WHO Dorian Storm & Orym WHERE The bedroom in the Spooky Bells Hells House WHEN Sometime early this morning! WHAT Dorian has a nightmare :( Orym makes him feel better :) they talk about training, and Dorian wants to multiclass. STATUS Complete! WARNINGS Brief mentions of injury and death ART CREDIT JAMIE!! She drew this!! ♥
Dorian didn't have nightmares. His head would hit the pillow and some arbitrary amount of time would pass and he would wake up the quiet presence of Orym doing pullups in their bedroom doorway at some ungodly hour. It was a nice routine, one that Dorian had grown accustomed to, wrapped around Orym in the safety of their bed at night. Even when the days were terrible, and the worry overwhelmed him, Dorian had sleep to look forward to, where his brain would shut off, rest, recalibrate.
But it was only a matter of time when all that worry amassed into the corner of his unconscious mind and morphed into something terrifying, horrible. It started off small—a sweet moment with Orym, in a field, flowers spreading around them, druidcraft and otherwise. The breeze was gentle at first, warm. A bird chirped in the distance. Then another. Then a scream. He looked up from where he had been dreamily staring at Orym, to the horizon. Smoke billowed darkly into the sky. Another scream closer and then suddenly the flowers were fire.
The landscape shifted unnaturally, like dreams do, but where lucid understanding failed to tell him this was a dream. It felt real, so incredibly and awfully real.
A beast, large and grotesque, bounded from a copse of trees followed by unfamiliar raiders. Everywhere became chaos, and Dorian floundered. His magic felt so far away, his glowing scimitar hanging uselessly on his back, as though he didn't have the immediate instinct to pull it free. Something was holding him back—fear, confusion, skill. Orym was saying something, repeating it, but against the roar of noise in his ears he only saw Orym make a decision on his determined face. Get behind me.
He switched places without argument. But he should have argued. He should have stayed by Orym's side. He should be protecting Orym too. It was one of the monsters, fangs and teeth and easily two times their size that leaped at the spot Dorian had been occupying. Orym was there now. And being torn to shreds right before his eyes. Dorian was screaming, he was screaming—
Dorian shot up, drenched in sweat, to an empty bed. Panic gripped his throat, like someone was squeezing the sound out of him. There was a frighteningly long moment where he searched the room, before Dorian yelled, "Orym, Orym!"
Rubbing his eyes as he groggily climbed the stairs toward their bedroom, Orym did not need his usual perceptiveness to hear Dorian calling out to him. A cold sensation trickled down his spine as first panic, then adrenaline flooded his system. His fingers clenched around the glass of water that he had fetched, having woken up hours before dawn, throat just dry enough to warrant slipping out of their bed and Dorian's arms in search of relief. His partner had been fast asleep when he had left, motionless aside from the rise and fall of his chest. The whole room had been quiet, lit only by the moon and stars above.
Now, though, every worst case scenario that a creative mind that was used to squaring off against worst case scenarios came to Orym. Some creature had climbed through their window and was attacking Dorian. Dorian had been given a glimpse of the future in Exandria that was particularly terrible. He woke to found Orym gone and was in a panic over his potentially having disappeared like their friends before them. An intruder had been lying in wait in their closet or under their bed or--had he checked the locks before bed? He normally did, but had his haste to join Dorian among the blankets, pillows, and sheets keep him from his usual safety precautions?
Orym strode forward as quickly as his halfling legs would carry him, the sleep that had been clawing at his mind long gone and replaced with thoughts of how quickly he could get his sword and shield, whether or not he would be able to properly protect Dorian, if it would be too late.
He burst through their door, not paying it any mind as it shut behind him as Orym's eyes, which were already weak in the darkness, did their best to take in the scene. There was no visible danger, no monster stalking in the darkness or looming over the bed where Dorian was sitting. The windows looked to be as secured as ever, their belongings untouched and as normal now as it had been when they'd gone to bed together.
And then Orym's gaze finally settled, truly taking in Dorian and the clear distress that seemed to be gripping him. "Hey," Orym started, abandoning the glass of water on the bedside table reserved for him before climbing into bed with his usual dexterous grace. He kneeled there, easing in toward Dorian. "Dor, what's wrong?"
