WHO Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE On the deck of the Silver Sun WHEN Evening of March 27, 2023 WHAT Orym camps out on the Silver Sun to be pensive and broody. Dorian finds him to talk him through it. STATUS Complete ART CREDIThere WARNINGS Considerations of what it means to be someone not in the future, but otherwise none!
To a casual onlooker, Orym appeared to be perfectly at peace. Though bundled up in a thick sweater, the long scarf that Dorian had gifted him, and a blanket that he had stolen from their bed, the late March chill was more or less kept at bay from where he was on the deck of the Silver Sun. It wasn't floating through the sky, though Orym's gaze was nevertheless locked on the night sky above him, seemingly transfixed by the chaos of colors from the lit up leylines and the stars and crescent of a moon behind them.
Anyone that knew him well, though, would see the subtle signs that Orym wasn't as content as he appeared to be at first glance. His hand was at his chest, but moving in a circular motion that spoke of nerves as his fingers traced the hard edge of the ring that laid on a chain beneath layers of clothing. His brow was furrowed, not out of quiet contemplation of the palette of technicolor before him, but out of worry, his mind moving a million miles a moment.
It had been a long day, one that had left Orym with plenty on his mind. His sense of duty and honor meant that he had already more or less made up his mind as to what his answer would be the following day, when the Exandrian wizards of the future would ferry people to their timeline, but that hadn't negated the many, many thoughts that he still had to think about. Chief among those thoughts was the simple fact that had been laid out by Caleb and Essek: he, and the others approached, could go to the future because they did not exist there, in one way or another.
Orym hadn't asked for details, though he knew that he would almost certainly get them, eventually. He didn't need context to feel that deep, sinking pressure in his chest at the thought of not being there for Dorian, for his friends, in whatever version of the future seemed to exist out there. He had died once and had been brought back thanks to diamonds and the will of his best friend; apparently his halfling luck had worn off.
A part of Orym knew that he shouldn't be alone to stew in these thoughts, especially not when he had people that cared for and loved him in a house not all too far from the ship. He should be spending time with them all, soaking in advice and just enjoying their company and he would. For now, though, he just needed a little more time to dwell, stare at the moon that wasn't Catha, and wait for Dorian to inevitably, and endearingly, seek him out first.
Dorian worried. He always worried, but now this was a deeper sort of concern that stemmed from the fact that Orym had abruptly disappeared after the arrival of the wizards from the future. Time travel had always seemed impossible—Dorian was used to magic and monsters and everything that came from living in Exandria, and now in Vallo. They were almost similar, and more palatable to swallow when things got bad. But now, everything was veering off course and this was where he would normally turn to Orym to support. But Orym was gone and Dorian felt a sinking suspicion that something worse was happening than he expected.
He had checked their usual haunts, but that was the irony of it, right? That Orym would know all the places Dorian might look, and whatever space he needed, the unlikeliness was buying him a few more alone moments. So when Dorian decided to loop toward the skyship, he took his time getting there. Walking at an unhurried deliberate pace, working out the words he would say when he inevitably found Orym.
However, seeing Orym melancholy on the bow of the deck gave Dorian pause. He waited what felt like an eternity for Orym to notice that he was here. He might already, given his supernatural ability to be aware of his environment. But approaching too soon wouldn't be right. And so he waited, and waited, his steps slow until eventually Dorian came beside Orym and draped his cloak over his shoulders in a natural gesture, leaning on the railing.
"If you'd like me to leave, I can. But I wanted to make sure you were okay first. I'm sure everyone will want to know you haven't, I don't know, disappeared after the arrival of Widogasts," Dorian said, so gentle, so conversationally. "I don't know if that's possible either, chronurgy is complicated. I won't pretend I know how it works."
His hand under the cloak rubbed a slow soothing circle on Orym's arm. "The risk for traveling here must have been intense, but I know they wouldn't have done it if it wasn't important, if that's what is weighing on you."
