WHO: Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE: Outside the Crossed Quills WHEN: Morning of June 1 WHAT: Orym gives Dorian a lesson in sword yoga the Zeph'aeratam. STATUS: Complete ART CREDIT:here, here WARNINGS:yearning
It was early, earlier than Dorian would have liked, to be awake. But the curtains on the windows at the Crossed Quills were thin and patchy, and letting in just enough light that rolling one way or another—as his bedmates' middle occupant—didn't help. So before even opening his eyes, Dorian frowned in his sleep, groaned, and sat up. Even after tossing and turning, he still managed to always look put together when he woke up. Enough to make cartoon princesses jealous.
And, like most mornings, there was no Orym to be found. Dorian was going to have to ask if he ever slept. Whatever habits Dorian had picked up from traveling was quickly dashed the longer they had secure lodging. He couldn't remember the last time he felt the need to get up for watch only to find himself nestled in between Fearne and Orym, comforted and safe.
He rolled out of the bed, took his time stretching and working out all the kinks in his back, and hearing pleasant and unpleasant pops. Dorian was considering climbing back in bed and trying again, when he heard the scrape of metal against stone outside the window.
Curious, he pushed back the curtain, and stuck his head out to see Orym going through his steps with his sword. Dorian settled his chin on his folded arms resting on the window ledge to watch. Only when whatever sequence caused Orym to turn around, Dorian gave a little embarrassed wave.
"I didn't want to interrupt."
Whether it was his naturally observant nature, a sixth sense for air genasi (or, more likely, one in particular), or just that the Zeph'aeratam had left him too calm to really start, Orym's movements came to a graceful halt as he spotted Dorian in the window. His mouth eased into a small, warm smile. "You're not interrupting."
He had, after all, been up for a while now. Orym wasn't generally a man of routine. He had been, once upon a time when his life was dictated by guard schedules, family dinners, and date nights. That had changed over the years, his life now instead dictated by whatever trouble or business--or sometimes both--he and his new groups of friends found themselves entangled with. It was crucial to be able to expect the unexpected and learn to roll with the punches and Orym was certainly skilled in that, both literally and otherwise.
Still, while Vallo had brought with it a number of those punches that had to be rolled with, it also had brought Orym something that he hadn't had for a long while: a semblance of stability. He was still the observant guard that he had been for the vast majority of his life, but he was a version of himself that had been sleeping under the same roof for nearly two months, had been reunited with most of his friends, and could wake up every morning to greet the morning by running through his different Zeph'aeratam forms.
It was what he had done that morning, carefully sliding out of bed and eventually finding himself outside to greet the sun with a, "Morning, Dad," before losing his mind and body alike to the exercises.
And while he had certainly been enjoying this small bit of morning routine, Orym was never going to complain or shoo away Dorian's company. "Did you sleep all right?"
"I did, I did," Dorian responded, backing up his statement with a lot of nodding. It wasn't a lie, per se, but Dorian still had a terrible habit of reaching for untruths before he was honest. With Orym and Fearne, the need lessened. He did sleep alright, but that didn't matter because his morning was becoming significantly better.
Suddenly the space between them seemed too much, and Dorian found the wall separating them a travesty. "Continue what you were doing, I'm just going to—" He disappeared from Orym's view, followed by rustling, and then a small ooph and swallowed down swear as Dorian knocked into a table, as he attempted to stealth out of the room. Fearne was still sleeping and he was quite aware of not wanting to wake her.
And then Dorian was crawling, much more gracefully, out the window. He had dragged a chair to use as a step instead of some meager acrobatics. It was, in fact, too early for anything creative or extensively athletic. Standing now outside of the Crossed Quills, the window to their room behind them, Dorian was finally closer to Orym. Only then did he look down at his outfit: a loose shirt and pants. At least he remembered to put on shoes.
"Ah, well, there was probably an easier way. And really I should have just taken the front door but this seemed. Nevermind! Forget it. I've stalled you long enough, continue. Don't stop on my account. I'm just going to watch, take notes, you know, if you don't mind." And he gestured to a spot that seemed out of the way of Orym's moves, where he wanted to sit.