The momentary relief at seeing Orym—awake, alive, here—was immediately crushed by his own ridiculousness of the realization that brought him that relief: it was only a dream. A pretty shitty one, but one nonetheless. By the time Dorian managed to push past the hummingbird stutter of his heart and the broken quietness of their room, Orym was already coming toward him on their bed. Dorian met him half-way, and pulled him in close for an embrace. He needed to feel that Orym was okay.
For a long time, Dorian held him there. Not saying anything, waiting for his own breathing to feel somewhat normal and his body to stop wanting to run—with Orym, somewhere else, into someplace safe, but what was more safe than the person he was holding? He pressed his face into Orym's neck. "I thought—you weren't here, and—I had a bad dream," Dorian said, settling on that for an explanation. Maybe it was enough.
He kissed Orym's cheek, then went back to averting his gaze. Dorian didn't think he could hide his expression for much longer, and he was certain that Orym would be able to tell the tension was still there, strung between Dorian's shoulders. Just a bad dream wouldn't have kept him so tightly wound so long after he woke up from it.
"You were hurt," Dorian started again, mumbling sadly under Orym's jaw. "And I've seen you hurt before, which does not make it okay in any sense, real or not real, but you..."
Dorian sighed and finally lifted his head so he could search Orym's features in the dim dark. "You did it to protect me and I can't bear it. Not with what we know, not with what you told me about the future. Or any future for that matter."
Orym was no stranger to nightmares. The had eased in recent months and years, having become more infrequent or less visceral than they had, once upon a time when the trauma of his past was more fresh. Still, even if they did return now and again to remind him of what it was to wake up in a cold sweat, unconvinced of what was real and what had been a fabrication of his mind and memory, it wasn't hard to recall that confusion and momentary terror. Holding Dorian now, giving him what comfort he could as his hands made soothing passes along the expanse of his back, Orym could feel his heart clench; he didn't like it when the people he loved were hurting, especially when there was nothing he could do to protect them from it.
Of course, as Dorian kept talking, Orym's need to protect him seemed to be rather tied to the terrible dreamscape he'd just been dragged through. Orym felt a sudden need to apologize, even though he knew that was ridiculous; it had been the fabrication of a dream that had put him into harm's way to protect Dorian, a fictional version of himself. But was it really fictional, truly? If Dorian was facing down danger, could Orym say truthfully that he wouldn't do everything he could to protect him, consequences be damned?
Orym swallowed hard, knowing the answers to those questions. Rather than voice those thoughts in the moment, though, he moved to cup Dorian's face with one hand, the other taking a steady, hopefully grounding grip on his shoulder. Close enough now that even the darkness of the night could keep Orym from seeing Dorian's eyes and expression, he searched them carefully, even if he didn't really need to read between the lines to know what Dorian was saying in this moment.
"I'm sorry you had to experience that," Orym murmured, thumb running along Dorian's cheekbone. "I'm here, though. I'm okay." He knew that there was more to be said and discussed, things that they hadn't touched on in the joy of a successful adventure and then resettling into their lives after Orym's travel through time. He wasn't sure how to navigate it, though, and thought it best to let Dorian lead. A little reassurance on his part, though, felt necessary.
This was better. The soothing way that Orym touched him, and how Dorian tipped his face into Orym's palm like a flower to sunlight. Somehow being near Orym was always going to calm him more than being apart. Someone might consider this codependency, but what wasn't their little group if not endlessly needy of one another? But something else nagged at him, buzzing in the back of his head even as the adrenaline faded.
"I know you are, I know," Dorian said, nodding in understanding, as he closed his eyes. Confidence seemed to wane inside of him, and it was easier to speak his truth when he wasn't looking at the concern in Orym's eyes. "But you would do what you did in the dream or in reality, here. And I froze. I couldn't seem to initiate into battle fast enough, and those are the moments where you don't. You have the instincts I have only begun to understand and it's those moments..."
Dorian pulled back a little, feeling his heart pick up again, like the fight was upon them again, as though the indecision in the battle had actually happened. He hadn't gone to the future, but it was easy to know how he would have felt—it was how Dorian always felt—when Orym put himself between him and danger. "It's those moments where you put everything, everything on the line for me, and one day it could lead to you not coming back from it. You could be like you were in the future, or worse."
Rubbing a hand at his chest, that now started to feel inordinately tight, Dorian shook his head. "I won't let you. I can't, Orym."
Already kneeling on the mattress, Orym let himself sit back on his feet, losing his height but allowing himself to really look at Dorian. It meant breaking away from him, though, which wouldn't really do and Orym reached out to sandwich Dorian's free hand between both of his smaller ones, fingers intertwining.
