The silence once the five of them are left alone in the guest room is deafening. The sole window faces away from the moon, leaving the room in near total darkness. Orym reaches up to grab Fearne’s hand to make sure he’s at least holding onto something. Lord Eshteross had said he removed all the traps, but it didn’t hurt to be too cautious. He gives Fearne’s hand a squeeze and then steps forward, letting his grip slacken. She isn’t quite pulled forward with him, but is still close enough that she could yank him back if anything happens.
“It looks…safe.” Laudna says brightly, though the floorboards creak ominously as she steps up beside him. "There’re two beds, it looks like. A rug.”
“Oh, let me.” Imogen quickly ruffles through her bag, and in a moment the air crackles with energy. Orym presses back, just in case, but after a moment the room floods with pink light as four orbs come up into the four corners of the room. The smell of ozone still has his nerves on edge, but he keeps his voice calm as he turns to face her. “Thank you.”
“Oh, it was nothin’.” The human tucks a strand behind her ear and glances back to Laudna. “Well, after ya’ll.”
“Right.” He releases his grip on Fearne’s hand and pads into the room. It looks normal—there are marks on the floor from where the swords punctured; the rug is nearly ruined beyond repair. Other than that, it really is normal. Two beds, just as Laudna had said. There’s a bookshelf tucked into one corner that’s empty. The window on the far wall. A pile of blankets to one side. Barren and lifeless. Like a corpse, a voice whispers in the back of his mind. He rubs his hands against his pants like the blood is still on them, and turns back to the group.
Dorian and Fearne are still hanging in the doorway, with Imogen having made her way to Laudna. The other woman is settling her on the bed, fussing lightly over her. “Coming?” He calls to Dorian and Fearne.
“We should make a nest.” Fearne says, stepping into the room.
“A nest?” Laudna echoes, humming in thought. “Like rats?”
“Oh, yes.” Fearne quickly agrees, the sound of her hooves softened by the rug. “It would be lovely.”
“What Fearne is trying to say is that we should push the beds together and sleep in a pile, more or less. It does help, after…stressful situations. To be close to people you trust. Not to say you trust us, of course! I don’t mean to presume.”
“You’re not presuming. We trust you.” Imogen says softly, her grip on Laudna’s hand is so tight they’re almost the same shade. “That sounds lovely, Fearne. How can we help?”
“Oh, well, let’s start with the beds. We’ll push this one over, so pull your feet up. We wouldn’t want to accidentally crush them.”
Imogen flinches minutely, but does as Fearne says. Orym lets Fearne and Dorian work on the bed, moving towards the pile of blankets that had been provided for them. He nearly jumps at the sudden presence behind him, turning to see Laudna looming over him. “Let me help you with that.”
“Right. Thanks.” He hands her a few, noticing the way her arms buckle after giving her a few. Still, her grin doesn’t let up, and she carries them over. Imogen rises to her knees to take them from her, whispering something that Orym can’t quite catch. There’s a fondness to it, though, because Laudna simply laughs and reaches up to cup Imogen’s cheek. It feels intimate, and he turns away. Not like they can avoid intimacy much longer, sleeping together like this. Fearne has moved to the bed and started to coax flowering vines and plants from her staff to wind around the bedframe. “They aren’t poisonous.” She announces, fingers guiding a shock of purple to climb higher on the wall. “It’s just some plants and herbs for sleep. Protection. It can help trick the mind into believing it’s safer.” She pauses for a moment, an intensity to her expression that makes him straighten to attention. “Of course, we’re all safe here. I’ll kill anything that tries to hurt you. There’s a reason I’m called Fearne, you know.”
“Oh?” Laudna leans forward, placing a hand on the bedpost to steady her as she watches Fearne in fascination. The plants, eager for another thing to climb, quickly start making their way up her arm.
“Ferns are supposed to protect people from evil. They can unlock doors that were once closed, can lead the way to gold if you throw the seeds in midsummer. My parents believed I was destined to protect the Feywild. Or at least, the door to it. That, and with the way they spelled my name, it was a warning to all that I should be feared. An unkillable fern.” She doesn’t look at them as she talks, eyes trained on her namesake plant growing underneath her fingers, growing large enough that Orym thinks she might be trying to use them to make a canopy for the beds.
“Fascinating.” Laudna coos, reaching down to pull Pâté up to inspect the flora growing around her hand.
“You don’t have to do it alone.” Dorian whispers, reaching up to place a hand on her back. “We’ll all protect one another.”