A mixture of formal training and then years of traveling on his own had left Orym with a very keen sense of his surroundings, which meant that he did, indeed, know the moment that Dorian had joined him on the deck of the ship. Though he didn't turn at first, his gaze did drop from the moon that he had been staring at for longer than he cared to admit as Dorian's cloak came over his shoulders. Immediately, a sense of comfort came over him, one that he didn't realize until this moment that he'd been in rather desperate need of, as he sat hidden away. A soft breath left him, a fraction of the tension in his shoulders dropping away as he shifted to lean against Dorian.
"It's not that, exactly." Though it was a fear, one that he had to assume was weighing on many people. Orym's grasp on magic and the capabilities of it were limited, to say the very least, but he had seen some very powerful people craft some amazingly impossible feats out of seemingly nothing. "I'm sure they weighed all the options before, so... we should trust them there."
Reaching, Orym's fingers found those of Dorian's hand that was making the circles. The touch was welcome, but he wanted that added connection, the feel of their fingers intertwined. It felt important, when he continued, "I'm one of the ones that they want to have come back with them to their timeline."
"Oh! Really?" Dorian asked, genuinely surprised. He couldn't hide it. Not that Orym was the wrong choice—he was continually and consistently protective and level-headed in battle. If they needed someone who could hold their own against the tumultuous future, Orym would have been Dorian's first choice too. But being chosen had its own pitfalls, certainly, or Orym wouldn't have been out here. He would have been home, with Dorian and their friends, getting a good night's sleep. Or as good of one as he could manage.
Dorian stared down at Orym, waiting for his boyfriend to say something. And when he didn't, the pieces started to form the puzzle that was clearly plaguing him. Dorian sounded sad, more concerned than he had been when he stepped foot onto the skyship. "But it's not just that, is it?" Dorian asked, in the way that said he knew the answer. "Being chosen to go, to help them in that future. There's a reason it has to be you, and it's not me or any of the other Bells Hells."
Anxiety started to bubble behind his chest, and his earlier worry seemed to be back, filling in all the worse case scenarios. Dorian tried to remember what he knew about time-related magic, and about paradoxes. Something about paradoxes was important. He should have paid more attention when Gilmore rambled about magical theory instead of focusing on trying not to knock into a table of glass bottles in his shop.
He decided that he would hedge into the conversation a different way, and added, "Do you want to go? Do you want me to tell you to stay? I think I would have good arguments for both, but I also think you already know what you're going to do."
Looking up, Orym could see the wheels turning behind Dorian's blue eyes. He was smart--far smarter than Orym felt Dorian gave himself proper credit for. Orym had every confidence that Dorian would work out just why this was troubling him without interference, but he wouldn't let it get to that point. It didn't feel fair, especially not when Orym wasn't one to lie in the first place, but he especially wasn't one to lie to Dorian.
"I already know, yeah," Orym confirmed, letting out a soft, humorless laugh on the back of the words. There hadn't been much of a choice, was there? Orym lived by a rather simple code, after all: if he could help someone, especially if that someone was someone he cared about, he was going to do it. It was as simple as that. Essek and Caleb had approached them regarding this request as though it was a choice, but to Orym there was only one option.
"I'm going to go," he continued, putting his thoughts to words. "I can't not, not when it's going to help versions of people I love, you know? I just--I don't like being separated from you and the others."
That obviously wasn't all of it and Orym had to imagine that Dorian would be able to tell as much, given just how well he knew him. But Orym couldn't help but think of that time loop that he had been stuck in; Laudna had been there, at least, and they had spoken and knowledge that she was there somewhere had pushed him forward. Orym thought of being in that literal hellscape, stuck in his own loop of memories until Dorian had entered and been able to break him free. He was stronger with his friends and there was no telling what the versions of them in 2033 would be like, if they would even be there.
Dorian nodded, understanding the choice. Some part of him wondered if Orym would stay back, if he had been wrong in presuming what he already knew was true. It was selfish, knowing that what Orym wanted to do trumped any dissatisfaction from Dorian about traveling to the future. And ultimately Dorian would never be as self-serving as to say not to help everyone—past, present, future—just to keep his own nerves at bay. But the same fear of being separated was not far from his mind.