The clear expression of fondness that overtook Orym's face could probably be seen from the city itself as he watched the process that was Dorian tumbling--with a grace that a fighter who leaned on more dexterous movements could appreciate--out of the window of their room. He was leaning forward a bit, using his sword for leverage as a soft smile overtook his features, that familiar warmth that he'd grown incredibly accustomed to shining through just a bit more than usual.
That fond look turned to one of more fond surprise with each word Dorian spoke. He hadn't been expecting an audience today. Well, truly, it wasn't something that he entirely ruled out, as the villagers and other patrons of the Crossed Quills would occasionally give him a second passing glance or, on a handful of occasions, all out gawk. It didn't really bother Orym, just like it didn't bother him to have Dorian watch on, either.
Voicing that, he straightened up and said, "I don't mind at all." There was just a hint of hesitation born of bashfulness as he first started back up again, trying not to think too hard about his own outfit--similar to Dorian's in their being a loose shirt and trousers to allow him freedom of movement, but also with shorter sleeves to fully take in the morning sun.
After a moment, Orym fell back into sync, but he knew that there wouldn't be that total calm he normally sunk into, not with Dorian right there. "Where did the new interest come from?" he asked, then quickly added, "Interest in the Zeph'aeratam, I mean."
Dorian had just begun to sit, crossing his legs underneath him in a practiced pose, before he stilled briefly at Orym's question. "I, well—" He faltered, words fluttering away before he could process them. He forced his mouth closed, afraid he might say something wrong or inappropriate or embarrassing. He had never been more thankful for Orym's clarification.
He cleared his throat, and waved away whatever little blip his brain caused him before answering. "It is something you do," Dorian started to say. Deeming the sentence safe, he continued. "That you do often, so clearly the habit is important to you to continue. And things that are important to you are important to me too." Another beat of awkward verbal fumbling, and Dorian added, "Just like Laudna's house renovations or FCG's devotion to journaling feelings among everyone else."
Where did he put his journal? He hadn't written anything scandalous within the pages but there was still the fear that he couldn't remember his exact words and if they could be taken out of context. But no, no. Now was not the time to think about it.
"The Zeph'aeratam—am I saying that correctly?" He was, he knew he was, but Dorian still felt it courteous to ask. "Seems to bring you some fulfillment, or inner peace of some kind. Something that is beneficial? I admit, I might have thought about asking you about it before this moment, but today is the day, it seems."
Orym smiled to himself, because Dorian was absolutely right. He lifted his arms, the stretch pulling from his shoulders and into his back. It did bring a peace, one that made it a bit easier to start each day with--and, on the particularly tough days, end them with, too. The graceful movements combined with the controlled breathing and routine of it all just added up to, as Dorian put it, something beneficial.
"It does bring some fulfillment and peace." That peace could almost be heard in his even tone; it wasn't all that much different than how he normal sounded, but to those that knew him best, Orym was sure there was a small difference. "It reminds me of the good things from home, in Zephrah. There were a lot of good things, obviously, but some of them are... harder than others, I guess, for me to think about. But spending my morning this way is so second nature. It's a comfort."
Orym moved again, sword swinging slowly above him in a controlled, safe way before he fell into another pose. "I like it here in Vallo so far," he continued, "but I'm grateful to have such a simple thing to anchor me and remember home."
Dorian nodded, understanding. Being on the road tended to lead to some homesickness, even the home that Dorian was running from. But there was always that sense that he could return if he truly wanted to. If things became so bad that there was no other option to give into a life that had been meticulously planned out for him and his brother. But in Vallo? That option was all but nonexistent. This had to be home for now, and he couldn't fault Orym for using the smallest things for grounding.
He leaned forward on his knees, attention trailing over Orym's stance, the blade in his hands, his—no. Nope. Inappropriate. He kept the questions coming; they felt innocent enough.
"Is it something only those from Zephrah can do or learn, or is it..." Dorian asked, waving his hand, trying to find the right explanation. Gosh, was it getting hot out here or was he just feeling flustered. "Can anyone learn? Someone like me? Or maybe Chetney? He could probably do well with a little peace and calm in the morning. I don't know how he does it, you know? All that constant vigilance and intensity."
Oh he was babbling, wasn't he? It was easy to put on an air of confidence around strangers, but Orym knew the other sides of Dorian that weren't a front, and his confidence was out the window—literally, figuratively. "If you're willing to teach it."
