WHAT: One random evening, a worry and a proposal. WHERE: The Outpost WHEN: A short time before the Battle of the Quarry, 2029 WARNINGS: None! STATUS: Complete ART CREDIT:here!
The day had been a long and tiring one, which was saying something as most days had felt closer to exhausting than any other more optimistic options as of late. It had been a day of strategizing and planning, discussing and finalizing and, by the time the end of it had arrived, Orym had been craving some time alone.
Well, mostly alone. He always wanted to be around Dorian, after all.
Despite how much the world around them had changed in the past several years, a few things stayed the same. The arrival of Interitus and the constant state of fight or flight that they had been living in since then had uprooted many things, but Orym's love for his friends had remained steadfast. His love for Dorian, who fell under that header of friends but was also so much more, hadn't wavered. And their routine of Orym braiding Dorian's hair for bed had gone nowhere.
Standing at Dorian's back atop the mattress of the bed they shared in their cramped quarters, Orym was doing exactly that. It was as soothing to him now as it had been when Dorian had first allowed him to do it, his fingers methodically pulling through the soft strands of ombre-tinted hair both to smooth them out and then to weave the plait. It was never anything terribly fancy, though Orym had experimented in the before times, when video tutorials and fancy parties allowed for such a thing, but it was functional. The braiding was never about beauty or function to him anyway; it was about Orym getting to do something small to take care of Dorian, a tangible demonstration of his love, and time spent together.
"So," Orym started after a few quiet moments of comfortable companionship, "today was a lot, yeah?" He didn't always like to talk shop once they were in their personal area together, wanting their shared space to be an escape from an otherwise grim reality. Orym had unfortunately never not been a bit too practical to let that always be the case, though, and sometimes things just had to be talked about--like the decision to make another, and hopefully final, assault on Interitus and his forces.
By the time Dorian settled onto the mattress that he shared with Orym, every bone and muscle in his body gave up. No more moving, no more anything. His eyes could barely stay open, but he and Orym had a routine, and no matter how tired Dorian was (or sore or bruised in previous instances), he wouldn't sleep before they finished it. He had to find something normal, something soft and gentle amongst all the hard and rough edges of the life they carved out in Vallo.
His legs were tucked to his chest, chin on his knees, as Orym's hands went to his hair. Dorian sighed. This was one of those times when he needed this quiet contemplation, or he would never be able to shut his mind off with all the plans and possibilities shoved onto the metaphorical table this evening. Strategy meetings tended to pull at those old threads of doubt, the memory of the first time they had gathered to take down Interitus as a united front. The losses after that day always seemed to mount, and Dorian wasn't ready to lose more.
The scars on his hands, the inability to pick up a lute again let alone grip a sword, was one of many. Orym braided Dorian's hair because even if he could, his fingers didn't hold the same fine-tuned dexterity they once had. A small price to pay, he assumed, for keeping his life. For keeping Orym's. And despite it all, Dorian still had hope. As long as he had Orym, he'd keep that too.
Dorian was quiet for a long time after Orym's question, before he eventually hummed a yes in response. "They were right about taking the Quarry. It doesn't make sense to leave it unattended any longer, too many unused materials that we desperately need. With enough of us there, it should be easy," Dorian said, rationalizing it all out loud, like he was trying to convince himself.
He twisted around a little, to place a hand on Orym's arm, looking up at him. "What do you think?"
Like Dorian, Orym was quiet as he contemplated the question, giving it the proper thought that both the topic itself and Dorian deserved. Another life ago, Orym wouldn't have had much to say. He had been just a guard, after all, and his job was to take orders from those of higher station than himself. Now, though, the stations had blurred and he had gone from being simply in the room where it happened to having a voice at that table. Odder still was that he didn't even question it anymore.
"I think that they were right, too," Orym finally said after letting the moment of quiet stretch on as he finished Dorian's braid. His fingers were deft as they went through the familiar motions of tying off the end, before allowing it to fall back over Dorian's shoulder. "We do need those materials, you're right, and this is probably our one shot at success. If everyone sticks to the plan, it really should be easy."
Easy seemed like a damning word, though. Orym believed what he was saying, of course; he didn't lie to Dorian and wasn't about to start now, especially not about something so important. Still, it was hard to fully remove himself from walking the path of worst case scenario in his mind.
