WHO Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE In the forest, nearish to the Bells Hells house WHEN Afternoon of August 13 WHAT A battle with some elementals leads to a relationship milestone, AKA an argument. STATUS Complete ART CREDIThere WARNINGS The battle is skimmed over with just mentions of violence and an injury. Also big themes of guilt and loss.
The walk home with Dorian had been quiet, Orym content with his hand in his boyfriend's as they discussed dinner plans and events from work and anything else that came to mind. It was normal and Orym felt more than a little at ease--at least, he did until the elementals dropped out of seemingly nowhere.
Out of nowhere wasn't entirely accurate, of course, when Orym's incredibly keen perception was taken into account. He heard the approach long before the elementals likely suspected their prey might be clued in on them, which meant that he--and Dorian, for that matter--had a few extra precious seconds to prepare, letting Orym pull his sword from its sheath and whip his shield around to his front.
To those that might not have known Orym from Exandria or witnessed him in the battles that had occurred in Vallo, it could have been a surprise at how quickly that switch was flipped. Even with so many years between himself and his days as a Tempest Blade, he had kept up with his training and the gods only knew that Exandria had given its own special challenges without needing to be tied to protecting the Voice to be confronted with them. Besides that, he wasn't alone in the forest right then, with Dorian there at his side. Orym's job was to protect those that he loved and those instincts needed little push to kick in when danger was present.
They were surrounded, but still managed to make relatively quick work of the elementals. Orym had used his learned Zephrah inspired maneuvers as per usual, putting himself into the thick of danger and granting Dorian protection and goading the foes into giving their focus to him without a single thought. It was what he did, after all. It was his job, standing in front of people.
Once it was clear that the danger had cleared, though, Orym spun to look at Dorian, wincing a bit from some residual pain from a near forgotten blow to his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Dorian might not have had the same keen perception as Orym, but his reflexes were quick. Quicker than they had been months ago when he started training with Orym. Situations like this, where they were surprised by some kind of aggressive force, were what had driven Dorian to take this more seriously. He couldn't bear to have Orym taking every brunt, every hit, every bit of pain on his behalf. He couldn't allow for anything to take advantage of either of them. He couldn't let Orym do something so reckless when Dorian was more than capable.
And yet, slicing through one elemental and turning on another with his scimitar in one hand and a primed Shatter spell in the other, all the fight left him as Orym stepped into the line of battle. He faltered. His brief lapse was only because of his boyfriend aligning himself between him and the stone elemental, once again protecting Dorian when he had it, Dorian had it.
The whole battle had slowed to that singular moment, the world around him becoming a soupy, sludge-like vision. A sick feeling grew in his stomach, and he knew that Orym would only assume that it was Dorian's inaction in the fight that he was saving him from. That somehow Dorian needed it.
The rest was a blur of autopilot, and it was only when he heard Orym ask if he was hurt while wincing through his own pain, that Dorian realized it was over. He had done so little, and not for lack of trying.
His expression was a hard line, everything in his body feeling incredibly tense, as he sheathed his scimitar and was at Orym's side, already ghosting a hand over his shoulder with a healing spell. "I'm not, but you are. Hold still for a moment."
Orym did as he was told, going still to let Dorian cast the magic that he definitely couldn't do himself. His eyes closed briefly as he felt the peculiar sensation of muscle healing and bruises retreating, something he had long since grown used to thanks to, well--exactly what had just happened. This was far from Orym's first fight, after all.
"Thank you," Orym said as the tingles dissipated, taking a moment to test out his shoulder with a gentle swing. It would probably still be a little sore come morning in the way that even magically healed injuries seemed to enjoy hanging on, but that was a fair trade in the grand scheme of things. In a practiced move, he sheathed his sword and stowed his shield away onto his back once more before turning to look more closely at Dorian.
He was tense, that much Orym could recognize right off the bat. It could have just been from the sudden burst of battle that interrupted an otherwise peaceful moment, but Orym's eyes were piercing as he took in Dorian before him. He searched for any hidden injuries, anything that he might have been downplaying. It wasn't like Dorian to do that, but he couldn't help but check.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, his gaze completing its journey and popping back up to Dorian's face.
