The room was dark and smelled of dust, and Orym couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Lord Eshteross’s home was probably the single safest place in the city, but Orym’s heart hadn’t fully slowed down since he had found Bertrand’s body, and every beat sounded so loud in the stillness of the night and made his own wounds (wounds that would have killed him if it wasn’t for Dorian’s well-timed healing spell during the battle, wounds from the same weapons that killed Bertrand) throb with a dull agony. You’re alive , the pain told him, you’re still alive.
Laying on his back in the center of the room, he tried to slow his breathing. He forced his body to relax. The room wasn’t entirely silent, and he reminded himself of that, reaching out with his senses to focus on his friends’ breathing individually. Fearne was snoring very softly in one corner. In a different corner, curled up so closely together that Orym couldn’t quite tell whose breathing was whose, Imogen and Laudna were fast asleep as well. And Dorian…wait.
Dorian wasn’t breathing.
Orym sat bolt upright and was nearly knocked flat again as his injuries sent burning spikes of pain through his torso. He ignored it and scrambled over to where Dorian lay on his side, facing away from him, not breathing . Orym put his hand on Dorian’s shoulder.
Flinching, Dorian whispered, “Orym?”
“Are you okay?” hissed Orym.
“What? I-I’m fine, are you alright?”
Orym was shaking. “You weren’t breathing.”
Dorian turned his head to look at him. The faint sliver of light coming from the the top of his sword’s sheath was just enough to illuminate his face, which was covered in tears.
As Orym realized what had happened, the tension dropped from his shoulders. Not wanting to wake anyone, Dorian had used his (very unsettling) ability to hold his breath so he didn’t make any noise as he cried. Orym tightened his grip on Dorian’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Don’t do that to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Dorian said, and now Orym could hear in his voice how hard he was trying not to lose control and break down. “I’m so sorry, Orym, I-I didn’t think--” He stopped talking before he would have to take another breath.
“Don’t apologize.” Orym sighed. “C’mon, into the hall so we can talk without waking them up.”
Dorian nodded and followed him. The stretch of hallway between their room and Eshteross’s study had been cleared of traps, so it was safe. Dorian sank down to the ground again with his back against the wall, silent tears still spilling over.
Orym sat down next to him. “Breathe,” he instructed softly.
“I don’t want to,” Dorian choked out.
“I know.” Even though he was exhausted and his body was begging him not to move, Orym stood up again so he could pull Dorian into a hug at a less awkward angle. “I know, but do it anyway, please."
Putting his head down on Orym's shoulder, Dorian finally inhaled and promptly began to shake with sobs. Orym held him tighter, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand on the back of his head. "I shouldn't have let him go," Dorian said miserably.
"It wasn't your fault. He wanted to go for a walk. I don't think you could have stopped him."
"Should have gone with him--"
"Then you'd be dead, too," Orym said, in a voice that was maybe just a little too harsh. "And where the hell would we be, hm? Me and Fearne, without you? Returning to Tal'Dorei without you?"
Dorian shook his head.
"We'd have had to tell Opal and Dariax that you were dead. Can you imagine? They would never forgive us."
"Stop," Dorian pleaded.
"Fy’ra thinks of you as her little brother. We would have had to tell her that she lost a sibling again , and this time they aren’t coming back.”
“Orym, please.” He could barely get any words out between the violent sobs. “Please, please stop.”
Orym relented. Resting his cheek down on the top of Dorian’s head, he squeezed his eyes shut to fight back tears of his own. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just...I need you to know that I’m glad you didn’t go with him. And that it wasn’t your fault.”
After a few minutes, Dorian’s sobs died down. “I know,” he said weakly. “I know it’s not my fault. But I still... feel guilty.”
“Me too, for not killing that creep while we had the chance. But we were...outmatched,” Orym replied. “Next time we meet him, we’ll be stronger, more prepared. And we’ll get Bertrand justice.” He leaned back, making Dorian look at him. “Okay?”
Dorian wiped his eyes and nodded.
“Now promise me you won’t stop breathing again,” Orym added. “You have no idea how creepy that is.”
“I won’t. And I thought you were asleep,” Dorian said. “I didn’t think anyone would notice .”
“I noticed, and it terrified me,” Orym said as lightly as he could. “Are you going to be okay going back in there and trying to get some sleep?”
He hesitated for a moment. “I think so.”
Orym took a step back, giving him space to stand up. As his weight shifted, the pain in one of the deeper wounds in his stomach flared up and he cried out softly. He dropped to one knee.
Dorian grabbed his arms. “Are you alright?”
“No,” Orym said with a groan. “I got really fucked up yesterday.”
“Let me help.”
“No, I’ll just sleep it off--”
“You’re in pain, let me help,” insisted Dorian.
Orym shook his head. “I’m fine .”
“Please,” Dorian said simply. “Please, I couldn’t help Bertrand, but I can help you.”
Orym brought his hand up to grasp Dorian’s wrist, breathing shallowly through the pain. He was pretty sure that one of the wounds had opened back up and he was bleeding again. “Okay,” he conceded. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Dorian closed his eyes.
A warm breeze of magic swept over him, and Orym tried not to gasp as the deep gashes stitched themselves back together. He had been magically healed dozens of times by now, and he didn’t think he would ever get used to the feeling.
Dorian opened his eyes. “Better?”
He nodded.
Trying to smile, Dorian said, “Good. Thanks for letting me help.”
“I might actually be able to sleep now,” Orym said.
Dorian helped him to his feet, and Orym did his best to return the favor by letting him lean on his shoulder as they slipped quietly back into the room. Curled up on Fearne’s stomach, Mister raised his head and let out a sleepy grumble.
“Shhh,” Orym told him.
Fearne stirred, looking up at them as Mister ignored Orym and made another soft cooing noise. “Everything okay?” she murmured, seeing the two of them up. “Oh, you look so sad.”
“Well…” Dorian shrugged, sitting down next to her. Fearne took his hand. “You know, rough night.”
“Yeah,” she said sympathetically. She tugged on his hand until he laid down next to her, and then she draped her arm over him. Mister scooted off of her and crawled onto Dorian with a little sigh. Fearne turned her gaze to Orym. “Come snuggle,” she offered. “It’s that kind of night.”
Orym nodded and said, “Yeah, okay. You’re right, it is.” He sat down and leaned against Dorian's hip, pressing close.
"No, lay down," Fearne told him. "Sleep. You need to sleep."
"She's right," Dorian said. He held his arm out. "All of us do. C'mere."
Orym tucked himself against Dorian's side obligingly. "If you stop breathing now, we'll definitely notice," he murmured.
"I won't, I told you!"
"Why is he not breathing?" Fearne said curiously.
"Don't worry about it," Dorian said.
"Okay." Fearne closed her eyes and cuddled a little closer to Dorian. "Sleep well, you two."
“Mm-hmm,” Dorian sighed. “Hey, um...thank you, both of you.”
“What for?” asked Fearne.
“Oh...everything?”
“Oh! Well, you’re welcome for everything.” Fearne kissed him on the forehead. “Now shush.”
As Orym closed his eyes and listened to Dorian let out a soft little laugh, a wave of overwhelming comfort washed over him. In unfamiliar surroundings, thousands of miles away from Zephra, on an entirely different continent, even after the anxiety and horror of getting woken up to search the city and being the one to discover Bertrand’s body, he felt like he was home . He felt safe. It wasn’t a feeling he would have thought possible tonight, but his friends never ceased to surprise him.