Orym lifted a hand, letting it rest gently on Dorian's where it had landed on his arm. He was careful not to use too much pressure, hyper-aware of Dorian's old injuries that still caused very current pain and trouble. "It's still a risk," he continued, "but I think it's one worth taking."
Dorian nodded somberly in agreement. He didn't know if having a consensus between the two of them or the fact that it was Orym being reassuring is what caused his shoulders to sag in relief. The tension from the years of staying low and fighting just for every strip of happiness hadn't disappeared but whatever Dorian brought with him after the strategy meeting seemed to loosen.
He leaned into Orym's chest, a comforting position he often found himself in. His eyes were closed, almost like he was falling asleep sitting up, but finally Dorian said, "I keep thinking one more thing, just one more fight or one more win and everything will turn out better. Is that stupid?" His optimism had seemed often ill placed. But it felt like his job, to persevere in time of hardship, because dwelling in sadness never helped anyone—which must have been something FCG told him once, but it stuck.
Cracking his eyes open, just enough to see Orym's hand still on top of his, protective and soothing, Dorian exhaled, softer now. "I know it's stupid. But it feels like I'm waiting for things to get better to be better, and I don't know if that should be the case. I don't know if I should wait for the perfect time or a moment, because I know realistically speaking, that's never going to happen. I think we're way past that," Dorian said. He was on autopilot now, his mouth running before his brain had time to anxiously overthink it; he had gotten better about not always listening to that voice.
"But I would rather be hopeful than keep thinking this is it, this is the end of everything. And maybe that's what keeps me moving." Dorian glanced back up to Orym again, and offered a small, slight smile. "And you."
Orym met that small offering of a smile with a matching one of his own, his free hand lifting to smooth over a sharp jawline and cheekbone before settling against Dorian's face. "Your hope and optimism are two of many things that I admire most about you," he softly murmured, then used his hand to direct Dorian's face up, letting him lean in to steal a gentle kiss.
They weren't just words, either. Though Orym may not have been the most pessimistic of people, he had a penchant for overthinking and sinking into seriousness and it was often Dorian that pulled him from those places--had been, for years now. He had come to rely on Dorian to recognize when he needed a distraction or just a break from his thoughts and Dorian might have been the only person (with one other person in Orym's past being a notable exception) that had been able to do so. He wasn't lying when he called it admiration, but appreciation also felt very apt.
"I think we have it in common, your being hopeful keeps me going, too." Orym took one more soft, chaste kiss before repeating after Dorian, "And you."
That done, Orym sunk down onto the mattress, resting on his knees. It stole from him the bit of height he'd had when he'd been standing there, but that was okay as he sunk in to lean against Dorian. "I don't think we can ever expect to suddenly be back to normal, like it had been when we first dropped into Vallo, so you might be right. If you're waiting on things, you might have to just take them when you can, you know?"
The conversation might have been solemn, but Dorian was still smiling a little brighter than before when Orym kissed him. The heaviness lifted just for a moment, and he realized how lucky he was comparatively. Dorian could never take that for granted.
He could have kept kissing Orym, fallen asleep with their foreheads touching, exchanging affection back and forth until unconsciousness claimed them. But it was the mention of when they first dropped in Vallo that distracted Dorian's attention.
"Do you remember when you first asked to braid my hair?" Dorian asked, rhetorically. He knew that Orym wouldn't forget, and Dorian smiled to himself as he ran his fingers down the practiced plait. Now that he was in the memory of the past, his heart beat faster, his cheeks faintly blushing. And even though it was easy to hide it in the dim light of their space, Dorian was certain Orym could tell. "Or when you came back from being kidnapped from that place with the rocket launcher, and you and I were being so stupid about our feelings. I think, no, I know I loved you then. I loved you for so long, I don't remember a time when I didn't. I don't think it existed."
He rested a scarred hand on the side of Orym's throat, thumb brushing along the underside of his jaw, nonchalant but intimate in all the places he already knew Orym. "I said I wouldn't wait anymore. You're right, I should just take what I can" He paused, his eyes intently watching Orym to see if he could send what Dorian was trying to say. For a words guy, he often ran out of them.
"No one is counting the days, but our days are numbered whether we want them to be or not."