The frustration was still there. And when Dorian tried to dig past it and find something else, what he discovered was his own feelings of inadequacy bubbling beneath the surface. It wasn't all Orym's fault; that was something that had been kneaded into his body since the beginning. His name literally reminded him that he was second every day. But there was something about Orym reminding him, unintentionally, still not trusting him enough even in the heat of battle that felt, that felt—
"Why did you do that?" Dorian asked, his mouth betraying him before his brain could remind him to be polite. That had been a habit too. And while politeness was not a weakness, it sometimes hid honesty. And he had always promised to be honest with Orym. Even when the truth was like pressing at a bruise.
Dorian tried to swallow it down, realizing he came out far more blunt than he intended. But for some reason, now that his voice had taken on the more angry tenor, it couldn't stop. "You have been training me, Orym, for something just like that, and—and you got hurt in the process." Dorian's hand clamped down on Orym's freshly healing shoulder, immediately regretted it, and drew his hand away.
"That wasn't supposed to happen. You're supposed to—you're supposed to trust me."
As Dorian spoke, Orym felt himself freezing, eyes on his boyfriend. He didn't know if he could recall ever being on the receiving end of that tone, at least not in a very, very long time. It was unexpected, the relief that had come with the end of the fight with the elementals rapidly fading into unease.
"I do trust you," Orym said quickly, because that was an important truth to throw out there. He could see how his actions might speak otherwise, though. When Dorian had first asked to be trained, he had expressed exactly why he wanted to be able to better defend himself and why he wanted Orym to teach him what he had been taught once upon a time in Zephrah. Orym had watched Dorian grow and flourish as he become more and more comfortable with a blade in his hand, had been impressed with how he had taken blows and punches during Fight Club and made it so close to the end.
He knew that Dorian could handle himself, but Orym had become protective for a reason, beyond the years of training. It had become ingrained, but even he knew that wasn't much of excuse. Still, he took a breath and his voice went quiet as he replied. "It's just--it's instinct, Dorian," Orym said, reaching up and pushing a hand through his hair. "It's not that I don't think you have skill."
Dorian knew it was instinct for Orym. He had been there when Orym had left—almost blindly—into battle because of that instinct. It had been etched into his bones since he could remember, Dorian recalled. But even then, all of the training felt pointless. If Orym was with him, there would be no need for any of it. He couldn't stop his boyfriend from doing something that came as naturally as breathing. But it still stung that the protectiveness Orym felt for him could be a blessing and a curse.
He knew that Orym, just even a piece of him, would think Dorian was unable to protect himself. And Dorian didn't know how he felt about it. And he couldn't seem to figure out all the specifics of it now. Not when Orym was looking as flustered about the topic as Dorian felt.
"Part of you does," Dorian finally said out loud. He didn't often voice his thoughts so unfiltered, but Dorian knew that Orym would eventually appreciate it. After they pushed past whatever this argument had become. Was it an argument? Dorian's heart felt heavy like they were fighting but it was more than that. "It's instinct but it's belief too. It's remembering an old version of me who needed that help. And I'm not saying I will never need it again, that I don't want it. But somewhere you have to give me a chance or I'll never stop being...past me to you."
And Orym would never stop being a previous version of himself either. They would operate forever on old information, never growing from incidents like this. Dorian couldn't bear for them to repeat a future narrative of their lives.
Later, Orym would appreciate this honesty coming from Dorian. It wasn't that he thought that his boyfriend was actually dishonest with him, but they were similar in that regard; much of what Orym expressed was through a filter, opening up about his emotions not being second nature. It had become easier with Dorian, but even so, sometimes he needed nudging. The fact that Dorian was voicing this and not setting it aside for the sake of feelings meant a great deal to Orym and spoke of good things in their relationship--even if they were having a tense conversation (argument) about a different faction of said relationship.
That would be a realization that Orym could have later, in retrospect and after replaying the conversation a few times in his head. For now, he was just grappling with what Dorian was saying and how he could possibly fix any of this.
He didn't necessarily believe what Dorian was saying, though he understood that part of that might have been denial wrapped up in Orym simply not wanting to have any doubt in his abilities. But he could admit that there was a very visceral thought within him at the thought of Dorian being injured. He'd seen it before, after all; how many battles had they been in together, especially back home? They had lived through them in one way or another, but he had witnessed Dorian take hits, seen him bloody and bruised, watched him fall to the ground unconscious. That had been back home, when they were just friends and he was trying to ignore the fledgling feelings in his heart.
