WHO Dorian and Orym Storm WHERE La Nina WHEN In 2033, a while after the visiting Outlanders returned to their time WHAT After almost four years apart, husbands are reunited. STATUS Complete ART CREDIThere WARNINGS Discussion of future Vallo type events and loss, but otherwise just mush.
What was the last ten days? What was the last ten years? What had Dorian done to get him to this moment right now? He felt like the whole world had imploded and the only spot left was the single patch of land Dorian was standing on. And the hope he thought he lost, the fear of never seeing his Orym again was now undoubtedly untrue. Something had shifted in the days leading up to the concurrence, and after the defeat of Interitus, a bright light—literally and metaphorically—drowned out all his senses. A reset to the life they had tried to build here.
The moments after the final battle, Dorian had looked to his left hand. The bloom there, his wedding ring, hadn't wavered. It was vibrant and alive in the way he hadn't seen in a long time. Too long. Wraiths dissolved into the air, monsters fled into the forest, and Vorerra scattered. But the Thralls? The people who still managed to capture the attention of Interitus for years simply woke up.
He split away from Orym, the younger Orym, who had come with him to the final battle. Because if Dorian was going to put everything on the line, he wanted it to be with the person he loved—even another version of him. But now he was looking for Orym Storm, the man he had married in the small hours of a spontaneous week in October. The man he hadn't allowed himself to think about without pain.
But like many of the Outlanders who had been under the magical thrall, Orym had dropped, whether it was exhaustion or from injuries, Dorian wasn't sure. (Only that when he had found him, Dorian had been shouting for FCG to help him, get over here, please, please but no answer had come.) The heartfelt reunion he had desperately imagined on the battlefield of the final stand was put on hold as they slipped him off to the bunker for recovery.
Dorian didn't remember much after that. Saying goodbye to Orym from the past, and spending days by his Orym's side until he clawed his way into consciousness. Dorian couldn't sleep, nothing even close to restful, because his mind was trying to sort out what was next while he waited for Orym to come back to him.
But he could do that while also gently brushed Orym's hair away from his face. It had gotten so long.
When Orym finally stirred, Dorian paused, but didn't move away. Just waited, wondered, hoped.
At some point in the future, Orym would find himself trying to put words to explain the sensation of waking up. The only words that he would be able to come up with that felt even remotely true would be coming out of a thick fog. It wasn't like when he had woken up outside of Emon with four strangers, unable to recall meeting or the events that had led to them being so close to Thordak's Crater. This was instead wading through a thick sludge, fighting through grasping vines and thorny brambles, all of which having had four long years to pile up and gather in his way.
Eventually, though, as Orym's body healed through careful magical attention and Dorian's constant doting presence, his mind cleared. Rather than what would feel like an endless wander when he tried to remember later on, he got true rest. He slept.
And then, when his mind and body were ready, he woke.
It was slow at first, an acknowledgment of touch on his face, the knowledge that someone was next to him. Then his eyes began to flutter open, gently enough to not shock them as they took in the light. Green eyes, not red and black, adjusted, glancing around the room in confusion before they came to a stop on Dorian. Even disoriented, his keen gaze noticed that something was different about him.
Before he could let himself zero in and figure out what was different, Orym's memories caught up to him. The last thing he remembered was maneuvering himself to be in front of Dorian, attempting to protect him from the attack he knew was coming from Interitus as they tried so hard to take the Quarry. He remembered the fluid motion, pushing Dorian back and using himself and his shield to protect his husband, for better or worse.
Though recognizing that he was the one in a medical facility, it was Dorian that Orym's worry and panic immediately landed on. "Dor," he started, his voice low and hoarse from disuse. He swallowed hard as he tried to push himself up to sitting. "Are you okay?"
Being so close, still keeping soft contact with Orym, Dorian was well aware when everything shifted. From confusion to panic, an unsettling feeling grew in his gut. He didn't remember. Orym was back on that battlefield, and whatever had happened between then and now wasn't connecting. Dorian had seen other Outlander thralls wake up, and this was a possibility for Orym too, but Dorian had wanted Orym to be an exception to the rule. Maybe their luck had run out.
What was better though? Having memories of those brutal four years or the blissful ignorance of blank clarity? Dorian couldn't answer that question, not yet.