Orym had known Dorian for many years now, most of them as they were now: always friends, but also partners, companions, Dorian and Orym, but also a we. It made him something of an expert, he liked to think, in all things Dorian; he knew him, really knew him. He could anticipate most of what Dorian might say or do, he could read his body language and knew when he needed a rescue from a social situation, he was able to read between the lines of what the words guy might actually be saying. In this moment, Orym was pretty sure that his expertise in the last was kicking in.
It wasn't as though their future had never come up before, of course, nor had they not talked about their path one day leading to an aisle to walk down. Before everything had gone south in the world at large, there had been conversations. But things had gone south and most of those nebulous plans for some time down the line seemed out of reach. Their personal priorities had shifted, largely in the hope that someday a better world would come around for them to live in.
But, as they had already agreed, sometimes you just shouldn't wait anymore. If you waited too long for the right moment, that moment may never come--or worse, it may pass you by as you look beyond it.
"They are," Orym agreed; it was a lesson that a younger version of him in Exandria had learned too well, one that sat too close to his heart some days. "But I think knowing that makes it easier to make the most of those and to realizing what it is you might want out of them." As he spoke, Orym shifted until he was half in Dorian's lap, still kneeling with one leg slung over a thigh. "I just want my days to have you in it, as long as you'll have me."
When Orym grew quiet, Dorian understood that dozens of thoughts were running through his mind. Sometimes Dorian wanted to carve a little space inside and watch them all flitter by, in hopes he could see the logic of it all. He wanted to know if the pieces Orym was putting together were the right ones. They had often fallen into traps of miscommunication and sometimes they would bicker just enough to realize that it was a mistake. But Dorian couldn't bear the confusion now. He needed to be clear, clearer even.
As Orym scooted closer, Dorian's hands were on his back, holding him there, keeping him from moving out of his embrace. There was no way to protect Orym from everything; this world had proven to be cruel and unrelenting. But Orym was his, and Dorian wouldn't let this place chew him up and spit him back out. Orym was everything this place needed to be better. He was everything Dorian needed. He always had been.
Dorian leaned in to kiss Orym, his fingers curling into his back, intense. There was pain, just the briefest flashes of it, but Dorian would persevere, if only to physically show how overwhelmed he could get for the man in front of him.
"I don't know what tomorrow brings," Dorian said, as he pulled back, enough to look at Orym. Normally he would glance to the side, embarrassed or demure. But when things were important, like this, his gaze was locked with Orym's. The fire in Dorian's eyes was brighter than it had been in a long time. "I don't know what will happen next week. I don't know what is left of this year. But I know that I don't want to spend another day without being married to you."
Immediately, as soon as the words were said by Dorian and were no longer this nebulous idea that both of them were expertly dancing around and building up between them, Orym's face split into a wide smile. How, he had to wonder, had he, just a regular guy of a halfling, gotten so lucky as to have been asked by the two best, most beautiful men he had ever had the pleasure of having in his life to marry them? It seemed impossible, improbable, and yet--the evidence was there, in the ring he still wore around his neck, tucked under his shirt, and right in front of him, in the shape of his Dorian.
The world might have been shit outside of this little bubble that they had created, but they had each other and that meant more than anything.
"Let's do it, then," Orym said, not a bit of hesitation to his tone. He straightened up just a fraction, not enough to pull out of Dorian's grip, but enough to bring their foreheads together in a gentle press. "I don't know what's to come either, but I do know that I've wanted to be your husband for so long now and I'm ready to stop waiting."
Orym wasn't the words guy between them. He could only be honest, which he had to hope was enough to make his feelings crystal clear when combined with his actions. Even with their occasional moments of misunderstanding between them, Orym and Dorian both being very different people that expressed themselves in their own unique ways, they seemed to almost always land back on the same footing. This, Orym was pretty confident, was one of those moments.
Dorian wasn't nervous, but there was something wound so tightly inside of him that when Orym agreed it unraveled almost immediately. It felt too much like nerves, waiting for the other shoe to drop—they would be interrupted, needed somewhere else, a dream, anything—and when nothing happened, Dorian exhaled. How long had he been waiting for a yes? How long had he been waiting to even speak it into existence, and not methodically play over every scenario of how this would go? Admittedly he thought it wouldn't be on their mattress in a cave room, but the where, he realized, didn't matter.