“I do hope Ashton and Letters will be alright,” Imogen frets, wringing her hands together.
“They’ll be alright. Ashton takes no shit and Fresh Cut Grass will heal him if anything gets too rough. We’ll see them both in the morning. Worrying won’t do you any good.” The moment Laudna places a hand on Imogen’s shoulders, the woman settles, leaning into the touch. The plants on Laudna’s hand crawl up onto Imogen, curling delicately around her neck. Sprouts of lavender and chamomile begin to blossom, trying their best to soothe the young woman. Imogen’s exhaustion is apparent, the nerves and shock of her dream not quite leaving her system. Still, they seem to have some affect, if the way she sags into Laudna is any indication.
“Come on up, Orym. Make yourself comfortable.” Dorian pats an empty space beside him, shifting into a crossed-legged position. He leans forward to take the blankets from him, smiling. It isn’t hard to see the strain in it, nor is it difficult to see the trembling in his hands. But Dorian says nothing, and Orym doesn’t push. Tomorrow. They can process and formulate a plan tomorrow. He settles next to Dorian, pulling one of the blankets from the top of the pile and passing it to him. “Here. For the nest.”
“Right.” Dorian chuckles, glancing up at Fearne. “Do you want the blankets a specific way? You’re particular when it comes to our bed.”
“Oh, just pile them around. Make them nice.” Fearne blinks at him owlishly, humming in thought. “We can just throw them around until we’re comfortable. It’s not too cold.”
“No, it’s not. And you’re a fearnance.” Dorian teases. The group bursts into varying degrees of giggles and laughter, and some of the tension has begun to ease. Imogen and Laudna begin arranging their blankets, and Fearne finishes the last of the plants to come and dictate how they’re arranged. She bullies Dorian into laying down, Orym settling beside him. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to take her usual position across from him, but instead scootches back towards the foot of the bed. “I’ll only be a moment,” she promises when he gives her a look. “You can close your eyes, if you don’t want to look.”
“Fearne, please keep your clothes on,” Dorian begs, a choked noise coming out with the first sound of what sounds like bones breaking. “Oh.”
“Is she alright?” Imogen asks, the lights flickering dangerously. “Fearne?”
“She’s just changing shape.” Orym explains, though it clearly doesn’t explain very much if Imogen’s confusion (and Laudna’s terrifying fascination) are anything to go on. “It’s a druid thing. Maybe a Fey thing, too. Definitely a Fearne thing. It doesn’t hurt her. And she’ll change back in an hour at the latest.”
“You’re fascinating,” Laudna praises, watching the pull of Fearne’s muscle and the cracking of bones as her body changes shape. It is fascinating, if not slightly horrific, to watch Fearne’s bones align and body take shape. She’s putting on a show—normally it happens in a puff of smoke and a blast of fire. That, or she’s finally showing a bit of restraint. Either way, the pride makes his heart pound in his chest. She is fascinating, they all are. His friends are powerful. Impressive.
“You are, too,” Imogen says, as if she can hear the thoughts beginning to form in his head. She probably can. “All of you are.”
“Thanks.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Better when I’m not being used as a Halfling pincushion, though. Or in complete darkness.”
“Gods, that was wild.” Dorian laughs, but there’s something sad in it. “That damn bastard…stabbing me in the dark like that.”
“He was a gambler. He liked to toy with fate. It is a shame it caught up with him, though.” Laudna muses, hand carding idly through Imogen’s hair. “Though I suppose it comes for all of us, eventually.”
“Eventually,” Orym agrees, leaning against Dorian when he feels the Genasi stiffen.
A loud purr catches his attention, and he can’t help but smile at the shape Fearne has taken. A panther sits where a faun once knelt, dark green fur mottled with lighter greens to make her look more like a leopard. Her eyes are piercing gold, tail wagging eagerly, almost dog like, as she sits at the foot of the bed. “Well? C’mere, Fearnie.” He pats his leg. Standing up (a little wobbly at first, which makes his heart swell) Fearne pads over to where they’re sitting. She takes a moment to snuffle at Dorian until he laughs, lapping at his neck and face when he does. Afterwards, she settles across his lap, stomach resting on his legs as she places her head in Orym’s lap. “Gonna watch out for us, huh, Fearnie?” He murmurs, reaching up to scratch behind her ears.