Now? Now, he knew exactly how much he loved Dorian and he had loved like that once before. He had loved Will, he had become so much of his life, and then he had buried him because he hadn't been able to protect him. Though Orym had come far in accepting the journey his life had taken, it didn't mean he wanted to walk that path again. He did what he did to prevent that.
All the while, he understood that his friends, and especially Dorian, likewise didn't want to lose him, particularly not in sacrifice for them. They had not only talked about this, but Orym had witnessed the aftermath of those actions firsthand when he traveled to the future and saw a Dorian that had lost him due to his own protective actions. And yet, as his emotions bubbled within him and the thoughts churned, he couldn't help but say, "I can't lose you too, Dorian. I just can't."
Orym might have been able to keep his emotions in check and his features passive, but Dorian understood that pause and silence for what it was—inner turmoil. It was Orym sorting through things before he spoke his heart out loud. Dorian had seen it many times, in many instances. And that was his own instinct, to calculate what was troubling Orym in the moment so that he could be ready to face it together. Dorian had never thought it might be him.
But he knew what Orym had been through—losing Will had left a wound inside him that would never heal. And although Dorian tended to it, made sure that the wound wouldn't spread infection or become worse on Orym's metaphorical heart, he couldn't deny its existence. He couldn't pretend that it wasn't the driving motivation behind many of the things that Orym did today, consciously and unconsciously. But he also knew that if it dictated too much of how Orym lived, no one—not himself, or Orym, or their friends and family—would forgive themselves.
"You're not, Orym. You won't," Dorian said, quick and sure. "But I've told you before, and I will tell you again and again until you remember—" Dorian was fierce and unrelenting with his words, but they weren't harsh. Just the truth. "I will not let it be at the cost of your own life. I will not let you be hurt or die because you were protecting me. You think it is honorable, and that it's the right thing to do, and it is, it can be, I'm not denying you that."
He took Orym's face in his hands. This was the roughest Dorian had ever been with Orym because he was hurt and frustrated, devastated on a baser level, and so godsdamn in love with this man that he couldn't bear it. "I can't lose you either. And if it's for me, because of me, because instinct? I won't make it."
Part of Orym wanted to argue with Dorian, to tell him that he was far stronger than he was giving himself credit for. But he knew that wasn't the issue, not right now or ever. Yes, Dorian was strong, but Orym also recognized just how very wrecked he had been for years after his own loss and losing Will hadn't been this. Will hadn't died protecting him. Who was he to say how different the circumstances would have been? What would that journey of healing had looked like?
Besides that, it didn't matter. Orym wanted to protect and support Dorian, but by doing so in the manner that he knew best, he was failing at it from the other direction. He knew this, just from what Dorian had said earlier. Right now, Dorian didn't think that Orym believed in him, not as thoroughly as he claimed. That alone threatened to break Orym's heart.
It also brought up a number of his own concerns, ones that he'd thought when they had considered whether or not a relationship was the right way forward for them both. Before Dorian, Orym had thought that he'd had his chance at love and hadn't been looking for it when they did meet. He had worried that his baggage would be too much, that he couldn't ask Dorian to love him when he was carrying so much with him. He had accepted that Dorian was willing to not only take him as he was, but help him carry the weight of his past, but now that it was doing its best to remind them both that it existed, he wondered once more if he was asking too much of Dorian.
He didn't think so--gods, he hoped he wasn't--but the thought nevertheless was there.
Orym raised his hands, his small fingers digging into Dorian's as they held his face. "I'm sorry." It was little more than a murmur as he looked up to Dorian, green eyes swirling. It was hard to even think that not a handful of moments and a fight against elementals ago, it was just a regular, no stakes day. His expression shifted into one with an edge of desperation, something only someone who knew him very best, like Dorian, might recognize. "How can I fix this?"
"Orym," Dorian said, his voice was soft and quiet as he saw that desperation on his boyfriend's face. He had been through so much—an inordinate number of tragic and shapeless events that had been unfixable—that Dorian knew that this wasn't one of them. Not in the way Will's death, the harm to the Tempest, or the situation with Ludinus and Ruidus had been. Unstoppable, inevitably no matter how much they tried to defy fate.
Dorian blinked rapidly, finding that for a words guy he was coming up short. "I don't know. I really don't. I can't tell you to change your whole self, or to go against everything you stand for. And I'm not even—I"m not angry that you protected me. How can I be angry that you care? But you care so much, you love so much and it's going to—" He didn't want to say it, but Dorian knew it would kill Orym one day. And it would be his turn to understand inevitability.
