hard to pinpoint what this adventure actually was when left alone with the darkening night and his own anxious thoughts.
But try as he might, his mind couldn't settle once it was conscious and he resigned himself to staring at the beams of the ceiling until his eyes burned. It was a good habit to have, knowing they split watches enough, and that dozing off when it was his turn would have gone poorly. But right now, when the week had been so long already and exhaustion tugged at him constantly, Dorian wanted the sleep.
Rolling over, Dorian noticed that the space that Orym occupied was empty. That made him sit up quicker, concerned that he had missed something. And hadn't he, the other day? Dorian hadn't wanted to pry, but something had changed in Orym one morning. He couldn't find a good time to ask, but even after some time apart, Dorian could still pick up on little changes from his friend's demeanor.
He slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Fearne—and he missed her warmth immediately—and stepped through the doorway of their tiny bedroom to the tinier attached sitting room. The Crossed Quills was more luxurious than anything they had boarded in recently, clearly meant for long term stays, but it still lacked true privacy. Dorian almost felt bad when he found Orym here, and thought he might be disturbing the need to be alone.
"I can—" Dorian whispered, pointing back to the bedroom. "If you do not want the company?"
Sleep had not been coming easy for Orym the last handful of days, which is what left the halfling slipping out of his safe spot with Dorian and Fearne and instead sitting on the small sofa in the sitting area of their room. With one of his legs pulled to his chest, he had leaned forward, chin resting on his knee as he stared idly in the direction of the plate on the coffee table that still held half a piece of pie. He had told himself that he would get up only long enough to get a late night snack. Though Orym wasn't quite sure just how long he had been out there, he had a sneaking suspicion that it had been far longer than what was needed to eat a piece of pie.
Sleep had always been a tenuous thing for Orym. In the early days, just before he had left Zephrah, it was that he was alone in too large of a bed that kept him up. Then, after he left, it was because he was more alone than he had ever been, traveling around with no one's company but his own. Eventually, though, he had found companions and, as they had grown more comfortable with one another, it became easier to put trust in their ability to keep watch and, with that trust, came easy sleep.
The dream about Will had thrown him for a loop, though. He wasn't unused to having dreams about his husband, but they were never quite so real, so visceral as that had been. Had there not been a natural knowledge that he was dreaming, it would have felt like just any other evening from what his life had been six years ago. It had been a very good dream, healing in ways he hadn't expected, but giving him pause in ways he did.
Orym heard the movement coming from the bedroom before he saw Dorian, the latter of which brought an easy smile to his face despite the tumultuous swirl of thoughts that was his mind. Straightening up, Orym shook his head and gestured toward the open space next to him in offering. "Can't sleep?"
Dorian's expression softened, pleased that he wasn't turned away—not that Orym would be rude about it, but Dorian didn't want to put him in that position to ask to be alone. He took up the offered space, pulling his feet up underneath him. He gave one more glance back to the bedroom, to make sure he hadn't roused Fearne now that two-thirds of her bedmates had left, before giving his full attention to Orym.
"I was going to ask the same thing to you," Dorian said, nodding at the half-eaten pie. "It seems you have been up much longer than I originally thought." That didn't seem to sit well with Dorian, but he didn't feel right saying it outloud. The words sounded too accusatory.
He was more than content to sit here in companionable silence, but Dorian also knew that the fuzzy, effusive feeling of the night rubbed away the walls of the day during normal conversation. People, himself included, tended to let down those defenses they put up for self-preservation. He started easy, with his questions. "I never thought that I would wish to have a reason to keep watch. Now that we don't have to keep looking over our shoulders, I'm not sure how to stop."
Dorian let out a quiet laugh, because it was an absurd want, even to him. "Are there overnight patrols with their defense team here? I might need to volunteer."
Orym chuckled, soft and understanding. "It's a hard thing to shake, isn't it? I have to imagine that we'll get used to it eventually, though." Someday, he hoped, they wouldn't think it was odd to not have a criminal organization in Emon or too much of Jrusar linking them to various misdeeds and on the hunt for them, unearned or otherwise. Being taken to another world altogether seemed like a particularly extreme way to take care of that, but it was certainly effective.
