Preface

Just Little Old Me in a Big, Big World
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/34975513.

Rating:
General Audiences
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
F/M, Gen
Fandom:
Critical Role (Web Series)
Relationship:
Keyleth & Orym (Critical Role), Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Orym/Wil
Character:
Orym (Critical Role), Keyleth (Critical Role), Vex'ahlia (Critical Role), Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III
Additional Tags:
POV Orym, Grief/Mourning, Trans Orym, Trans Keyleth, Trans Vex, Trans Vax, Orym's Backstory (Critical Role), Orym's husband theory, Solidarity, Campaign 3 (Critical Role), Pre-Canon, Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Post-Canon, this is a messy one to tag, Set during episode 3 of Campaign 3, Flashback, Trans Percy (critical role)
Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Of the Air Ashari, Part 8 of Author's Favourites
Stats:
Published: 2021-11-06 Words: 1,002 Chapters: 1/1

Just Little Old Me in a Big, Big World

Summary

Following the conversations about the De Rolos, Orym finds himself remembering the memories he's not willing to share. He's not Bertrand, he'll keep his meetings with the Lord and Lady of Whitestone quiet. He just can't help but remember how they had once helped him.

Aka: Keyleth stepped up to help a newly out young guard in her service decades ago and went above and beyond to try and help another trans member of the Ashari

Notes

Just Little Old Me in a Big, Big World

His mind returns to a familiar topic as he polishes his sword, ensuring that none of the shade creepers had damaged it. He hasn’t thought about it in years but the thought has returned since they’d arrived in Jrusar. 

 

Orym puts down his cleaning rag. He hasn’t thought about this memory for a long time, but all this talk of De Rolos had brought it back. Laudna’s little rat, Pâté, had been fun. He frowns to himself as he considers the rat’s namesake. 

 

He knows the De Rolos a little more than he’d let on during the conversation. But working with the Voice of the Tempest has taught him when to keep his mouth shut. He’ll keep his recollections to himself, he knows what’s good for him. 

 

Besides, this surfacing memory is old now. He had been a young man when it happened, just out and new to Keyleth’s service. She was newly returned to Zephrah and so Orym had been assigned to her, fresh out of training. His bodyguarding took him to all kinds of wonderful places. 

 

He’d minded his manners, like his mother had warned him to. He kept his mind to himself and did his job. But often they ended up at events where it would be rude for her to leave, but without any entertainment for her. So she began to talk to him and tell him stories and slowly he found himself telling her things in return, despite protocol.

 

He can’t remember why it came up, all he remembers now is the events that followed. She had been avoiding paperwork in her office and he’d somehow admitted that he was afraid of becoming like his father. She’d frowned and then she had a whole new project, paperwork be damned. 

 

To be honest, he had been a little overwhelmed at the attention she had turned on him. It started with their conversations turning to observe people at the events they attended. She told him anecdotes about odd men she’d met and stories about her childhood. Eagerly, she’d told him stories of her childhood, about growing up trans in Zephrah.

 

It had been a lot. And Orym had never been a big fan of attention, so he was glad when she pulled back a little and moved back to talking about paperwork and stories of her glory days.

 

‘He’d like you,’ she said, one day, as she came in from the courtyard, gesturing in the direction that the raven had long flown away. He’d watched her spend hours with the raven, too shy to ask. He assumed it was a druid thing. 

 

She must make out his confused expression because she begins a new story, pushing aside the paperwork she’d just picked up. She tells him the end to a story she’s always telling, and he sees the sorrow weigh her down. As he remembers her story, he can feel a similar weight. He knows what it is like to lose someone like that. He understands now what he hadn’t at the time.

 

She tells him about this man. Her voice cracks when she speaks of his kindness, his love. She talks of prank wars, of love, and faith. She loves him and he is gone. Orym listens and learns. He watches the raven with respect when it comes. He steps back and lets her grieve as she communes. 

 

‘Come with me,’ she had said, one day, leading him towards the tree she favoured for tree striding. Dutifully, he had followed. It was not his place to ask. 

 

‘Welcome to Whitestone,’ she’d said as they left the tree, ‘I want you to meet some people.’

 

He had nodded, obediently, and followed her through the castle, feeling more than a little out of his depth. Castle Whitestone feels so large in his memory. It had not been built for halfling proportions, or perhaps he had not been built for it.

 

He had felt out of place when Keyleth had presented him to the Lord and Lady of Whitestone, who had towered far above him. Orym rarely feels small and lost, but that feeling pervades through memory. 

 

The conversation had swirled above him, the sound of old friends catching up. He does not remember much of it. Most of it had happened over his head, and he had let it. He had been young then, and perhaps a little timid. 

 

He remembers the lord laughing in response to something Keyleth had said and saying, ‘-and you want me to be an example, Kiki? I don’t think being trans is going to supplant the fact that I am, objectively, a terrible person. Surely you can find better role models.’

 

‘Hmm,’ the lady had said, ‘I think you’re missing the point, Percy, darling. I don’t think Kiki is here for you or I-?’ The question hangs unspoken, unsaid. Keyleth catches it from the air.

 

‘Ah, no. I was thinking of him. And you knew him better, Vex, back when he was young. If you are comfortable-’

 

The conversation had swirled again and Orym remembers an afternoon of reminiscing about two young trans half-elves up against the world. Lady Vex’ahlia had talked to him about a disapproving father and he’d understood her talking about disregarding his surname. Socially, she is so far above him, but even in this memory, she feels a bit like family. 

 

He finishes buffing his sword. There is no more ash in the filigree. He smiles. He’ll keep his memories to himself. He’s not Bertrand, he’ll not betray their knowing kindness. He doesn’t think that he could do justice to the familiarity in Keyleth’s eyes when she’d sent him off to see the world. 

 

‘Go,’ she’d said, ‘remember him,’

 

And he does. He remembers as he adjusts the ring that hangs about his neck and puts his sword away. As he shuts the shutters for the night, he nods to the raven waiting outside. He never knows if it’s her raven or not, but it's only proper to be polite.

Afterword

End Notes

what can i say? all of vox machina are trans and so am i. forgive me, i am only 30 something episodes into campaign one so i dont know their final voices but i love them nevertheless

let me know how it went :))

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