InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Jish!"

orym loves pie 🥧 and could kill you ⚔️ (littlemoon) wrote in valloic,
@ 2024-08-08 20:15:00

Entry tags:

!: action/thread/log, critical role: dorian storm, critical role: orym

Log: Dorym

Dorian & Orym

WHO Dorian Storm and Orym
WHERE Outside the Crossed Quills
WHEN Evening of August 8
WHAT Orym and Dorian find themselves with new memories, while the latter is performing on stage.
STATUS Complete
ART CREDIT 👋
WARNINGS Spoilers through CR C3E98. Discussion of sibling and friend death, grief. Bit of a panic attack. Emotional hurt/comfort, more or less.

Dorian, the professional, kept strumming—muscle memory, after all—but it all collapsed immediately after that. Because this time, the memories weren't one sided.

Though Orym frequently tagged along with Dorian to watch him perform at the Crossed Quills, he had yet to grow tired of it—and doubted that he ever would. It wasn't only that he liked watching and listening to Dorian perform, which he most certainly did whether that be with him on a stage or in the comfort of their own home as he strummed his lute and perfected different tunes, but he just as much enjoyed watching other people watch Dorian. Seeing them sing along with the music or find the beat and dance to themselves or with someone else and just appreciate his incredibly talented boyfriend, it just did things to Orym's heart. He appreciated everything there was to Dorian and he did his best to make sure that he always knew it, but Orym was always glad to see others appreciate his gifts, too. And that's where Orym was that particularly fateful evening, seated in his usual spot that was close enough to Dorian that he stayed in view, but situated in such a way that he could people watch, too. He was doing a bit of that at the moment, watching as an older gentleman pulled his partner to their feat so the two could dance along to the song Dorian was currently strumming, a small smile lingering on his lips even as he took a sip of his ale. It was a sweet moment, one that he was glad to get to witness, and his gaze swiveled over to Dorian to check that he had also noticed. As soon as Orym's eyes fell onto Dorian, though, it felt like the world around him just slowed to a stop. Though all anyone would have seen had they looked at him was a halfling rapidly blinking into space with a confused expression set to his furrowed brow, his mind was back in Exandria as weeks of memories flooded into being. They started with his waking up in Issylra with Ashton and Laudna, before they were joined by Prism, Deni$e, and Bor'Dor, the latter of which having brought another level of real to the conflict that Orym had found himself in. Then he was in Zephrah, helping the Tempest and being given a title by her due to his accomplishments, while taking time to see his family and visiting the resting place of Will and Derrig. Seeing the Shattered Teeth for the first time to help Ashton on their quest to understanding their past, which only led to watching them nearly die again and again and again—the aftermath of which being a sojourn to the feywild, confessions and trust exercises, and Orym making a deal with Fearne's grandmother, trading his future for the promised survival of his family. And then they went to the moon. The moon, which had been exciting and interesting and then utterly devastating when their mission came to a close and their group returned to the surface of Exandria without their optimistic and cheerful cleric. Orym could almost feel the sending stone gripped in his hand as he made his final message to Dorian—final only because, only a short while after he made it, they had been reunited. More came after that, only days but they were days that had been filled with so many revelations and confessions and near death experiences in the frozen wastelands of Eiselcross, but all Orym could do as he sat a world away in the well worn seat of the Cross Quills, his spine straight and his shoulder tense, was stare at Dorian, alarm and concern clear on his face. Dorian was a professional. Always had been, always would be. Playing in the Crossed Quills as their featured musician tended to come with perks too: an open tab, a free meal, and all the tips he could muster on a good, rowdy night. The added bonus was that his boyfriend could come and visit him any time he wanted. And Dorian could spend the evening subtly flirting with him across the room. And maybe he should have been winking at patrons with deep pockets or ones who were a little too drunk to realize that was a gold instead of a silver, but money was the least of his worries. His most professional feat was making sure Orym was having a good time, even if they weren't touching. He only looked away for a moment, mostly because there was a dancing couple in his line of sight to Orym, but when he looked back up, there was a stricken look across his boyfriend's face. He knew that look. It came in the mornings, it came when he was out of bed before Dorian to work out the memories, it came when they least expected it. Dorian, the