Orym prides himself on taking things in his stride. When everyone around him is freaking out, he knows how to centre himself and keep a group on task. He knows when to fade into the background and let other people talk, and when to interject and pull the important points to the forefront and force a decision to be made.
He can keep some of the most chaotic people he has ever met on task, and he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself for that.
Through all of this, however, Orym has seen some shit, too. With so much going on, however, he cannot afford to complicate matters. So he keeps quiet and focuses on others.
He is, after all, a master of the bait and switch.
Tonight, sandwiched between Dorian and Fearne, it takes a while to switch off his brain. A long while. The drink helps a bit, slowing his thoughts. But they still come.
What a clusterfuck today has been. They found useful information for Eshteross, spooking Danas in the process. Orym thought hiding in the warehouse was a good idea at the time, despite the fact he can’t see shit in the dark and couldn’t risk lighting a torch around flammable materials. Not to mention it would have rendered the stealth aspect pointless. Those extra minutes of delay may have cost Danas her life.
And Laudna. A perfectly nice lady, with a perfectly horrifying means of communication. Orym managed to dodge most of the Spider Queen’s bullshit back in the days she was trying to bully the Crown Keepers into wearing her vestige, but perhaps that left him wary all the same.
Watching his friends’ eyes trace the motions of spiders he couldn’t see. Dariax’s black eyes. What the fuck the alternate Fearne was. Everyone waking from horrifying dreams. Dorian’s extreme reactions to coming close to the circlet--vomiting black, the spontaneous nosebleeds. The terrifying moment when he stopped reacting. His defensiveness when Orym made him stop handling the crown, and Orym coming to the horrible realisation that Lolth was tangling Dorian in her web more and more each day.
And then, after everything, it was Opal who gave in to save her sister. He can’t fault her for that. In her position, he may have been just as tempted.
They’ve had time to come to terms with that situation. Dariax is a good protector and the Spider Queen seems somewhat mollified for the moment, which dulls Orym’s guilt for leaving the two of them alone, just a little bit.
Maybe the whole ordeal has left Orym more sensitive to things like being locked in the dark and hearing horrible whispers in his head (even knowing it was just Laudna, who probably didn’t do it on purpose), and then getting his ass kicked, almost killed, trapped in magical darkness, and almost killed again. Better him than one of the others.
Orym knows how to commit. How to stay the course and get things done. But there’s nothing to be done right now but sleep.
And, so, he dreams.
It’s dark. Fuck’s sake. Not again. Orym reaches for his pack, hoping there’s a torch in there. He finds one, pulls it out. Calls on what little druidic magic he knows to light it because fuck this .
He feels the magic connect and knows the torch is lit. He can feel the heat, but the light does not penetrate the darkness around him. So he stands still and listens.
Clusters of whispers, too faint to understand. All around. Impossible to pick out a direction. Maybe they’re out in the darkness. Maybe they’re in his head.
A light weight drops onto his shoulder. Movement. It tickles. A slim appendage touches his neck. Orym freezes, barely breathing. The whispers grow. One word becomes audible.
Orym.
Orym Orym Orym Orym Orrrrrrrrym ORym Orym ORYm Orym orym ORYM
The whispers overwhelm his senses until he cannot concentrate on his surroundings at all. Tiny teeth bite into his neck.
He can’t breathe.
Hands on his shoulders, shaking roughly. More whispers. Gods, not more whispers.
“Orym.” A male voice.
“Orym.” A high, feminine voice.
“Orym, it’s okay. You can wake up now.”
He comes to. The hands on his shoulders. Those two voices are real. The other whispers are gone. He lies still. Because he is lying down now.
His breaths are loud and not enough. A hand on his forehead.
“You’re okay, Orym.” Dorian’s voice. “You’re okay.”
A finger snap, and a few words muttered from Fearne, and there’s a lit candle sending dim light through the inn room. Orym presses his fingers to the side of his neck; there is no bite mark.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Fearne asks.
“Bad dream.”
“Normal bad, or Spider Queen bad?” asks Dorian.
“Normal bad, I think.” Orym laughs; it’s not funny. “Fucked up day. Bound to happen eventually, I guess. I don’t think I want to talk about it.” He gets up and finds his shoes.
Dorian follows him. “Where are you going?”
“Downstairs.” Feeling uneasy, Orym pauses before the rest of his armour. It only takes a minute to put it on, so he starts on it.
“I have whiskey in my bag if that’s what you want,” said Fearne. “No milk, though.”
Dorian makes that half-sigh, half-groan he makes when uncomfortable but not willing to speak of it.
Orym considers; his original plan was to sit at the bar and down a few drinks until his brain felt fuzzy again, but he doesn’t really want to make the journey when he’s still pretty sore. He sets down his armour.