Orym had known that it was only a matter of time before they had a conversation that looked something like this. He hadn't expected it to come off the back of a dream, but he had to admit that, Dorian's distress aside, this was probably one of the better ways for it to come up. He'd had one a lifetime ago that was along a similar vein, which had led to two married guards determining that they needed to try to make sure their shifts didn't overlap, that their love for one another didn't interfere with the duty they'd taken on when they had become Tempest Blades. There was no Voice of the Tempest or duty to their people to keep in mind when he was in battle with Dorian, though; he had grown very single-minded in the years that he had known him and the rest of their friends. He had to protect them, because he had the skills to do so.
He had to protect them, because he couldn't lose someone else. He especially couldn't lose Dorian.
Orym swallowed, his gaze dropping from Dorian to look at their hands. His fingers ran over Dorian's knuckles as he drew in a long breath. "I'm sorry," he murmured, because he was and this time it wasn't from a need to apologize for his dream self. "You know why I do it, right? It isn't just battle instincts."
Dorian nodded, glancing away from Orym, and their clasped hands. All the questions he hadn't prodded Orym with about the future \ came back in full force. The person he could become, a person that—in another life—would be dealing with similar consequences of the dream. He now understood why his mind had decided to be cruel when all Dorian wanted was peaceful rest.
"I do know why, I do. And I know I can't stop you, I know telling you not to be protective is like telling you not to breathe," Dorian said, his voice marginally lighter. It was a joke, some levity, but he couldn't seem to hold on to it. "And I know that you feel a duty, and a distinct need to be the one to put yourself in front of others because of everything you've learned, and everything you've been through. But sometimes Orym, sometimes..."
He squeezed Orym's hand then, and mimicked the gesture, where Dorian now was holding both his hands around one of Orym's. "You do it so recklessly, without even thinking that maybe we—I should be the one protecting you. You are just as important to me, your life is just as precious. And I don't know how I could go on, knowing that you d—" Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. He couldn't put it to words, not when he had barely given the thought legs, when he was too scared to say it, because it might come true.
Vallo had a way of jinxing people who vocalized their wants, and more specifically, their fears.
"I am not a fighter like you. I am a humble, humble bard who manages to know his way around a sword. But I want to be to you, what you are to me. Especially when we are fighting together."
Orym listened as Dorian spoke, though the urge to interrupt was there more than once. He wanted to explain himself, to assure Dorian that he was far more than the simple label of humble bard, but he knew that it wasn't his turn. He recognized that this was a special moment, both in that Dorian deserved to just be able to speak his truth, but in that he felt comfortable enough to do so, especially with something as sensitive as this. Orym liked to think that they could talk to one another about anything, but that didn't mean it wasn't sometimes difficult to do so. Being vulnerable was hard for most anyone and a sense of pride warmed Orym that Dorian was letting himself express himself as such, all while he felt a simple flattery at being on the receiving end.
That was something to possibly bring up later, though, and Orym instead focused on exactly what Dorian was saying. He knew that his protectiveness when it came to keeping his loved ones out of danger was both a character strength and flaw; he had the ability, but it didn't negate the potential consequences should something go awry. It had happened once before, hadn't it? Dorian might have stopped himself from speaking it into the universe, but Orym had died, back in Exandria. He was only still walking around their home thanks to Fearne, the gods, and a heavy offering of diamonds. Vallo was not Exandria, but he had nevertheless seen a future with just as tragic a trajectory.
But it didn't feel as though Dorian was looking for assurances that he would change his ways, that he would hang up the sword and shield and stay out of harm's way. That would be asking Orym to change the very core of himself and he knew that this man that loved him so much wouldn't ask that of him. And though the thought of Dorian instead being the one possibly in danger sent immediate spikes of worry through Orym, he knew that there would be a level of hypocrisy there if he didn't hear him out.
"I think that you stopped being a humble bard long ago, you know," Orym said, managing a small smile. He reached out with one of his hands toward Dorian, tucking a stray bit of hair that had escaped his braid back behind a long ear. "I taught you things, though, in that future. I don't think I started until after it was more necessary, but we don't have to wait for an apocalypse if it's something that you want."