"Yeah, really?" Dorian asked, so hopeful and glowing that a little gust of air swirled around him. Not enough to ping any magical radars, not enough to cause a problem, but enough that it conveyed that immediate, effervescent happiness.
He knew what this meant for them. Not just here, and now, in this world. But for Orym. Dorian had never been scared about the possibility of Orym's hesitance for marriage. It made sense, given what he knew and the circumstances surrounding it. The foundational past of the Orym he had met originally and the one he loved now. But they had been together for years now, it felt only logical to ask. There wasn't much that would change, only that Orym would have—
"I don't have a ring," Dorian said, suddenly panicking. He hadn't expected to ask now. The conversation had been planned for a later date. A better date. "I don't have much of anything to offer you. I don't even, I wasn't, I'm just... I'll find something, I promise I'll find something."
Orym reached out with his hands so he could catch Dorian's face between them. "We'll figure something out," he promised, because it was one that he could make. He logically knew that this would likely be a small and private affair, circumstances being what they were. It was hard to have a big party when stuck underground with limited supplies--not that they needed a big party. Still, if Dorian wanted a ring for Orym, as Orym very much wanted a ring for Dorian, then it would be done.
"Besides," he continued, running his thumbs slowly across Dorian's cheeks, "you can't say you don't have much of anything to offer me when what you're offering me is you." Orym quirked another smile, a little crooked and for Dorian alone. "That's everything, you know."
Even if they didn't need to do this to prove their devotion to one another, the fact that Dorian was not only willing to, but wanted to meant more to Orym than any ring or show of affection could. They'd been sharing their lives for so many years now, through better and the most literal worst, and this felt like a logical next step to secure that final knot.
At that thought, Orym's face went a bit pensive. There wasn't much of a system of government in place right now, so he didn't know if there would be any signing of documents, but there was one thing that he realized that he could borrow from Dorian, if he was willing. Orym had a last name, at least technically; he had never used Tarrintel, not when it reminded him of a man he had no love or loyalty to, not like he did the Air Ashari that he'd grown up alongside and had been raised by. He would always be of the Air Ashari, but maybe he could be something else, too.
"Actually, um." His expression moving from thoughtful to sheepish, Orym ducked his head just a bit and said, "I've never had a last name before, if you wanted to share yours."
That's everything, you know. He knew, he knew, but to hear the words said so plainly between them, once again overwhelmed Dorian with emotion. He wanted to cling to this feeling, this happiness he had been waiting for, the better days that he hoped would come. He had to grab them himself, and he kissed Orym for it.
He hadn't thought past this part—Dorian hadn't thought past much of anything, because living day-to-day had always been easier than planning for a future that wasn't assured—but when he opened his mouth to say something else, he was struck quiet. He could sense there was something else from Orym, and as patient as ever, Dorian waited. But his own expression faltered, confusion first then gentle surprise. He had, predictably, not expected that.
Smoothing a hand down Orym's spine, he nodded. "I haven't been a Wyvernwind in a very long time," Dorian said, in the same way he often approached giving bad news. But he also knew that Orym wasn't asking about that one. He had never pressed Dorian to be anything but himself, no matter what version of a person that looked like. Over the years, battling nearly unstoppable forces, that person often shifted—even the bard he once introduced himself to Orym as had become more of a fighter these days. But Orym still wanted him, every version of him.
It was why asking Orym to marry him, and his eventual yes had meant more than just seizing their romantic relationship, but steadying Dorian on his feet of who he was too: someone who would choose someone who would choose him in return.
"But Storm is the one I picked for myself. And I am more than willing to share it with you if it's one that you want for yourself too."
Orym had never met Brontë Wyvernwind, not really. He'd had glimpses over the years of who he assumed had been the person that Dorian had been, once upon a time before he had absconded from the Silken Squall. Dorian's past would always be a part of him, just as Orym's was so much of himself, and he would always appreciate that foundation. It was Dorian Storm, though, that he had fallen in love with, the man that Orym had been given the very lucky opportunity to watch grow and work to overcome hurdles, like those presented when his hands had been so injured, and just shift and mold to become the truly wonderful and kind man that he got to call his boyfriend.