He immediately scooted closer, putting a calming hand on Orym's chest. Dorian needed him to just slow down—he didn't know what Interitus had made him do since the battle for the quarry, but he didn't suspect it was anything close to restful or relaxing.
"I'm okay, I promise, I'm okay. Just lay back for a second. Someone is going to want to check you out, and while I can say you look fine, I'm not a—" Oh, he was so overwhelmed. He had missed those eyes, that face, his whole being. And while the Orym from the past had been a healing stand-in, there was nothing more soothing than the person he loved, and had loved for many years, to be staring back at him uninfected and free from the mental chains of a dark monster.
Dorian swiftly turned to the tiny side table, and poured water into a glass. It was such a small caring gesture as he held it out for Orym to take, but Dorian also knew it would be cruel to interrogate Orym the moment he woke up, even if he wanted to. Wait, wait, just wait.
Only when Dorian was satisfied that Orym wasn't in immediate pain, and on his way to hydrated, did he ask, "What's the last thing you can recall?"
Somewhere between the blue hand on his chest and the glass of water, Orym did actually find himself less panicked with worry and more calm. The water felt good, but it was Dorian that did the most good. He was still concerned that he was missing injuries or consequences of some sort that Dorian might have suffered from the battle, but he looked okay from where he was now once again laying back in the bed. He was the one serving Orym water, after all, so he must have been in a good enough state.
"The battle at the quarry," Orym answered, his voice still quiet, but less scratchy now that his dry throat had been seen to. "You and I had been fighting some wraiths, then I'd swapped places with you and--"
Orym's brow furrowed, his gaze dropping as he tried to piece together the sludge that was his memory. It hadn't just been that. He had been knocked out more than a few times in the past, it just being an unfortunate side effect of being a front line fighter that took more hits than most people. He was used to how it felt to come to and in some ways he felt very much like that, with a slight ache to his head and a weariness to his muscles. This was different, though. There was something there that he was missing, but every time he tried to grasp at it, it just slipped through the fingers of his mind.
"There's more," he murmured, a mixture of confusion and frustration on his face. "I can't remember, though."
Dorian couldn't hide the disappointment from his face, the hope that Orym might remember more and then suddenly didn't. But he shook it off quickly; he didn't want to have that discussion right now. And even though he knew that Orym would notice the emotional change, Dorian knew it would be better to keep barreling forward. This wasn't about him, it was about Orym, and making sure that living in this reality now was something he could handle.
It didn't mean that Dorian had to like that his husband's last memory was of a battle where they switched places. The world still managed to be unkind, but less so than it had been before.
His hand was back on Orym's arm, running soothing strokes up and down. "It's been, it's been awhile," Dorian said, nearly choking on the pain of the truth. "Almost four years. During that battle, you took something that was—I don't know if it was meant for me, but it should have been me, and you..." Dorian trailed off, worried that he shouldn't be the one to explain it. How were the others doing this? How could anyone have this conversation without feeling wretchedly guilty?
He wanted this feeling to go away, to not have to remember the pain of losing Orym to Interitus that day. But Interitus was gone, they had defeated him with the help of, well, Orym. It was too complicated to explain, and Dorian had lived it. He had had full conversations with Orym's other self, and it started to feel like a fever dream.
Dorian's expression softened, almost pleading. "I've waited years to kiss you again, may I?"
Orym was too mentally wrung out to bother trying to mask the worry that leaked into his expression at the obvious disappointment on Dorian's face. He was a breath away from apologizing and poking harder at the wide gap in his memory when Dorian continued. The words were difficult, Orym could tell, and though what Dorian did say only created a dozen more questions in his mind (What had happened? Had he been resurrected? Had he been in some odd stasis? Had his memory just been tampered with?), he knew that this very moment might not have been the time to ask them.
Four years, though. As Dorian spoke, Orym looked away again, his eyes a bit wide as his head tipped to the side. With it, he noticed, came long strands of hair--hair that was far longer than it had been the morning they had gone to the quarry, longer than he had ever allowed it to grow out. He had always kept it cropped short, all the better to stay out of his way in training and to keep that curl it would get at a certain length under control. Now, though, it was long. Nearly four years long, he realized as he looked back to Dorian.
It wasn't that he doubted Dorian, of course. It sounded as though Orym had done what he was meant to do during that battle: he had protected his husband from something terrible. But that something terrible seemed to have kept them apart for years and that did complicated, painful things to Orym's heart.