As always, Dorian could see Orym working through the problem. Even though the darkness had not let up, his eyes had adjusted to make out the smaller, finer details of Orym's face—contemplation, decisiveness, that tiny smile that would continually shoot straight into Dorian's heart. He knew that Orym would figure out what he was asking, even if he hadn't even asked it yet. What Dorian was learning was that they should have had this conversation long before a nightmare forced them too.
"I'd like that," Dorian answered, almost too quickly. Maybe he had been waiting for Orym to offer. Maybe he didn't know how to put in the request. Dorian could be forthright when he needed to be—he could spin a few words elegantly into something palatable for the noble class, but that was few and far between since being in Vallo, which he was thankful for—but this was different. How did he not insult the person he loved for doing the thing he was good at? How did he tell him to stop without telling him to stop? It was complicated but this conversation, in reality, was distinctively not.
"I don't want to wait until it's necessary, until things get real bad. And who is to say when that threshold is? Who decides when it's time and when it's not?" Dorian asked, more like thinking out loud. Now he was voicing his thoughts, even the stray ones that had been circling his mind. "It's necessary now, if I'm being honest as a not so humble bard. There will never be a time where I don't need to train for something. This seems like the logical next step, right?"
It was to Dorian, at least. He knew that Orym didn't think him weak or incapable of defending himself, but Dorian wanted to give Orym that peace of mind. Or as much as he could when chaos surrounded them and battle instincts were not only important, but needed.
He leaned in to kiss Orym's forehead. "I want you to teach me what you know. As much as you can."
Orym's eyes fluttered shut as he took in a breath, letting the moment wash over him while pressing into Dorian's space. As much as Orym didn't like the thought of Dorian finding himself in a situation where he would need to make use of such skills and weaponry, he liked even less his not having said skills in the first place, not when Orym was there and fully able to help him learn and hone them.
His eyes opened and Orym pushed himself up higher on his knees once more, catching Dorian's face to stop him before he backed away so he could give him a soft but proper kiss. Though slow to back away, he did eventually and did so while giving Dorian another small smile in the dark.
"All right. I'll teach you everything I know," he agreed, not that there was really any chance that he wouldn't have. Orym would do more or less anything for Dorian, after all. "I haven't trained anyone in a long time, so you might have to be patient with me at first. We can figure it out together, what works best for you with your scimitar."
Kissing was good. Kissing made all the worry and the concern and that stupid self-doubting voice shut up for a little while. Sometimes, Dorian couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been kissing Orym, weren't they always? Hadn't it always been soft and gentle like this? No, he would eventually remind himself, they weren't, but Dorian didn't care to remember those times.
He could have kept doing this, exchanging tender affection in the middle of the night, now that his dream had passed and his mind was feeling less stressed. But Dorian knew they had to finish the conversation first—he almost had what he wanted, and Dorian knew better than to give up when he was so close. Wasn't that how he and Orym managed to figure out their relationship? Not pulling back when they were almost there.
"Shouldn't I be the one telling you to be patient with me?" Dorian asked, between kisses. "I mean, you are the one that has a very successful sword yoga class where you have trained several people to be more in tune with themselves and their weapons. I'm the one who is moonlighting as a fighter in this scenario. What you do with your sword and shield and what I do with my scimitar are two incredibly different things."
Dorian bumped noses with Orym. Now that they were in each other's personal space again, and the night wasn't over, it was as though his own body was magnetizing back into the positions they were when they fell asleep. His instincts might not have been for battle, but they were always leaning toward Orym. "And you remember how I was with balance those first few times going through the Zeph'aeratam."
Softly chuckling, Orym let his arms reach up and loop around Dorian, drawing him even closer as he felt the tension start to dissipate. There would always be that simmering worry, the both of them prone to it despite also complimenting the other, but that immediate spike when Orym had burst into the room to see what had happened to Dorian was starting to ease and that felt like a good first step toward resolving the troubles that had clearly sunk into Dorian's subconscious.
"I said it then and I'll say it again: you're selling yourself a bit short," Orym said, a note of teasing in his words. "You might have been a bit wobbly, but that's okay. You got through that and it's going to give you a leg up with training, too." There might have been a sliver of bias there, but Orym meant the words; what more, he had seen what a future Dorian could accomplish with the right encouragement and lessons. He had no doubt that his Dorian could do the same, but hopefully with less existential threat hanging over both their heads.