"It's funny you mention the patrols, though." Orym turned where he sat to better face Dorian, both of his legs tucked up on the sofa. "I've been thinking about signing myself up for their defense teams. It seems like an easy way to make some coin, you know?" The only reason he hadn't yet was out of sticking close to his friends, being there for them as they adjusted to their new surroundings and life. Well--not the only reason. It had also felt a bit close to being a guard in ways that the jobs they'd picked up as mercenaries hadn't. That wasn't inherently a bad thing, but it had given him pause.
Looking now at Dorian, though, he asked, "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Dorian asked, a bit incredulous. Not that he didn't appreciate Orym asking for his opinion, but he didn't think it was much his place to tell someone, even his friends, what they should and shouldn't do. Alternatively, Dorian liked the fact that even something as small as how and where to earn money requested his thoughts on the matter. Orym always seemed to find a way to make Dorian feel included, regardless of the task. Another thing Dorian had missed with his time away from the Bell's Hells.
"If that is something you want to do, then I don't think it should stop you. Any team would be lucky to have a skilled fighter such as yourself on their side." His tone was profoundly serious, and unsurprisingly genuine for this time of night. But he smiled, a private thing, like remembering a joke a beat later. "I would not be surprised if Chetney follows along, in some one-sided competition to watch your back. Just be ready."
He knew Orym wouldn't mind, but Chetney's antics always made any situation a testament to spontaneity. Dorian was lucky he enjoyed that. It was almost comforting in its routine. Which only brought Dorian circling back around to the unusualness of this conversation, and how neither of them being awake was normal when there was no immediate threat.
"If you don't mind," Dorian started to say, scooting closer, and adjusting in his seat. "And by no means, you do not have to answer, everyone is privy to their secrets, but—" He reached across to place a gentle hand on Orym's shoulder. "Are you all right? I only ask because, well, I noticed something off, but it could just be this place. But I felt like a terrible friend if I didn't at least check."
The encouragement from Dorian was appreciated by Orym and he knew it was the push that he needed to make a decision, his mind immediately making up his mind. He didn't need anyone's blessing, but just having someone, especially someone whose opinion he unconsciously--and sometimes consciously--placed above most, made him feel a lot better.
Because, in truth, it wasn't just the ties to being a guard that put him off. Orym had come into money by both earned and mysterious manners in his time in Vallo, but he couldn't count on a win with fight club or money just showing up in his account whenever the Bells needed to buy a meal. This was a smart way to make ends meet. But, it also meant that he was planning to be here long enough to need to make ends meet. Knowing that others from Exandria had been in Vallo for over two years was mind boggling. Knowing that the same could end up being true for him and his friends and that they would need to leave one life behind for another was even moreso.
Orym had left one life behind already, but there had always been an option to go back to it, in a very different way, if he needed to. That option was off the table while he was in Vallo.
Which, of course, fell right in line with Dorian's question. Orym raised one of his own hands, letting it pat and then squeeze the blue one on his shoulder. "You're the furthest thing from a terrible friend, Dorian. I appreciate you asking." He had been trying to act as though everything was business as usual, but he also wasn't too shocked that Dorian had seen through that. He had never been much of a liar, in particular with those he cared about.
Orym blew out a gentle breath, gaze dropping from Dorian for just a moment as he considered, then immediately popped back up. "I had a dream the other day. I don't know if you saw it, but other people mentioned having really realistic dreams and this was like that. I was back home, in Zephrah." He smiled, small and a bit sad. "Will was in it."
Dorian fully expected to drop the conversation if Orym didn't want to share. Even had the words all queued up on his tongue—the soft encouraging way he tended to say things when conversations were too hard or difficult to express. It was from years of growing up in a place where formality and civility took precedence, and stirring the proverbial pot was out of the question.