And still, Dorian knew what he had to do, and it was not to play into the doubt and fear that accompanied Orym's decision to go to the future. The kind of future that probably, maybe—no, definitely—didn't have Orym in it. Dorian couldn't allow himself to mentally travel down that path of when and where and how.
"It's only for a little while, right?" Dorian asked instead, trying to sound upbeat and encouraging. He wondered if it was working or if he was just pretending it did. Orym would be able to see right through him. "And you'll help them and come back. That's the plan. You're not trapped in some hellish loop or saddled with a gas-mask-wearing rocket launching spaceship thing. Maybe you'll have to smash a doll, maybe that's why they need you."
It was a joke, a poor one, but he nudged Orym a little before leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "We'll be okay here. Listen to the words guy, I think I know what I'm talking about." He might have been trying to convince himself, but it seemed to be working, a little bit.
A little smile tugged at the corners of Orym's mouth while his heart did complicated--but oh so familiar--things in his chest. His feelings for Dorian were obvious and he loved him for more reasons than he thought he could reasonably count, but one of those reasons was this. Orym had a tendency to get stuck in his own head and to fall into a pattern of seriousness that could weigh on his slight, halfling shoulders. Dorian, though, seemed to have learned how to recognize when those moods were coming and to mitigate them with a smile or the right words--or, like now, when he was already stuck in a stormcloud of his own making, Dorian seemed to know how to navigate Orym out of it.
Orym reached up with his free hand to catch Dorian's chin, holding him in place before he could straighten up after the forehead kiss to place another quick, chaste peck to his lips. It was a thank you and a reassurance all at once, even if there were still layers of this conversation yet to be had.
"I'll trust you," Orym teased in return, playing along as he let go of Dorian's face. "And you're right. It's just for a little while and we will even get to have more than twenty-five words a day each to keep in touch." Because that, too, was a thought weighing on Orym's mind. They might have been separated before, but it had been nearly a year of seeing one another daily. It was a sobering thought, which led to Orym's expression also sobering.
"You'll have to forgive me for checking in every day, okay?"
His heart hurt, kissing Orym on the skyship. He wanted to stay here, their lips pressed together, with Dorian trying to explain through his affection that he was scared for Orym. He wanted him to stay, he didn't know what he would do if he lost him, and he couldn't bear to think about it anymore than in the abstract, vague way they were now. They both knew the thought was terrifying, but this wasn't their future, just a future. One that Orym was going back to fix the best he could and Dorian would only be able to watch from the metaphorical side lines.
But Dorian smiled anyway, at the thought of Orym checking in every day. "I'm glad you're the one to suggest it," Dorian said, a little shy at the thought that he was equally needy as Orym in this situation. "And I already forgive you. I don't know what the next two weeks will look like, and I know hearing you is not the same as seeing you, but every day. I want to hear from you every day to know that you're safe."
Dorian paused, then corrected, "I can't ask you to be safe, so maybe don't tell me what dangerous things you are up to, only that you made it back in one piece." He gave Orym a tight smile, before running a gentle hand across his cheek. "And say hello to other me, if there's another me, I don't know—I realize now that I say, that maybe there's not—" This felt wrong and inconsistent as the words spilled out. A near start to an anxiety spiral, worrying about what had become of him if Orym was not there. And who went first if they were both gone?
The possibility overwhelmed him, and he kissed Orym again, urgent and intense, like the separation might be more than a few weeks. "I love you, Orym. No matter what. Don't forget that while you're there."
"I could never forget that." The words were soft, softer even than Orym's already usual gentle tone, before he leaned up to close the distance and kiss Dorian once more, that same urgency and intensity present as he sat up as tall as his stature allowed. It was a punctuation mark to the promise, a balm to the sharp edges that the situation they were in had created, a simple comfort in a moment of worry and unknown.
Every kiss had to come to an end, however, and when this one did, Orym stayed close. "I love you too, Dor," he said, fingers reaching out to curl into the fabric of Dorian's coat. "More every day. And I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm going to do everything that I can to make sure I come back to you."