No--that he got to call his husband, soon.
The idea of marrying again was something that Orym had thought about, even before he'd met Dorian. Back then, it had been a fleeting thought; he had been gifted a few chapters of a great love with Will, he had thought, and he would be happy with just that. Even after he had met Dorian, then nursed feelings both in Exandria and Vallo alike, he hadn't known if they would ever reach this point. Perhaps had Interitus never graced Vallo as he had, they would have been married years ago, but it was useless to think about. Interitus had happened, but they had still gotten here. Interitus had taken so much from them all, but this was one thing that they could have--that Orym would make certain of. This wouldn't be taken from him, too.
In fact, he had to think that somewhere, wherever it was that he might have been, Will was proud and glad to see that Orym reached this place, too. He would have liked Dorian, that much Orym knew for sure.
"Orym Storm." His tone was that quiet one that he so frequently adopted, thoughtful as he tested it out on his tongue. Orym smiled, a little thrill going through him as the name hung in the air between them. "Has a bit of a ring to it, don't you think?"
Orym's happiness could have lit the beacons of hope inside Dorian for years; it had, it would continue to do so. But right now, it warmed him from the chill of the oncoming fall, from the loneliness and the sadness that permeated through so many people here and seemed to be absorbed by the few who could still take it on. He felt, for the briefest, stupidest, most ridiculous moment that it was just them back in their room at the house Laudna had refurbished for the Bells Hells, sharing space and discussing their days—sword yoga in the morning, busking in the evening, organizing meals and having firelight conversations, and stolen, secret kisses when they thought no one was looking.
Dorian was seeing years on top of years of what was, what could have been, what might just be, if they just survived a little longer. If they made it through. He would be married to this man, to Orym Storm.
Dorian bit his lip, and shook his head shyly, almost embarrassed. "It's good, it's definitely good. I just never—I thought maybe, perhaps when. I have had a lot of thoughts, but the reality is better than I expected," Dorian said, sitting up a little more now, stealing some of his height back from Orym, and pulling him in closer.
"We can tell people, in the morning?" He kissed Orym to hide the question that he had wanted to make a statement. He needed to chase this feeling, banish the bad thoughts of what had started this conversation tonight, and what would inevitably be the discussion for the next days leading up to it. He couldn't have their bubble popped yet. "I just want you for the rest of the night, you and me. Please."
It had been longer than Orym cared to realize since he had felt as light as he did in that very moment. The issues that surrounded them would still be there in the morning, of course. Eventually, the bubble would pop and they would have to go back to their lives. They would have to leave this little bit of privacy that had been afforded to them and face all of the planning and decisions that had been made earlier in the day. This wasn't a fix for everything.
But it was giving Orym hope, something that he had always tied so thoroughly to Dorian. He might have thought of himself as more fighter than a bard nowadays, but Dorian had never stopped inspiring Orym.
Orym let himself be pulled in, his torso leaning into Dorian's as one hand wrapped around the braid he'd just weaved and the other pulled him in by the jaw so he could kiss him. "I'm yours," Orym murmured, close enough still that his lips brushed Dorian's with each word. "Tonight, however long you want. I promise."
And then, because despite that this whole conversation had implied as much, he hadn't said it, Orym added with a voice wavering with emotion, "I love you so much, Dor."
Dorian exhaled so abruptly, so suddenly, that he felt breathless unexpectedly. It's not that Orym never told him that he loved him, but the heightened feelings of the evening and of the last six years seemed to always give Dorian that gut-punch of unpredictability. Something like relief flooded him again, and he leaned into every gentle, affectionate touch. He kissed Orym back, intense and unyielding, like he might not get the chance again—a cruel little voice tried to tell him that he might not, and Dorian forcibly pushed it back.
He sunk into Orym's embrace instead. "I love you too, so so much. I don't know what I would do without you, Orym." He didn't want to think about it, couldn't comprehend it. That was like letting the bad thoughts trickle in. And he wouldn't. He was mentally much stronger than he led himself to believe in those earlier years. There was nothing in this world he couldn't do if he put his mind to it—a sentiment he had picked up from Orym, perhaps, by spending every moment he could with him.
His mouth was back on his, and Dorian thought that he'd find more words tomorrow, but tonight he was all out.