The answer seemed to surprise him though, all the same. And Dorian couldn't hide it and he had to glance away briefly to cover his expression. It wasn't that Dorian had a problem with Will or Orym's past, or the obvious grief that circled around him—not a storm but a gentle breeze—but that Dorian wasn't sure what to say now. He knew what a dream with Will would be something to plague Orym. He should have guessed it sooner.
"I saw," Dorian said, clearing his throat. "I wasn't sure if that was something that would happen to any of us. Most people didn't seem too worried, and my dreams haven't been anything like that, and—oh." It seemed to hit him, then. "Was it a good dream at least?" Dorian asked, though it seemed almost silly once he said it.
This time when Orym smiled, it was still small, but a warmth replaced the sadness. "It was a really good dream."
Orym knew that he could have just left it at that and Dorian wouldn't have minded. It had been nice, though, to talk about Will with Chetney. He had felt relief, in a way, of keeping his memory alive by telling someone new about him, just as he had when he'd first told Dorian and Fearne. That had been a bit more out of necessity; going to Zephrah and receiving that mission in particular having brought thoughts and memories of Will to the forefront. But after six years of keeping him mostly hidden within his heart and mind, sneaking long glances at the moons and not knowing if his dreams would be pleasant or turn to nightmare memories, Orym felt like he was in a good place and surrounded by people who would appreciate hearing about his past.
"It was like any other day, you know?" Orym's focus shifted, looking over Dorian's shoulder as he recalled the simple events of the dream. "It was as though I'd just come home from a shift and he was making dinner. We just... talked. Spent time together. I told him about how I met all of you and the crazy stuff that's happened to us." He turned back to Dorian. "When I woke up, it didn't feel like a dream. I know that's all it was, but it's like I said. It was really real." Orym hesitated just a moment, before adding, "I'm sorry if I worried you at all."
Watching Orym recount the dream made Dorian insides twist around. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice, not sure what to be, who to be. But that was an old way of thinking—Brontë Wyvernwind, not Dorian Storm. He didn't need to have some predetermined platitude at the ready to fix everything or smooth away the worry.
"So a good dream, even if it was a little bittersweet?" Dorian guessed. He made sure to hold up a hand at Orym's apology, waving it away. "And, please, please don't. You don't have to say you're sorry for my own curiosity. I'm sure you would have said something eventually...?"
He liked to think that his friendship with Orym and Fearne came with certain allowances, one that he hoped he could earn from the others in their adventuring party. One of those allowances was the trust he had managed to cultivate, to be a confidant to things that weren't just surface level. The first time Orym had told him and Fearne about Will felt like ages ago, living through that secondhand grief again. And tonight held the same regard, except it was—different. Dorian couldn't place his finger on it.
"I am glad," Dorian said, but tiptoeing into the rest of the sentence, "that you got to spend that time with him. Real, dream, whatever mixture it was, that still something you can have. And I know you only said kind things about us." Dorian had hoped that Will had approved, would have, if they met in this lifetime.
"He would have liked you so much. All of you." Orym let himself tip to the side, his head coming to rest on the back of the sofa as he peered at Dorian. "He said that he was glad that I found you guys, so I wasn't alone anymore, and that he wanted me to be happy."
It had been necessary, he thought, that time he spent searching for a new purpose and calling that wasn't in Zephrah or with Will. It hadn't been until he'd wrapped himself up with Dorian and the other Crown Keepers, though, that he had taken a chance on getting close to other people. It had been a reminder that connection and family, found or otherwise, was worth having, even if loss was inevitable. He wasn't sure any other group of misfits could have reminded him of that, preparing him for the inclusion of Bells Hells in his life, and he was grateful.
They were also a big part of why Orym wasn't unhappy. He had his ups and downs, just as anyone might have, but he was content in this life, with the people he'd surrounded himself with, that he had someone that cared enough as a friend to ask after his well being in the dead of night. He had meant it when he'd told Will that he thought that he was the lucky one.
"And I would have told you eventually," Orym continued, shrugging one shoulder. "I wasn't intentionally keeping it a secret or anything, but I know it's not always the easiest thing to hear about, even when it's not necessarily a bad thing." He gave Dorian another small smile. "I should have known you'd notice something was up."