"Before I joined the Tempest Blades and started training alongside the others, Derrig had taught us some of the Zeph'aeratam for that reason," he continued at a quiet murmur, the memories coming to the front of his mind. A younger Orym with Will, both in their teens as they did their forms in the rising sun as Derrig watched on and gave instruction. "So I think maybe we had already started training without even realizing it."
Then, Orym kissed Dorian's cheek gently. "Guess we're just that efficient."
It was Dorian's turn to brush Orym's short hair away from his face, around his ear, cupping the back of his head. As much as the gesture often calmed Dorian when Orym did it, the move was just as effective when reciprocated. He huffed out a quiet laugh though when Orym said they were efficient. Dorian disagreed, given his own extravagance when allowed to exercise it.
"Is that what we're calling it? I thought maybe you were taking pity on me as someone who never had to—" Dorian gestured in a vague way that was supposed to convey yoga pose. "You know. But I'm glad that I won't be starting at the beginning. I can learn intermediate beginner moves. Is that a thing? No, no wait—" He waved a hand, as if to dismiss the words in the air. "Don't answer that now. It's late. I can ask you in the morning."
He had already decided that in the morning, he would be up with Orym. No more watching him exercise from the bed. They would have to invest in another bar above another door.
Dorian curled around Orym once more, wanting to drag him down to the mattress. They needed sleep. Nightmares be damned—though Dorian felt like he was more than capable of battling them in his subconscious now. Clean slate, mind clear. Except he had been alone when he woke, and sudden exhausted curiosity plagued him.
"Where did you go? Before, when I woke up, you weren't here," Dorian said, quiet, whispering like the question had to be a secret for some reason.
"Oh." Orym turned his head, glancing back toward the glass of water that he'd completely forgotten about as soon as his attention had turned to comforting Dorian. It seemed very unimportant now, especially as he allowed Dorian to draw him in closer; he wouldn't dream of not allowing it. They hadn't allowed themselves this for too long, even when they had first started blurring the lines between friendship and what they were now. It had been months since they'd taken that leap together, but Orym wasn't about to take these soft moments together for granted.
Orym would never take them for granted, not if he could help it.
Though speaking quietly was generally Orym's default, he took care to meet Dorian's whisper, for no particular reason other than not wanting to break the moment. "I'd just woken up thirsty, so I went downstairs and--yeah. You'd been sleeping so peacefully when I'd left, too."
At that, Orym backed up just enough so he could look Dorian's face over again, eyes as perceptive as ever. He didn't bother hiding that he was searching for just how okay Dorian might have been in that moment, before he simply asked, "You feeling better now? Do you need anything else?" His desire to help and make sure that Dorian truly was in a better frame of mind was just as visible on his face as the searching had been only seconds before.
Dorian didn't know the answer, not right away. He glanced at the glass of water that was now on the nightstand, missing it before in his post-nightmare haste. He felt more solid, grounded in a way that dreaming didn't not allow him to be. He had a plan, which he knew was not just one he was forming in his head—he had told Orym, and Orym agreed, and now it was out in the world. He had accountability.
He took a deep breath, and then nodded. He reached over to grab the water and offered it to Orym. He wondered if he stopped being thirsty or if this conversation simply side tracked him. He waited for Orym to drink his fill before putting it back.
"I'm okay now. Better than I was and maybe not completely better, but I think one step at a time, right? You're worrying though, I can feel you worrying," Dorian said, slowly pulling Orym back down into the bed. It was ridiculous to think that the mere safety of someone's arms around him and blankets over him could protect Dorian from his anxious mind and the horrors of the waking world, but it was the middle of the night. Anything was possible.
"I'm not going to tell you to stop, feels mean since I'm also worrying, but maybe you and I can get some more sleep so the night is not completely wasted?"
Orym had still been thirsty, as it turned out; the distraction that had been Dorian and his sorting out how best to help him had been enough to push that need to the side, but he was grateful for the offered cup. Once it was taken care of, though, his body's exhaustion was an immediate reminder of just what the hour was and he made no complaints as he sunk into the bed at Dorian's direction. His arms pulled the taller man in close, a comfort for them both, Orym had to think.
"Worrying is what I do best," Orym joked, curling in to press his face in the crook between Dorian's shoulder and neck. There was no chance that he would fall asleep before Dorian, that aforementioned keeping Orym from true rest until he knew his partner was getting some. That didn't mean he wasn't going to get some quality cuddling for himself in the meantime.
"Love you," Orym reminded Dorian as a murmur, right next to his ear. "I'll be right here come morning, promise."