Slowly, as Dorian babbled and Orym's expression continued to grow only fonder, the movements came to a halt, the sword balanced to one side. It was a question that he hadn't been expecting, but now that it was out there, now that he'd heard it, he found himself even more unexpectedly pleased by it. Perhaps it shouldn't be that unexpected a feeling; ever since he had told Dorian and Fearne about his past, it had gotten progressively more easy to open up to them (particularly Dorian, for reasons he wasn't going to examine at this very moment) about other aspects of himself. It was welcomed, even.
"I don't know that it's a deeply guarded Zephrah secret, by any means," Orym admitted. If anything, the only reason it felt secret was because the Ashari were secluded. Less so, since Keyleth had taken up the literal mantle of Tempest and had begun encouraging more interaction beyond their borders. Orym had been so young at that time, though, that he barely remembered a time before.
Orym considered Dorian for a moment, his gaze flickering over his form in a manner that was more assessing than probing. "I think Chetney can do anything he puts his mind to, but I think you would be well suited to learning it quickly." He tipped his head to the side, another smile forming on his face as the assessing expression dropped away. "Feels only right for an air genasi to learn something of the Air Ashari."
He hesitated just a moment, trying to determine where what he wanted to say fell on the scale of compliments before deciding fuck it in his mind. Orym's smile turned a bit playful as he added, "You're real graceful, besides."
"Ahh, well," Dorian said, then laughed, both amused and embarrassed by the compliment and the joke. It seemed that he was not awake enough to narrow his thoughts into something logical when Orym was calling him graceful. He tried to focus on the air genasi and air ashari connection. That was a reasonable explanation for Dorian wanting to learn about the Zeph'aeratam, and definitely not another excuse to spend more time with Orym than was already allowed.
He shook his index finger at Orym as he stood. "You might be taking that back after you see me go through the motions." He brushed the dirt off his pants, and off his shirt—though there was none—for good measure. He straightened his shoulders and came closer, right into Orym's orbit. The instantaneous rightness of being alongside him was a feeling Dorian didn't want to lose.
Looking down at Orym, Dorian said, "I'm ready, if you—wait." Orym's hands were holding the sword. And Dorian's were empty. He glanced longingly at the window he had unceremoniously crawled out of, not wanting to go back through it to grab his borrowed scimitar, but also he didn't want to leave and take up more time. Decisions.
"I can improvise?"
Watching Dorian's gaze as it migrated from the shortsword in his hands to the window and back again, it didn't take much for Orym to put together the issue. Orym turned, picking up the sheath for his sword and stowing it away entirely, leaving it to lean under the window of their room. "We'll both improvise," he decided, stepping back into Dorian's space with free hands. "You're very graceful, but it's probably a good idea to keep the sharp things stowed away for the first lesson. I started out learning with a practice sword for that reason."
Orym began to situate himself back into position, only to pause as he also was hit with the rightness of this all. It was a feeling that he had been hit with multiple times since Dorian had returned to their group; the hole that he had left behind when he'd had to leave Marquet with his brother had been so obvious to Orym, something that he couldn't shake and didn't know if he ever wanted to. Having Dorian step back into their lives--his life--in Vallo had been as natural as breathing. Having him at Orym's side, like in this moment, felt like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
It was, of course, a feeling that Orym had felt before--the beginning of it, at least--under very different circumstances, in a completely different life. It felt good. It felt terrifying. And it felt easiest to just focus on the Zeph'aeratam, because of it.
"Okay," Orym started. "I've never taught this to anyone before, so promise you'll be patient." He shot Dorian a rueful smile at that, before gesturing to his legs and the stance he was taking. "First, just stand like this and then I'll take you through some basic arm movements."
Dorian appreciated Orym's patience. And he felt better about not needing a sword. He never thought a basic flow of movements that was meant to center oneself could be dangerous. But now he was rethinking what he asked for and mentally brushed away all the assumptions he had. Dorian was ready to learn.
He waited as Orym fell into the first stance, and mirrored him, albeit slowly. Dorian was determined to get it right, but like any new endeavor, practice made perfect and this was just the start of practice. His feet were a little off kilter, and he wasn't bending low enough, but after a handful of seconds, he seemed sturdy on his feet. As long as he didn't have to move any other part of his body.