"Being observant has its rewards," Dorian said, in response to noticing something was up. The problem was only that he might not have said anything either, just waited patiently until Orym was ready or not. Navigating that space of grief was not something Dorian was used to. He had a taste for it with Bertrand's loss—and that was a guilt he still carried with him, being the last to see him and let him wander off by himself. But Orym's was different, before they had known one another. Dorian didn't know who his friend was before Will, only after.
"I do not want you to feel pressured to tell me everything just because I noticed. Or even if I have asked. Fearne would probably say the same thing. We are allowed to keep even the good things to ourselves." But he smiled now, more fondly, at the thought that they had done something good for Orym in Will's eyes. "But I am glad that we have made it so you weren't alone. And I don't think I can really speak for everyone, but I am going to. We will always be there to make sure you are never alone. I think we have all found ways to come back to one another.
He slouched further down on the sofa, to be eye level with Orym, tossing his ombre hair over his shoulder. "Even when I left, I knew it was only temporary. A see you later." That was truly directed at Orym, knowing their last exchange of words wasn't a real goodbye. Finality didn't sit well with Dorian, and he loathed the thought he might never see them all again. Not after everything they had been through and what they had irrevocably done for him. He only wanted to reciprocate, tenfold, when the time came.
"You, and Will, won't have to worry about ever being alone again."
Orym watched as Dorian brought himself more on the level of a halfling, listening as he felt something warm uncurl in his chest. It wasn't the first time that he'd felt that, nor did he think it would be the last. It wasn't something he was ignoring, but he was leaving it unacknowledged; a secret for himself.
Still, he couldn't help himself as he reached out, fingers moving in the familiar somatic gestures of Druidcraft to produce a blue flower not unlike the one he'd tucked behind Dorian's ear before the impromptu bard battle in Ashton's abode. This new flower was likewise placed there and Orym smiled as his hand dropped back to his lap. "I know," he said, looking from the flower to meet Dorian's gaze. "I'm really glad that you all stumbled into my path."
Before he let himself get too caught up in the moment, Orym straightened up, rolling his shoulders. "I know that you just said that I don't have to come clean with everything, but I'm still grateful you asked, so--thank you."
The magic never failed to surprise Dorian, and a small bright strum of happiness flitted through him when the flower was placed behind his ear. As Orym's hand pulled away, Dorian replaced it, touching the soft blue petals and leaving it tucked securely there. He undoubtedly would forget about it when he climbed back into bed, but for now, it was all he could think about; a little piece of Orym that he could keep close.
"I'm glad we did too. You all have changed my life for the better," Dorian said, whispering so low, he could barely hear himself. He searched Orym's face, looking for—well, Dorian wasn't sure. But there was the feeling of something, like there was another conversation happening. The kind that made his heart race and his stomach flutter, not unkindly. But before he could find the words, Orym was sitting up and rolling his shoulders and the heaviness of the moment was lost. Dorian quickly followed, and sat up too.
"You're welcome," Dorian said, clearing his throat, and adjusting his sleeping clothes. "Anytime, you know. Not just in the middle of the night, when neither of us can sleep. I don't know how Fearne does it." Dorian glanced over his shoulder again, checking that he hadn't just jinxed it.
Dorian exhaled, his attention catching on the plate that had sat untouched. "Are you going to finish your pie?"
Orym looked at the plate of pie, almost surprised to still see it there. It had completely left his attention after Dorian had sat down, distracting him with his presence and conversation alike. "No, I think that I'm done for tonight. Maybe I'll save the rest for a pie breakfast." He really didn't know how he had managed to go so long without pie in his life, but thankfully that had been rectified by all of Byroden.
"I actually feel as though I could fall asleep now." Though Orym knew that the myriad of feelings that he had been cycling through since the dream wouldn't suddenly be gone completely with one heart-to-heart with Dorian, he did feel as though a bit of a weight had been lifted from his chest and shoulders. Maybe, he thought, Fresh Cut Grass had a point when they encouraged all of them to talk about their feelings and what they were going through.