professional, kept strumming—muscle memory, after all—but it all collapsed immediately after that. Because this time, the memories weren't one sided. There was something terrifying to experiencing events you were and weren't there for. He had been so careful to tend to Orym in his time of need, of trying to listen and work out all the details so that they didn't seem so impossibly far away. But Dorian, when faced with his own memory issue, fumbled the pass. The lyre played an discordant note, and Dorian couldn't believe his own hands had done it. He was disassociating in the worst way, a mix of sadness and anger at the unfairness of it crashed down. Morrighan. Opal. Fy'ra. Dariax. Cyrus. Cyrus. Cyrus. His brother. His brother was dead and the grief, the rawness of the memories stuck to him. The music stopped. Dorian stood up. In his panicked state, he managed to indicate to Orym—through his terrified eyes, or his trembling hand or some other non-verbal boyfriend language—to meet him out back. And then just left the stage, the opposite of professional. But Dorian didn't care because he couldn't breathe, and hoped the backdoor to the Crossed Quills would bring the air he needed. But he couldn't seem to breathe out here either. Not until he saw Orym. Not until Orym told him it was okay. Something very complicated and somehow incredibly simple trapezed about in Orym's chest and mind as he watched and understood what had just happened to Dorian. Between the two of them, Orym had been the only one to be gifted these memories, for ill or good. In over two years, Dorian had been personally left in the dark, with Orym giving him secondhand details as he went over the tales of what Bells Hells had gotten themselves into back home. And while Orym couldn't know yet just everything that Dorian now remembered, he thought he could jump to very fair and traumatic conclusions as he watched Dorian panic and hurry off the stage. Orym fished out some money to leave on his table, far more than the ale and a tip required but it was the last thing on his mind. There was confused murmuring from the patrons around him, but he simply gave a grave look to the bartender; they seemed just as confused, but gave a nod of understanding as Orym moved to rush after Dorian. He was sure they would smooth things over with the crowd, a worry only because he didn't want it to possibly be one more thing weighing on Dorian. He burst from the backdoor of the tavern only a handful or two moments after Dorian did, his attention immediately on his boyfriend. No longer as tall has he inexplicably had been not too long ago, he kicked a crate closer to where Dorian stood and easily hopped on top of it, closing at least some of the height distance between himself and Dorian. "Dor." Orym's voice was his usual quiet calm, the immediate need to care for Dorian making it easy for him to pack away his own complex emotions at the moment. He held out his hands in offering, then, in case he needed the reminder, "I'm here." There were the painful, horrible seconds when Orym wasn't there. And then suddenly he was, and Dorian threw himself into his arms. I'm here were the sweetest two words that Dorian could hear in the moment, and felt like the world stopped, the memories were far away, and nothing else mattered except pulling Orym close and holding him forever. He should have asked about how he was tall again, or what was happening or if his memories were just as miserable—Dorian saw the look in Orym's eyes, too. He wasn't experiencing this all alone. Maybe that was better, or maybe that was worse. "Is it always like this?" Dorian whispered into Orym's hair, feeling nauseated and miserable. His mind kept sticking to the grief of it, the kind that he had packed down, deep, to compartmentalize in Exandria but was so fresh and new here. Dorian had abandoned that neat little package of loss when the memories flooded his mind. He felt it fresh and real like it had just happened. It did just happen for him. The crush of realization, the split between Vallo and home was almost too much. "It can't always be like this," Dorian said again. He was shaking now, but the night wasn't even that cold. That should have been an indication of how unwell he was with the memories and how now—even in his grief—he worried about Orym. How he had always been there for the updates, but this felt too big. It proved so much strength of his boyfriend to do this multiple times. He felt like crying at the unfairness. After holding fast to Orym, feeling on the verge of tears and trying not to let them free, he finally pulled away, just enough to hold his face. To look at him in earnest and make sure this was not some dream either. Dorian's dreams were never this nightmarish. "I remember so much, Orym. So much happened, and I lost—he's... but you, you're here." Dorian couldn't get the words out, all stuck in his throat, but Orym was here now and there then, and it's all that got him through, really. "I'm here," Orym repeated, confirming it for Dorian, yes, but also a bit for himself. It was always a disorienting sensation, remembering