Orym knew exactly how unpredictable life could be and that it was unwise to make promises about coming home to a loved one. Even with Will, they had known the turns that their lives could take. But even with that mental preparation and understanding, Orym knew what it was like to lose someone that he loved to the chaos of the world in events outside of his control and he couldn't bear the thought of Dorian having to live through that same agonizing pain. If there was a Dorian in the future that he would be going to, Orym realized that he knew such a pain, if what the Widogasts had said was true.
In that timeline, Orym hadn't been able to keep that promise. In this one, he would go to hell and back if it meant breaking that cycle and giving Dorian--and himself--the future that they both wanted together.
Dorian knew it wasn't a goodbye, not really. A see you later, much like all of his partings with Orym had been in Exandria. He didn't like the finality of it, and Dorian refused to believe they were both fated for something unfortunate in the future. Orym might have been going to help them save the nebulous hereafter, but Dorian would do everything in the present to make sure he made it back. He didn't know what waited for them, but Dorian didn't have to be a genius to understand that traveling between timelines could irreparably change what they already had.
And still, despite the grave conversation of what was to come, he blushed and smiled at Orym's admission of loving him too. When had it been so easy? Was it ever hard? Dorian couldn't remember a time before, only the sweet wonderful time after. He brushed his nose against Orym's, another soft exchange of affection. He was trying to get it all in before Orym left, before he'd have to survive on daily check ins. Dorian was already missing him.
"Do you want to stay out here a little more or can I convince you to come back home for the evening? I know you're not going to sleep, because I'm definitely not, but—" Dorian shrugged one shoulder, as if to say oh well. "At least we can be together for it. All of us."
Orym considered for a moment, though he already knew the answer; as tempting as it might have been to hide away with Dorian, he very much wanted to see the rest of his friends before this grand adventure to the future kicked off. He hated the thought that he would worry them with this news and the decision he'd made, but he wasn't about to leave without telling them, nor would he leave that job to Dorian. Besides, Orym knew that he needed support from all of them, that wild bunch that had become his family.
Taking Dorian's hand, Orym pressed his cheek to it and breathed out a long, almost nearly content sounding sigh in one more show of gentle love and care. His lips brushed a blue palm in a soft kiss, before he finally looked back up to Dorian, expression more clear and resolute than it had been since he'd escaped to the ship in the first place.
"I'm ready to go home, but first--"
Lifting their joined hands, Orym launched into the now very familiar for the both casting of Druidcraft, a vine immediately sprouting from his own palm. It continued to grow, pink leaves and white flowers coming to loop around Dorian's wrist, loose enough that he could slip it off without tearing the plant. "Bougainvillea," Orym said, knowing by now how this game of a love language worked between them and that Dorian would want to know.
Watching Orym work his little magic for him always felt special. Druidcraft was so wholly out of his element, but Dorian appreciated every flower that grew from Orym's fingertips. And even now, there was meaning behind the choice—flowers for every occasion, for every feeling shared between them. Dorian was still learning, but Orym had been an excellent teacher. With the bougainvillea around his wrist, Dorian inspected it in the way someone would an expensive piece of jewelry, twisting his arm around. He didn't understand what it meant, not yet, but he could make an educated guess.
"I'll know," Dorian said, pulling his attention away from the pink-and-white petals, to Orym's face. He was searching for recognition, before explaining, "If something happens, I'll know." And maybe the flower would wither with Orym pulled out of this timeline, maybe all the druidcrafted pieces would wither without their magical tether. But what Dorian was absolutely certain of was that while Orym was still alive and breathing, the flowers would remain.
He brought Orym in for another kiss, another lingering touch, and then Dorian was swooping Orym around and away from the melancholy thoughts the moon and skyship had allowed him to linger in. He was determined to make the most of his time with Orym, and not have them be sad.
Conversationally, Dorian changed the subjects, something a little less dire and a little more of a distraction. "Maybe we can find a place that still has pies available..."