The reminder that he had been out there due to a busy mind, though, made Orym realize all over again that Dorian was also up at far too late an hour. "I'm sorry--I should have asked this sooner. Are you okay? You can talk to me too, if you need it."
"I'm all right," Dorian said, a little too quickly. It was hypocritical how he could shrug off his own problems, and turn the conversation around to take the spotlight off him. But given the discussion tonight about honesty and truth, Dorian saying that he was currently fine was a lie that didn't sit right.
He corrected himself. "I will be all right. Just restlessness, and the usual worry about Cyrus. No news is good news. I like to think he's safe for now, and listening to what everyone is saying about staying out of sight. I just wish I could confirm myself?" Dorian shook his head, trying to clear his own harrowing spiral of self-doubt. "Sometimes he listens, and sometimes he does what he wants, and I shouldn't hold that against him. Leaving for both of us was all about doing what we wanted and not what was chosen for us."
Dorian took a deep breath and heaved out a heavy sigh—and with it, a fraction of the troubles from the evening that were keeping him awake. That wasn't enough. In the corner, propped behind the sofa, was his borrowed lute, and he reached back to scoop it up. Music was a good calibration to his thoughts, and along with what he knew now about Orym's past few days, Dorian needed something to focus on.
"Do you mind if I play a little, just until you fall asleep?" Dorian asked, plucking a handful of stings, so quietly, it felt like the bubble of sound was only possible between the few scant feet between them.
As an only child, Orym didn't have the personal experience to understand the bond between siblings, but he had seen it firsthand--first with with Will and his sisters, then with Opal and her sister, though the gods only knew that was an incredibly unique situation. The one thing they all had in common, and likewise seemed to be the case with Dorian and Cyrus, was that they were complex. And though his found family wasn't blood related, he could understand that constant undercurrent of worry, especially when separated. Opal and Dariax, for example, had never been far from Orym's mind when he, Fearne, and Dorian had taken off toward Marquet. Still, he could only imagine what Dorian was feeling.
"I know it doesn't mean much," Orym started, voice soft, "and it will only do so much to alleviate your worry, but... Fy'ra Rai is with them right now and I doubt even Cyrus would be willing to do something that would earn a disappointed look or lecture from her." It was meant to be a bit of a joke, but there was a lot of truth to it--he was glad that the fierce, capable woman had been on their side in the time she traveled with their group.
"Even so, I'm going to hold out hope he'll show here soon, for both your sakes. I imagine a new start here would be a relief for him." Orym might not have loved the trouble that Cyrus brought down on his younger brother's head, but he was still Dorian's brother. He cared for his well being.
When Dorian asked if he could play, Orym nodded, shifting on the sofa to bring both his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around them loosely as he tipped to once more lean the side of his face to the back cushions, clearly making himself comfortable for a concert of one. Smiling that fond version of his gentle smile that was for Dorian and Dorian alone, he said, "I'll try not to get too used to it and ask to be played to sleep every night."
"You're right, you're right," Dorian said, slowly tuning the lute, even if it didn't really need it. Orym's reminder of the capable hands of Fy'ra, and the thought of starting over in a new place, settled some of that residual, immediate anxiety about his brother. From their time in Kymal, Dorian finally felt like he and Cyrus had come to a mutual, familial understanding—he didn't want it to be their last.
Dorian's smile brightened considerably in the low light as Orym settled in. Not that he wanted to force anyone to listen, but it did always do warm, pleasant things to his nerve endings to know that his friends wanted to listen. Dorian was reminded of the impromptu conversation he had about music the other day with Laudna. Another way to express himself; he wondered if others could read—or, well, hear—between the lines.
"And I cannot promise that I won't be easily persuaded to give in and play every night, if it did indeed help you fall asleep faster, knowing now that we are not on the hook to keep watch," Dorian teased as he curled around the lute and began to play in earnest. A lullaby and a respite from the night, all at once.