"I am going to say something obvious here, so you're going to have to bear with me, but I do believe your balance is absolutely impeccable, Orym. I think I might fall over if I breathe wrong," Dorian said, attempting to lift his hand. Whatever gracefulness he possessed was minimal, as he started to list to one side, and he quickly scrambled to put a hand on Orym's shoulder for support. "Sorry, sorry. I'll get it. But I now understand the 'nothing sharp' rule for beginners."
"It's all right. You're doing great," Orym quickly assured, one hand going to Dorian's at his shoulder to help better steady him. His fingers squeezed gently once, in what he hoped felt like a supportive way. "You never have to apologize to me."
That felt like a bit more of a profound sentence than was likely necessary when in a situation such as this, but that just made it feel all the more true. There had been, early on in their acquaintance and when a vestige of a betrayer god was hanging between their group, when a statement like that wouldn't have been so easy to say, but much had changed between them, with their circumstances. Orym trusted Dorian completely now. He'd trusted him with his past, with his mission, to have his back during a fight and to just be the very good friend he knew him to be. As profound a sentence as it was, it was also a very simple one.
Orym stepped forward, letting go of Dorian's hand to instead let his shoulder press against the other man's hip to provide a bit more support. That touch was hesitant, more a question as he looked up to Dorian. "What if you try again like this, just to get the hang of the feeling? Then, once you're used to it, we'll add in the balance?"
Orym's encouragement was a balm against the flush of discomfort of nearly falling over. Dorian seemed to right himself, gather up all his composure, with a simple thanks, but it was Orym's other statement that seemed to crack right through him.
For a long time, he seemed to be staring at Orym, not gaping, but there was an intensity there, a moment of uncertainty when Dorian was convinced he dreamt it. Through their time together, Dorian had plenty to apologize for—and yes, stumbling through his first steps of the Zeph'aeratam was not nearly as egregious as some of his other faults—but it was a peace offering wrapped up in casualty. Something that Dorian could appreciate from someone like Orym who made things easy, made things uncomplicated when the complexity could drag a person down.
This was more than just teaching him some fancy footwork, but Dorian was determined not to let all of it get the best of him.
All the points of contact though were causing Dorian to become flushed in a different way, one that he has been hesitant to voice let alone think about. But it was always getting harder to ignore. "Yes," Dorian said, though his voice sounded a little high, nearly cracking. He tried again, more normal pitched, "Yes, yes this is fine. I just need to get my feet right and—"
He adjusted his stance and oh. Better. He felt more solid, but he couldn't tell if that was just the fact that Orym was supporting him or if he was actually doing it. "You don't have to be there the whole time. I think I've got it now." Dorian waved his arms, and no tipping. Proof that Orym's instruction was working.
"See?" Orym said, smiling up at Dorian as he moved his arms. "I told you that you were doing great." At that, he did step aside, some part of his mind noticing more than it should have the lack of warmth at his shoulder with the distance between them. It shouldn't have been something that he noticed at all, given that Orym had woken up curled against Dorian's side a fair number of times since their sleeping situation had become what it was--and yet, he noticed.
Swallowing hard, as he stepped back into the spot he'd been taking up before, Orym cleared his throat for good measure, in the hopes that it would also clear his head. He fell back into stance, looking over how Dorian was standing once more to confirm that he was good and solid on the ground, then let his gaze pop back up to meet blue eyes. "Let's try it again, then."
Orym led Dorian through the movements, nodding and smiling happily as he watched the mirrored, then slowly moved into new positions. Idly, mostly in an effort to help Dorian not overthink each step by giving him something else to think about, he asked, "Now, am I going to get to wake you up early every morning so you can join me now?"
Dorian felt good. Even after Orym moved away, the lingering presence of him was like a phantom confidence. Dorian could do this on his own, sure, but the guidance—much like FCG's own magical ability—moved him through the steps with ease.
After a few moments of each position, carefully watching Orym's feet and body position before he dared change his arms, Dorian felt the flow overcome him. He didn't think it would be this serene but he supposed that their twinned air alignments provided some inherent navigation. That if he stopped concentrating on getting everything right, his genasi side might take up all the spots where he lacked in gratefulness—despite what Orym said.