Honestly, she probably thought they all needed to pet something soft and fluffy before they went to bed. And while he prefers dogs, the low, deep purr Fearne emits soothes something primal in him. That fear melts with a big cat on his legs. The weight will make them go numb, eventually, but for now, he’s content. Dorian glances at him, and he shrugs. Fey creatures were beyond his understanding. If Fearne wanted to be a big cat, she was going to be one. There was little to do to stop her, anyway. And she’s switch back after an hour. And probably roll on top of his face, but that was well worth the price of this.
“You don’t have to sit so far away. She doesn’t bite.” Dorian says, settling back on his hands to peer at Laudna and Imogen. “Maybe you can coax her to sit on your legs instead.”
Fearne makes a rumbling noise that could be a laugh and bats at Dorian with her tail. Laudna, the braver of the two women, crawls over, holding out her hand. Fearne stretches, paws kneading into the bed as she presses her head into Laudna’s hand. Laudna looks less scary like this, expression melted and soft as she rubs Fearne’s ears and scritches underneath her chin. Imogen comes up after a second, hand hovering uncertainly over Fearne. She gasps when Fearne laps at her hand, eyes closed and content as Laudna finds a particularly pleasant place to scratch. “See? Fearnie’s gentle as can be.”
“Her familiar, though? A devil in the shape of a monkey.” Dorian’s voice drops to a whisper, hand idly playing with Fearne’s tail. “His name is Little Mister.”
“Oh, we saw him earlier. He looks so cute, though.” Imogen counters.
“You haven’t seen him around Dariax—one of our former companions. The two went at it like cats and dogs.”
“Do you think he’d like Pâté?” Laudna wonders, hand coming down to prepare to voice the puppet.
“Let’s find out in the morning.” Imogen says, resting her head on Laudna’s shoulder. “It’s late. We should sleep.”
“Alright,” Laudna agrees, giving Fearne one last scritch before settling back. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Dorian and Orym echo.
“I’m going to dismiss the lights, if that’s alright?” Imogen says, taking a deep breath and waving her hands once she receives confirmation from the others. The lights fizzle out, leaving the five of them in darkness again. Fearne gives a comforting purr, rising from Orym and Dorian’s laps to move to lie in the space between Orym and Imogen. She curls up on her side, nearly batting Orym in the head as she settles. “Easy, Fernie,” he teases, rolling his eyes at her when she tries to bat at him. “Alright, alright. Here.” He guides one of her paws over his chest, sitting up and letting the other slide behind him.
“I’m the one Bertrand stabbed,” Dorian huffs, but there’s little heat in it. Orym can hear him shift, and after a moment Dorian’s arm is over him as well. There’s shifting behind Fearne, and he hears Imogen softly whisper, “Gods, she is warm.” There’s the soft sound of a hand being run over fur, and Fearne’s rumbling purr in response. He lets himself relax. They’re safe. Alive. In the morning, they’ll find Ashton and Letters safe and sound. They’ll discuss a plan of action. They’ll find the bastard who did this.
Orym lets his eyes shut, tries to breathe in time with the rise and fall of Dorian behind him. The Genasi has a protective hand on his stomach, tracing words into it as he hums the beginnings of an old Elvish lullaby under his breath. Laudna is whispering, too, softer and gentler than Orym’s ever heard. “That’s it, Imogen. Deep breath. That’s my girl. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”
The intimacy of it makes his skin crawl; he feels like an intruder. And then Dorian is leaning closer, pressing the words into his scalp. “I’ve got you, too. We all do. You’re safe. You’re alive. You did well today, Orym.”
“We’ll find him, Dorian. We won’t let him get away.”
“We won’t.” There’s something dark in Dorian’s voice, something angry and bitter that makes Fearne’s purr feel like a threat. A dagger pressed into a pulse-point; a rapier aimed to the heart. Dorian sighs, curls tighter around Orym. “Sleep well.”
“You too.” He reaches down and tangles his fingers with Dorian’s. “You too.”
Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it does eventually come. And when he wakes, all the people he cares for, and those he’s beginning to, are there. Protected in a canopy of ferns and lavender and mistletoe. The remnants of ozone and ash in the air. Fearne’s chest pressed to his face; Dorian’s to his back. Imogen’s arm curled around Fearne’s waist and her hand reaching towards him. Laudna, also awake, sitting up and running her hand through Imogen’s hair. Humming notes to a song Keyleth once sung from Whitestone, less creepy and more ethereal, otherworldly in the morning light.
A part of him, tucked deep underneath his armor, decides that he could get used to his. Waking up surrounded by people who protect him, and who he protects in return. Something ended last night, yes, but here, in this moment, it only feels like a new beginning.