He pressed his lips to Orym's forehead, and let his mouth there as he murmured, "I just need you to give me a chance to show that you don't have to keep doing it alone. And that I will not love you any less for it." He still kept Orym apart, didn't quite gather him up in his arms as he wanted to do, because they were on the precipice of something, intangible and intense. And if Dorian smoothed it over too quickly, he didn't think they would get to this point again. Orym might press it further down, and Dorian was already feeling the regret of being harsh.
"I think, I think there is a part of you that is afraid to give it up. Like if you aren't protecting someone, keeping them safe from every bit of harm, then all the other times also don't matter and that doesn't make sense, Orym. You know it doesn't."
Orym let all of Dorian's words wash over him, let them settle as he once again closed his eyes. There was something to be said about being seen, truly seen, by someone. Dorian had been that person for Orym for quite some time and it was both incredibly overwhelming and a relief, all wrapped up into one. It was overwhelming to know that someone really knew him and could see beyond the different fronts of control and stoicism that he'd learned to employ, but it was likewise a relief; if he could see through those walls, then why build them up?
Especially: why build them up when Dorian so clearly wanted to see beyond them in the first place? Orym had grown used to letting Dorian in, but this was one area he had been struggling in, quite clearly. Maybe it was time to at least try to give it up.
Because, at the end of the day, Dorian was right about so many things. He was afraid to give up that instinct to protect, not only to keep his loved ones safe, but because of that sense of control that came with it. No, he had no desire to actually control Dorian, but for as much as he did trust Dorian, it was hard to not fall back into old habits of trusting his own battle instincts more. And Dorian was right in that it didn't make sense, his need to protect to rationalize everything that had happened to him; that just wasn't how it worked and he knew it. And, of course, Dorian was also right in that Orym just needed to give him a chance. Maybe, just maybe, seeing him in action would alleviate the worries and concerns a bit, all while also letting Orym give Dorian agency--something that was particularly important to the halfling.
"You're right," Orym said, echoing his thoughts succinctly. He wanted desperately to take the step in and look for the comfort that was uniquely in Dorian's arms, but he held back, at least for now. Not until they worked through this. "I thought that I had worked past some of that, but I guess I'm more of a work in progress than I realized."
"It's not a bad thing," Dorian said quickly. He knew, from his own personal anxiety spirals, that I'm a work in progress was the ledge of a very dangerous train of thought. He wouldn't dare encourage Orym to continue with it. "And you don't have to agree with me. You can say I'm reaching or I'm so far off base or that I shouldn't be telling you how to feel or what to do. You're your own person, to make decisions and lean into your emotions and whatever else."
He was rambling now, as his own panic had started to creep in. Did he unintentionally tell Orym he didn't like the way he was? Was Orym now going to assume that anything less than what Dorian wanted would not be enough? There was a tense little furrow to his brow, easily spotted, despite the fact he was trying to taper down his growing concern. Dorian felt ridiculous; he had swung from anger and frustration to worry within a matter of moments.
And still, Dorian did not pull Orym in. He could sense they were both waiting for something; indefinable and unstructured with their emotions. They were heading toward a new milestone between them and Dorian couldn't, wouldn't, fuck it up. "I only want what's best for us. Equally. You carry one hundred percent all the time, I can take some. And it doesn't have to be half right away. Small steps, little by little. Work in progress and all."
"You're not reaching." Orym shook his head, reaching out and letting his gaze drop to one of his hands as it curled into the fabric of Dorian's shirt. It was a small step in seeking out that comfort that he could feel himself craving, but not so much that he was kicking down the wall that he recognized they were both respecting, at least for now.
"It's as I said," he continued, still not quite meeting Dorian's eyes. "I can't lose you, not like that. I don't know if I could go through it again." Unbidden, images of Dorian and Will rose to his mind, both sending a cold sensation down his spine. He pushed through it, then likewise pushed himself to look up and truly look at Dorian. "But that doesn't mean that I should put you through it, either. I did it in one future and I don't want to do it again."
Which, of course, led him along the paths of that first conversation they had shared, off the back of Dorian's nightmare and their shared knowledge of that terrible future. Dorian had been honest with Orym about his fears and Orym had accepted them and promised to help him train to alleviate some of them. He hadn't fully kept up his side of the bargain, though, in the moment when it mattered most.