events that he hadn't physically lived. It felt like he did; if he took the time to do a once over of his body, he had to assume that there was a new tattoo on his shoulder beneath his shirt and new scars to add to the litany that already decorated his body. But those two words felt important. A truth and a promise. Orym was here with Dorian in Vallo, but he was also with him in Exandria. They had each other in both places, these memories being a confirmation of what they had only hoped for months and years: it really had been see you later. "It isn't always like this," he continued, his hands reaching to circle around Dorian's wrists where his own hands held Orym's face. "It's never easy, but this was—this was a lot, sweetheart, and I'm so sorry that so much is hitting you at once." It felt like he could have said so much more, but instead his expression simply turned pained with empathy and a too deep understanding of loss. Still, he added, "I'm not going anywhere, though." Another promise, this time one that he couldn't and shouldn't make, but Orym would do everything in his power to keep it. Dorian nodded, because he couldn't seem to do anything else. Orym had him, and it would be okay, but the loss was too much. He spent so much of his time in Vallo enjoying his life, in a blissful ignorance. Dorian didn't think karma was so cruel, and this wasn't to punish him. But it was a stark reminder that life didn't stop while they were here. His happiness would always be met with a edge of sorrow. Dorian's past felt so far away because of the Bells Hells, because of Orym, but this—this was a lot. The guilt was too much. He gathered Orym in his arms, closer somehow. Was that even possible? He couldn't lose him too, and even though Orym promised him that he wasn't going anywhere, that was never up to them, was it? "I never wanted, I never wanted to..." Dorian started, then stopped. He never wanted Cyrus to be collateral damage. He never wanted to lose his brother because of his mistakes. But now it felt like the burden he had shrugged off was inevitable, that it would find Dorian in the only way it knew how and strong arm him back into no longer being the second son. "He shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have dragged him into this," Dorian said knowing that Cyrus would have gone anyway. Made his own trouble. Found his own path. "What if, what if it happens again? What if we lose more? What if we can't stop it Orym? I need to know we can stop it, I need you to be safe too." Dorian squeezed his eyes tight, and tears fell. Emotion was high and difficult to contain. Even though he knew it was an impossible ask, Dorian looked to Orym—steady as every thing wavered. "What are we going to do?" Orym's immediately reaction was to tell Dorian that it wasn't his fault, because it wasn't his fault. He wasn't there, of course, and only knew what had happened to Cyrus based on his memories of what Dorian had told them all back home, but it had sounded as though they were up against a betrayer god, one that had been haunting the Crown Keepers since before they had chosen the name Crown Keepers. Finding and deciding to keep that fucking crown was just one thing on Orym's long list of regrets, having felt the near wedge that it had put between himself and Dorian once upon a time and then everything that the Spider Queen had done to Opal. And at the end of the day, no: Cyrus probably ought not to have been there. He was, though, and that goddess had taken him away from Dorian, just as Otohan had taken FCG from them all—speaking of items on Orym's long list of regrets. Yet one more person he had been unable to protect from the so-called Legend of the Peaks. Orym pulled back from Dorian, only enough to look at his face and see those tears there. He felt his heart shatter in his chest at the sight, immediately course correcting and tugging Dorian back in, arms circling around neck as he held him close. "We're going to keep fighting and do everything we can to stop it. You, me, the others—after all we've lost or given up or bargained away, I know we're all going to take care of each other, as well as we can." It wasn't a promise that they wouldn't lose more, because the gods themselves didn't even know what their odds looked like. Orym himself, he remembered now, was one of those that had entered a bargain that he didn't quite understand, all for the hope of protecting the people he loved, only to still lose one of those people on the moon. He turned his head, burying his face in Dorian's hair before he murmured, "It can't be meaningless." What was Dorian supposed to do? With Orym telling him that they were going to keep fighting, he should have felt invincible. He always did before, but right now it didn't smooth away all the worry or sadness like it usually did. It wasn't Orym's fault. There would be no getting over this, he was fundamentally changed and it hurt all the way down. Not just because Dorian, if he ever went back to Exandria, would be returning to a place without his brother, but because there would be nothing he could do