As they circled around to the beginning on the set of motions, Dorian managed out a slight laugh at Orym's suggestion. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, I'm not committing to every morning," Dorian said, though that too was a lie. He thought he could be convinced, was already convincing himself that he could do it every morning. If only to give Orym some company, if he wanted.
"Maybe Fearne might be interested. Or—" Dorian seemed to lose focus for a moment. "Have you thought about teaching others? I could see this being such a boon for how chaotic things are here. I already feel—" He paused, searching for the right word, but he was looking right at Orym when he said it. "Lighter."
Orym had not, in fact, thought about that and it was probably evident by the way his eyebrows rose and his movements slowed. It wasn't something that would have ever occurred to him--but, then, hadn't Dorian always had a knack for seeing things in Orym that he never would have?
Mark that down among the other things he would examine a bit more closely later on.
The thought of teaching others the Zeph'aeratam, however, that he might be able to share the peace that came with it for himself with others held a draw. It was a strange sort of footprint or legacy to stamp upon this new world, but one that was very much a part of him. He liked entertaining the thought of having Dorian--or any of the others, but Dorian--greeting the morning with him this way and having that for himself, but finding other ways to share with others was a nice thought.
"I... hadn't, no." Again, he found himself giving his small, shy smile to Dorian as he continued going through a few more paces. "It definitely helps me when life is a bit more hectic, so maybe you're right. Do you think other people would be interested?"
"You are a patient instructor, and I feel as though I have learned a tremendous amount," Dorian said, as he followed along after Orym's movements. He was not nearly as quick, or as fluid, but he did not feel as though he was in over his head. With whatever possessed him to climb out of the window to join Orym this morning, something had settled. His equilibrium, balanced. And Dorian could almost mistake Vallo as Exandria, and they were simply on the move, spending a few days at an inn on their way to—
"We can get people interested. If you want to. But do not let me pressure you into something you don't want to do. I'm your first student, but I do not have to be your only one, is all that I am saying." And for a brief flash, a sliver of jealousy at sharing Orym's time crossed his mental path. But Dorian was not one to linger in it, and he would take apart that feeling later, in the privacy of their room.
Dorian started to hum, nothing in particular, an earworm of a song he had started to learn at the behest of some of the locals. It was a signal of his comfort in the moment, and then he abruptly cut himself off. "Sorry, sorry. Sometimes I think the quiet is too quiet, but I realize that is the point of these things. I'm learning—"
He bobbled, almost fell, but didn't, and he pointed at Orym as if to say see?
Rather than deflect and point out again that Dorian was already pretty graceful without his help, Orym decided to just accept the compliment. It wasn't his natural response, but he knew Dorian well enough now to recognize when he was being genuine--and he usually was, when it came to Orym. If Dorian saw good things in him, well, Orym was willing to accept that.
And so, he gave him an encouraging nod and smile when Dorian's balance wavered, clearly pleased when he caught himself. Orym would have done all he could to dart forward and give what help his halfling height and stature could give to keep Dorian from actually tumbling to the grass, but he was glad that it didn't have to come to that yet. Instead, he just said, "You're definitely getting the hang of it. Maybe next time we'll try with swords."
But before he could move on, Orym had to add, "I get it, though, with the quiet being too quiet. Even when you're with someone that you know it's okay to be quiet with, it feels nice." He shrugged one of his shoulders, a movement that went against the otherwise gracefulness he'd been exhibiting. "Besides, I like your music. Humming, lute, whatever. I think it's a welcome addition."
Next time we'll try with swords. Dorian liked the idea of a next time, progression, the slow movement from one thing into another. While he might have been indifferent about mornings—and almost blamed his lack of coordination on the early hour—it was good to have things to look forward to. Some kind of routine didn't need to be soul crushing. The Zeph'aeratam, in fact, was the opposite of it.
Dorian smiled, hummed another quick tune at Orym's permission, and then laughed softly. "Not all the time, just sometimes. And if, no, when you end up having more students, I can play music for ambiance if they find the quiet too much, then." Dorian was going to leave it at that, simple and uncomplicated in his praise, but added, "Though I don't know why they would need to be entertained when they have you as their instructor."
The smile he gave to Orym was bright, amicable, and wholly honest. The way he found himself wanting to be with Orym, more than anyone else. He tipped his face to the sky then, took a deep breath, and continued through the exercise.