“That’ll work.”
Fearne fishes the bottle out of her bag while Dorian coaxes Orym back to bed. They curl up against the wall together and Dorian tucks Orym’s head beneath his chin. Orym doesn’t want to examine how it makes him feel.
“Go easy, okay?” Dorian says as Fearne hands over the bottle. She flops onto the bed and is back asleep in seconds. Orym envies her for that.
He takes a hearty swig of the whisky, coughing a little as it burns. This is real. He is definitely awake. He wordlessly passes the bottle to Dorian, who immediately makes him feel better by coughing far worse.
“Agh, that’s intense.”
“Does the job,” Orym mutters, taking the bottle back. He feels a little guilty for his grumpiness. Dorian has a huge issue with needing to be liked, and can take things like this personally. Orym’s not sure he has the capacity to filter himself to spare his feelings right now.
They pass the bottle back and forth in silence for a while. Orym, being smaller, feels the effects of it first. His brain fuzzes over as his body warms up and limbs loosen. Fearne is snoring. It’s familiar and comforting. Dorian still has Orym tucked against him. There are lots of ways Orym could feel about that and he’s not sure he can handle any of them.
“Thank you,” he says. “For waking me.” And for everything else today, but Orym has already thanked him for that.
“Glad I could help,” Dorian says warmly. As he often does, Dorian packs as much affection as he can into the shortest of sentences.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, but Orym seriously considers kissing him. He still has enough self-control to decide it’s a bad idea. For the moment.
“Are you doing okay?” Dorian asks him.
“I’m doing better, I think.”
“Maybe you’ve had enough.”
“Yeah.” Orym caps the bottle, and Dorian sets it aside for him. “I think I have some shit to work through. New shit.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. Tell us if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“You’re doing a lot already.” Orym is grateful that Dorian checked in with him before he went into the warehouse, even if Orym was already set on the course of action despite his misgivings. He’s sneakier than most of the party; it had to be him.
“Drunk enough to talk about it?”
“Heh. Maybe. Ask me.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What was the dream about?”
Parts of it are a little hazy, but he remembers the core of it. “I was stuck in the dark again. Whispers. Spider bullshit. It was a lot.” He sighs. “I don’t want this to become a problem.”
“Tell you what: I’ll stick close to you.”
“You usually do.”
“Closer. If the party splits again, I’m going with you.”
“Thank you.”
“And if we see a spider, we let someone else deal with it. I mean, Fearne isn’t perturbed by anything .”
Orym chuckles. “I think I can kill a spider. Might make me feel better.”
“Well, I guess that’s one problem you can stab.”
Orym’s favourite kind of problem is one he can stab. “Works for me.”
Dorian shifts a little, bundling Orym up in the nearest blanket not claimed by Fearne. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll be right here.” He doesn’t let go of Orym. That’s okay. He likes it here. He’ll give himself that much, at least.
It’s actually pretty comfortable; the Crown Keepers have done their fair share of cuddle piles. At least they have a bed this time. The blanket keeps Orym warm, but Dorian runs a little cooler than most people, which prevents this position from getting too stifling. Orym curls up a little and Dorian cradles him, just a little. This would be condescending from some people, given Orym’s size, but Dorian has always respected him.
It’s easy enough to drift off to sleep like this. No nightmares this time.
Morning comes, and Orym is okay. His head pounds and there are a few lingering aches, but that’s nothing a few stretches and mouthfuls of breakfast won’t fix. He starts on those stretches while Dorian grumbles into a pillow. Fearne is already out.
There is a strange energy to the morning. Orym isn’t sure how to place it.
Dorian forces himself into a sitting position after a while, pouring two cups of water. He passes one to Orym; their fingers touch. Orym likes it.
“How are you feeling?” Dorian asks him.
“Better. Not quite good as new, but good enough.” Orym pounds back the water and sets the cup aside, rolling tension out of his shoulders. Dorian is watching him, mouth slightly open and the corners of his lips raised in a lazy smile.
“I’m glad,” he replies softly. Orym watches him back. There is a gravity between them, but Orym has been down this road before and has the heartache as a souvenir.
He needs more time.
Dorian seems to remember the cup in his hands, clumsily downing the water and spilling it all over himself. Orym doesn’t laugh, but it’s a close thing.
“Thank you for respecting my dignity,” Dorian says, setting the cup down with excessive care. “Uhhhh, we should get dressed.”
“We should.” Orym watches him for a moment longer, noting the subtle splash of colour in Dorian’s cheeks and the wave of affection that overcomes him at the sight. Then he breaks away.
The events that follow will challenge them, stretch them to their limits, and possibly stretch their bond with each other as well. But… maybe one day. When the time is right.
Orym lets himself have a little bit of hope.