"I'll try to be better. Small steps," he said, expression sincere, even as he added, "but just know that it's okay if you're angry with me, too."
Dorian's hand came to rest of Orym's on his shirt, running his fingers up and down his forearm in a comforting way. They were getting there, and that was all Dorian wanted. Needed, really. For them to continue to work on this. Some days it was going to be easy, simple, just two men in love. And some days it would be like this: tensions, honesty, things that were difficult to hear, but none the less said out of love. Dorian would, obviously, prefer for the days to be just easy but he was also a realist under his optimism and naivety. They couldn't grow if they didn't have the hard ones too.
"I was a little angry with you," Dorian said, but he smiled anyway. Tired with the realization that just before this they had been handling elementals. This was not how he expected things to go, but Dorian was certain that neither did Orym. "Less so now. Easing up by the second." Dorian squeezed Orym's elbow, encouraging him to let up on being hard on himself.
"I'll be better too. I shouldn't be keeping these things inside me until they burst." As Dorian said this, his face wrinkled up, critical of his own analogy. "Maybe not the right way to put it but you know. I know you know, and—" He huffed, and knelt down, sick of the height difference for this conversation. It had been nice to get all the words out but now Dorian was, more or less, done being the words guy. "Can I kiss you now?"
Orym didn't bother saying anything, instead opting to step forward and kiss Dorian in answer. He wasn't the words guy between the two of them, but he had always felt that his own actions spoke louder than the words that he could weave together. This conversation wasn't entirely over, he knew; it would be a living conversation, ongoing as they continued to learn one another in new ways and Orym pushed against the ever present impulses that his history had made him grow so comfortable with.
For now, though, he could kiss Dorian in the aftermath of what was, without a doubt, a relationship milestone. Their relationship was a healthy one and with that came the occasional disagreement or squabble, but this was far more than just needing space or a laugh over a silly misunderstanding. Fingers in Dorian's hair at the back of his head and kiss bordering on that desperation that had been on the edge of his expression before, Orym had meant to be a bit more chaste, but--well. That he wasn't ready to apologize for.
Instead, after a moment or two (or three), Orym took in a breath to murmur, "Thank you, Dor. For loving me enough to call me out."
Dorian wasn't surprised, per se, by the intensity of Orym's kiss. He had gotten wrapped up in the movement of their bodies and magnetism of their mouths before. But this was different; something that was sweet and kind, turning sharply into a released emotion. Something that was held back for a little too long, and now exposed. Dorian couldn't quite tell what Orym was pushing into their kiss but it was enough to settle the angry knot in his chest, and the concern that maybe this would be the crack in an inevitably crumbling foundation.
It wasn't. They were stronger than that.
Even as they pulled away, Dorian pressed a softer kiss to the corner of Orym's mouth. Smoothing away the urgency, and noting that it could still be there should Orym need to use it. But his smile was like the dawn, slow to spread and bright when it came. "You don't need to thank me for that, Orym. Calling you out is just a perk of being close enough to you, to know that I'm not crossing boundaries." He paused before adding, "I think. I hope?"
The question was toward Orym, but Dorian didn't wait for an answer. He kissed him again, letting his own apology for his anger bleed through. It was valid but misplaced, and he felt horrible for thinking the worst when Orym had only ever been the best. In every regard.
"We should head home, yeah? I know we are in a good place now, but I'm not quite ready to test it so soon after a previous battle?" And he wanted to look at Orym's shoulder better, use his lips to press a healing warmth where his magic couldn't.
An answer was right on the tip of Orym's tongue, but he put it off for one kiss more, at least for now. This was more gentle, matching Dorian while punctuating all of the promises and apologies that he had already made. More conversations would likely still be made, more boundaries may need setting, their relationship being an ever evolving thing, but Orym was sure that they would endure. He loved this man and he was willing to put in the work to keep being worthy of his love in return.
Backing away once more, this time with the intention of pausing until they were in the privacy of their home and not in the forest that would almost certainly view their staying in one place as an invitation for more elementals, Orym said, "I promise that I'll tell you, if you ever cross a boundary," as he wanted to make sure that was clear as possible. This whole conversation, particularly the tense parts, were all about boundaries, after all.
"But for now," he continued, stepping back as he took Dorian's hand and gave him a soft smile, "let's go home."