Orym knew what it was to lose a spouse. He had hoped that Dorian would never know the same.
At Dorian's question, though, all of that sadness and pain melted, pushed to the side as he pushed himself up on one elbow. His other arm extended toward Dorian, reaching as far as his short wingspan would allow it. "Come here, Dorian."
He had missed that contemplative look from Orym. The one where he reasoned out all the pros and cons of the situation, connected the dots, planned and strategized the next steps. This situation was different though, Dorian knew inherently. This was not a battle or a scouting mission. It wasn't even a conversation that needed a deft hand at saying the right things or knowing the right people. Dorian watched as the sadness came over his husband and almost regretted asking to kiss him.
It had been years, there was a whole swath of memories missing, and Dorian had stupidly, heartachingly asked to kiss him.
But then Orym was reaching for him, asking him to come closer, and need washed over Dorian like a tidal wave. He reached back to Orym, taking his hand, his arm, then his whole body into his. He was holding him first, an embrace not unlike the one he had given to Orym's other self. And while home was in Orym's arms, always, this felt different. This was more than home, this was his whole soul coming back to him where Dorian had felt the absence of it for too long.
His face was wet, by the time he put his hands to Orym's cheeks and finally, finally kissed him. It wasn't gentle, and it wasn't elegant; Dorian was unexpectedly crying softly against Orym's mouth, but in relief, in joy, in happiness he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Orym was gone. He had to pull away too soon, just to look at Orym's face again and take him in, long hair, new scars, and all.
"I missed you, I missed you so much, Orym, it's been awful since you've been gone," Dorian said, before attempting another, more tender kiss.
Thanks to the odd gap in his memory, it felt like both yesterday and forever since Orym himself had helped Dorian into his armor, then tugged him forward by the leathers to steal a long kiss of luck. It had been a promise, an oath that there would be more to come in their future, that they would have more time after they took the quarry and perhaps would be able to celebrate much needed win as their fortune changed. Though sensible, Orym had allowed himself to be optimistic; it was easy to do, when still riding off of the happiness of finally marrying only days before.
It hadn't gone the way that he'd hoped, though. Clearly. Somehow Orym had left Dorian--and all the rest of their friends and family--behind. And as much as that knowledge tore at Orym's heart, it was this desperate kiss and Dorian's wet cheeks that cast the final blow.
He didn't know just what Dorian had gone through in those missing years, but Orym matched his emotion, the intensity of the kiss, sitting up further and holding Dorian tightly. Then his hands were there to brush the tears from sharp cheekbones, looking his fill as Dorian did the same; he could spot the differences even more keenly than before. The marks that four years in this world had left on Dorian, right down to that weariness that Orym could sense and wanted so terribly to soothe away.
It was easy to take a sharp turn into wondering what might have changed had Orym never gone wherever he had. Would Dorian be less sharp around the edges? Or would it have simply been only a matter of time before one of them was taken from the other? Had Orym been there, would he have been able to prevent some of the clear hurt that Dorian had felt for these years? He didn't know--he would never know, because that was just the way of things. He didn't have to like it, though.
"I'm sorry," Orym murmured between more gentle kisses, feeling his own tears start to rise within him. "I never wanted to leave you, Dorian."
"I know, I know, you didn't want to. I didn't want you to either, it's just the way things—how everything seemed to just—" Dorian was out of words. Talking was exhausting, and the sheer amount of words he knew were bottling up inside him was a heavy weight. But all Dorian wanted now was to bask in the presence of Orym, his Orym. The one who was gone for so long, but now was here—fractured, and pieces of him not yet whole—but here. Dorian was afraid to ask for anything else.
He leaned his cheek into Orym's hand, soaking up the rough touch he missed. While there were differences in Dorian's expressions, demeanor, even lines of his face, the same was reflected in Orym. Dorian had not been able to get close to him and see everything that had left behind marks. They would be relearning each other again, memorizing all of the old and new parts that made them. And it was that thought that had brought a smile to Dorian's face.
"But you came back," Dorian said, as if it was simple. It was, actually, when he really thought about it. "You're here now, and even if it's been days, months, years, decades, I would have waited." Somehow, Orym was still Dorian's hope, the sliver of optimism that kept him going, even as a thrall. Even when things seemed impossible. "And we have time now," was all he managed to get out before he was kissing Orym again, pushing back his tears.