about it. He had asked Keyleth to bring his body back, but it would be too long. It wouldn't be anything but a duty to not leave him behind for one last time. He had always been leaving his brother behind. He also felt a little hopeless here. Would that feeling go away? Would he always be torn between wanting to go home or stay in the bliss of domesticity he carved out with Orym? Did he deserve it? Would it now always be overshadowed by losing people he couldn't save? These weren't decisions that Dorian had to make now, but anxiety burned right next to the grief. He couldn't help but think about them. It can't be meaningless, Orym said and Dorian nodded right alongside it. It couldn't be, or then living would be meaningless. Then it wouldn't matter what they said or did, the inevitable end would just come. Maybe that was where the revenge came from as he cast Geas on the spider. Maybe it was the fight for meaning. The thought felt too big for Dorian to figure out now. He buried his face back into Orym. He didn't cry before, but he was crying now. In the safety of the one person who understood. "Do you think the others—it happened to the others?" Dorian asked. The memories. Did they remember too? Orym closed his eyes, thinking back on the handful of times he had been gifted memories from home as he let his fingers card into Dorian's hair, stroking through it again and again in what he hoped was a comforting way. Many of those times, he had been alone in remembering; there had been times with Laudna and Imogen, before they had been taken from them, and another with Ashton, where he hadn't been alone, but largely it had been Orym, remembering and conveying the usually bad news that came along with it all. There was a chance, though. It happened before and he knew that it wouldn't be unique to them if it happened again. "If we both remembered," he said, tipping his head to the side to press gently to Dorian's, "they may have, too." He could just imagine the chaos at the house if the rest of them did, especially with FCG. It had been painful to remember his own death, but Orym had come back from it, partially in thanks to FCG's own magic. A piercing sensation went through him at the though and he dragged himself back to the present, to this moment here, with Dorian. He cared very much about what was happening to his friends, but Dorian came first. "We don't have to find out for sure until you're ready, though. As long as you need, you can have it and I'll be right here with you." Later, when Dorian was not so bombarded with the immediacy of the memories, he would think back about this moment. Where Orym held him and stroked his hair and leaned his head against his temple in an effort to be soothing. And Dorian would think about how kind and wonderful and generous his boyfriend was, when experiencing something traumatic together. He felt a little poorly presently for not being as equally comforting and soothing back, and it only made Dorian cling tighter to Orym then, as if he could leech off the good feelings he was getting and give them back through touching alone. He hoped he could, he wanted to. "I don't know if I could stand out here all night," Dorian said softly, his voice watery and unsteady. He knew that he didn't want to go back inside to the Crossed Quills. He knew that he would have to explain. And he would but later. But that felt like an impossible feat to accomplish right now. "If they don't know, then we'll have to tell them." Dorian paused, not sure if that was the right course of action either. If they didn't know, would they be the ones to have to tell them? To tell FCG? "They'll know something is wrong if we don't. I'm not good at hiding things, they're all so perceptive." Never more than Orym, but he was an exception to the rule. Maybe he could help Dorian figure out what to do, perceive him. Because even as Dorian suggested they go home and confide in their friends, it also didn't feel right. Hesitating before he replied, Orym considered what the best option might be. He could tell that Dorian was perhaps not in the best state of mind to have to deliver bad news. It made sense; even in Exandria, he could tell just how much compartmentalizing Dorian had to have been doing as he told the rest of Bells Hells about what had happened with Cyrus and the other Crown Keepers. In Exandria, though, he'd had at least some time to work through it mentally to get to that point. Was it healthy? Likely not. Did Orym have any room to judge? Definitely not. But this was Vallo, not Exandria. Dorian was grappling with memories as though he'd just lived them, something Orym was all too keenly aware of how it felt. And unlike in Exandria, Orym had the time and resources and added familiarity with Dorian to try his best to help him. "They are perceptive, you're right," Orym agreed. "There's no use hiding anything, not that I think either of us really want to." He turned his face just enough to press a gentle kiss to Dorian's cheek. "But I know they won't hold it against us, if we need a night to just think about it all and try and sort out our