Dorian only wanted good crying. There was no sadness here, not anymore, not in the way it had cruelly come for Dorian every day until this point. "And I'll help you. The time, the memories, everything there is to know, I'll give you. There's not much to tell but I'll spend every waking moment—" Another kiss. "—with you."
Orym let all of Dorian's words--and kisses--wash over him. They were a comfort, of that there was no doubt. Even after he had been forced to put down his lute and rely more on his sword, Dorian's words had always continued to be an inspiration to Orym. He was, after all, his words guy. That comfort was especially needed in this moment. He, too, wanted to only have good crying. He wanted sweet words exchanged and promises of happy endings that were more than just musings in the middle of the night from their small room in the depths of the Outpost, but instead real and possible and within their grasp.
He thought that maybe, just maybe, they would get that, but it was a scary thing to admit. Even before that darkness in his memory, they had spent years clinging to one another and trying to survive. Could it really be possible?
Dorian seemed to think so and there was no one that Orym trusted more than his husband.
"I'd like that a lot," Orym said quietly, even as he leaned in for yet one more kiss. It wasn't going to be simple, what Dorian was describing. Orym already felt out of sync, as though he had so much to catch up on and the thought weighed on his shoulders, but he had long since learned that it was okay to lean on the people who loved him, especially when they offered it.
"Thank you," Orym added after a moment, barely breaking away from Dorian, "for trusting me to come back to you."
Dorian smoothed away Orym's hair, his expression encouraging. This was good, this was the light at the end of a very long, terrible tunnel. And Dorian was ready to lead Orym out of it and, by proxy, himself. He began fussing, touching all the other little bits on Orym: his shoulders, his elbow, adjusting his bed clothes, and picking at invisible lint. It was a confusing moment, because how many times had Dorian dreamt this? How many times did he wish to see Orym, safe and whole, and back in familiar places with him?
Too many times, too many to believe that this was real out of habit. Dorian spent great efforts to remind himself that he was awake and so was Orym.
"I knew you would," Dorian said, then reconsidered. He didn't want to lie; it hadn't been easy. "Not every day, but most days. I didn't want your sacrifice to go unanswered, or for my life to be wasted for something you did." Dorian leaned in to kiss his forehead, then replaced it with a touch of his own to Orym's. "And I have a husband I vowed to be by, no matter what. I wanted to keep that promise, even if it was hard." Dorian knew others might be just as loyal and hopeful for their loved ones to return, but this was a test that Dorian had been determined to pass.
He smiled, and nosed at Orym's temple. "We'll have a few anniversaries too, when you're feeling up for any type of celebration."
Despite the situation and what he had just woken up to, Orym found himself relaxing under Dorian's tender care and honest words. That had always been the case, though. It wasn't that Orym was prone to panic; very much the opposite, as it were. Instead, it was always Dorian that knew how to talk Orym back from falling into his guard habits, from observing and becoming too wrapped up in the seriousness of a moment. There were times when that was necessary, but so often it was just a defense mechanism.
There was a great deal of seriousness to this moment, of course, but there was joy in it, too. It was easy to sink into that when Dorian was fussing over him, talking of promises made during their vows in front of friends and more good memories to be made. Dorian's special brand of optimism was just one of many, many (many) reasons he had fallen in love with him, after all. It was easy to lean on.
"I'd like that, too," Orym said, because nothing was truer. He brushed his lips to Dorian's temple in return, breathing him in--familiar and comforting. "I owe you so many flowers."
At that, Orym leaned back, just far enough to have enough space to work. The little trickle of magic that created the sprig of forget-me-not blossoms in his palm made him smile, but not so much as when he held it out to Dorian and looked to his face. "One down."
A soft surprised laugh came from Dorian at Orym's admission of having so many flowers left to give. It was not his first thought, but the druidcraft had been a saving grace on the loneliest nights. He would look at his wedding ring, or the pressed flowers in the book he had managed to hang on to for all these years. The flowers still bloomed; they still were vibrant living reminders that Orym was still there.
Dorian took the forget-me-nots from Orym's hand, and tucked them promptly behind his ear. Just like Orym would do, and had before, and would again. He leaned into kiss Orym, this time to say thank you and I love you, words he couldn't say out loud or even through casual touch in years. Now Dorian would never stop.
He smiled against Orym's mouth, bright and warm, and so, so good, murmuring, "Infinity to go."