minds, a bit." The pain was still there. Dorian could feel it underneath his skin, in the back and front of his mind. He couldn't seem to unthink the memories, the loss that was permeating through everything. Part of him wanted to hide, as if that would keep the memories away. But Dorian, usually optimistic and curious, knew the reality wasn't the same thing. He couldn't get away from it. And if he was being honest with himself, he knew that he didn't want to. He couldn't forget his brother, being alive or being. Or being— Dorian got stuck on the thought again. He kissed Orym's cheek in return, soft and a little distracted. He just didn't know what to do, but going through the motions, and mirroring what his boyfriend was doing seemed helpful. Kept him moving forward with one foot after the other. He would be okay eventually, but he didn't want to be okay right now. "It's so much to say, maybe we. Maybe... " Dorian trailed off, not really sure how to explain any of this to their friends. He wondered how Orym did it every time. Dorian had been an attentive listener but this felt all-encompassing. "We should have—" Dorian sniffed, wiped at his face, trying to be presentable. It was silly when Orym was there and wouldn't care. "We should have a plan. How to tell them. How do you tell someone that the world is ending and that we lost people we never got the chance to save?" Because it was true, whether or not Dorian was here in Vallo or not, he couldn't stop Cyrus from dying. Orym couldn't save FCG. A plan. That was something borderline tangible that Orym could wrap his head around, both to comfort himself and, he thought, Dorian. "Well," he started, because that was as good a place as any. At the same time, Orym reached out, his small hands and fingers gentle as he pushed Dorian's hair back behind his ears and helped wipe his cheeks free of moisture. It wasn't that his being less than totally put together bothered Orym, of course; he tended to very much like watching Dorian shed that presentation and become a little undone and rumpled. He thought that it might help Dorian in the moment, however. That it might center him, at least for a bit. If he could help him find added comfort, Orym was going to give it to him. Once done, his hands stilled, one on Dorian's shoulder, the other placed at his throat, thumb brushing along his sharp jawline. "I think we just take it one moment at a time. First we'll make sure they're all here and safe, then we can find out what they might already know. And if we need to tell them more, then we'll do our best to fill them in with as much information as they want, gently. If they already know, then we'll just be there for each other." It's what family did, after all. "I know it's a lot of bad, sweetheart," Orym continued, voice dropping further to a gentle murmur. "But we'll get through this, you and me. Together, yeah? Just like always." Dorian nodded, because he didn't feel like he could argue. Not because he wanted to, but the exhaustion of the memories were making everything more difficult. His whole body felt heavier with the knowledge. It was a weight he wasn't ready to carry, but was anyone? He could think of all the other times when he offered to hold Orym up, and never realized how much he would be carrying after. He had already asked if it was always like this, but now he wanted to ask it again: was it always like this to lose someone? To lose multiple people? But the words were stuck in his throat. Words, again, were failing him. "Together," Dorian said, glancing down to the ground and forcing himself to meet Orym's eyes. He needed that strength now too. Was it selfish to ask for so much from his boyfriend who was suffering the same issues at the moment? He would worry about it later, when the anxiety and the concern plagued him. Dorian didn't think he would be sleeping tonight anyway. Too many memories to sort through, too many regrets to pull apart. Even if Orym would certainly keep him from doing so. "Just like always." Dorian was softer when he spoke again, and reached for Orym's hand. He needed someone to guide him away from here. And he knew Orym could, on steady feet. Something settled within Orym as he reached back, meeting Dorian halfway and taking his hand in return. He brushed his lips across Dorian's knuckles once, twice, then slipped their fingers together with a gentle squeeze, each action thoughtful and a little calculated in his attempts to just be as comforting and reassuring as he possibly could. Later, Orym would sit with his feelings and let himself truly feel them. It would be overwhelming, but he had gone through so much already. Surely, he would rationalize (perhaps not at all healthily), his slight halfling shoulders could take on a bit more. For now, though, his focus was here, with Dorian, right where he was confident it belonged. His slight halfling shoulders could take on far more, if it was Dorian's troubles he was shouldering. One more squeeze, then Orym hopped off the crate and back to his normal size, hand still firmly keeping him connected to Dorian. "Let's go."

CODING