for Dorian (makingmyway) - Prince Dorian /Palace Guard Orym AU

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym spends too much time watching the prince. In fairness, it is his job to do exactly that, but it's gone so far beyond just the act of guarding a young noble. Of course it has.

When he'd first been assigned to this position -- the personal guard to Prince Brontë, a promotion really, after he'd managed to be in the right place at the right time to thwart an unexpected assassination attempt against the King and Queen -- he hadn't known much about the younger Prince Wyvernwind, save what he could tell from afar -- that he was beautiful, fair-faced and strong-shouldered, that he always managed to look the part of dutiful and perfect prince.

As he got to know him though, he'd seen more. So much more.

The prince is genuinely kind, not only for show in public. He's gentle and soft spoken, surprisingly down to earth for a young royal who's been sheltered in his kingdom all his life. He's funny too, clever and quick-witted once opened up. It took some time, really, but they've both let their guards down around each other. Orym has to remind himself again and again that he's nothing more than bodyguard, here to keep the Prince safe. Not to keep him company.

But oh he likes his company, has come to look forward to hearing that musical laugh, come to treasure when he's managed to convince Brontë to play or sing for him. There's a warmth in his chest when the Prince confides in him, when he's given glimpses into those surprising insecurities, his hopes and dreams.

It's several months into spending day after day with the Prince that he realizes he's fallen for him. It's foolish. It's utterly foolish and it can never be anything. So he wraps those feelings away and pushes them down as deep as he can.

Today they're in the palace courtyards. The sun shines bright from a sky that is a perfect shade of blue interrupted only by a few white clouds. Orym is rolling his wrist to let his sword dip and then rise, the familiar heft and weight of the blade comfortable in his hand.]

You know, you're good with a blade. I've seen it. But I could probably teach you a few tricks, if you'd be interested.

Comments

[makingmyway]

[ At first, Brontë wasn’t sure what to think of the guard, Orym. He’d treated him as he had all the other guards - which was kinder than how the rest of his family treated them, not that he realized that. But after Orym had protected his parents from someone trying to assassinate them, Cyrus had been the one to assign him as his personal guard.

And Brontë has had personal guards before, that isn’t anything new. Neither is it new that he had become infatuated with said guard. But Orym is different from anyone he’s ever known before. Despite having crushes on guards or teachers or others in the past, something about Orym feels different.

Because Orym…Orym actually takes the time to get to know him. Even just little moments of the halfling checking in on him when he’s had a bad day, or asking his opinion on things that not even his parents ask about. Being able to share his thoughts with someone, having someone who would actually listen to him touches him in a way he hasn’t expected he needed.

And how he feels about Orym is different from all the little crushes he’s ever had before. It’s something deeper, and it takes him a while to even realize what is because it crept up on him slowly, rather than hit him all at once.

And it figures that he would fall for the first person to show him an ounce of kindness. Especially someone who he knows he could never have.

Because even with all the kindness Orym has shown him, he is also still just doing his job. Doing it much better than previous personal guards, sure, but he can’t assume that it’s any different than how Orym would behave normally. That Orym would be treating him any different.

So he enjoys the time he gets to spend with him, hoarding all the moments greedily, and then does his best to bury these feelings where he can dwell on them in private. Inappropriate as they are, it’s all he can do.

Having finished up his lessons early for the day, he’d been enjoying the warmth when Orym suddenly speaks up. Glancing over in surprise, he tilts his head curiously. ]

Really? Would you?

[ He’s had some combat training, of course, but there’s only so much he can learn by instruction alone. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Yeah, definitely.

[Orym visibly brightens up when Brontë seems to be interested in the offer. He likes trying to engage the prince, likes seeing what he can do to coax a real smile out of him.

There's so much sadness in those blue eyes sometimes; it breaks Orym's heart. He doesn't really know how to help, not really, but he does what he can to help, however small that may be.]

But I'm going to need you to be on your game, because I'm pretty sure I'll get in trouble if I injure the person I'm supposed to be protecting.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help a smile. Honestly, he’s eager for any time he can spend with the guard. Which is strange, considering how much time they spend together already. But real alone time, just the two of them like this, is much more difficult between his duties and lessons. ]

Of course. But I’ll warn you now, I’m probably still going to get some injuries.

[ Despite the training he’s had, he’s never really had a chance to use it, not like Orym has. So his skills are more theoretical than anything. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym smiles back, bright and genuine. He waves a hand dismissively as if waving off the concern. For one thing, he's good enough with a blade that he won't do anything to hurt Brontë in any of this. He'd never do anything to hurt him period.]

You'll be fine. We'll start slow. Besides, I've got faith in you, your highness. You've got a habit of selling yourself short.

[He's noticed this, Brontë. And he's not going to let it slide.]

So, it's a beautiful day. Let's find you a sword.

[makingmyway]

[ He can’t help blushing at that. Being compared to Cyrus and his achievements as often as he is, it’s hard not to think he’s lacking in a lot of things. But Orym seems to be the only one who seems to notice, let alone say anything about it.

It’s a bit unsettling being seen that way. But it’s also encouraging, thinking that there’s someone who believes in him. ]

Probably the training grounds? That’d be the closest place to get one from here.

[ There’s also the sword he uses for training, but that’s back in his room and he doesn’t feel like risking running into his parents in order to get it. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Prince Brontë blushing is one of the prettier sights that Orym gets to see, so he's a little pleased with himself for having accomplished bringing it about. It's one of those dangerous thoughts that he tries to tamp down as soon as it rises, but it's stubborn, like dandelions popping up in grassy fields, not to be denied the chance to bloom at their own whims.]

That sounds like a plan.

[For now Orym sheathes his own blade and trots over to the other man.] Come on, let's see what we can find.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë is easily flustered at the best of times, honestly, but there’s something about Orym that gets him blushing a lot. He knows he needs to be more careful before someone notices it, but he can’t bring himself to care as much when Orym smiles at him like that.

With a nod, he heads with Orym towards the training grounds. The guards training are usually done in the morning, so aside from a couple of guards who are off duty and getting some extra practice, the grounds are most likely empty. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[In another world, where Brontë wasn't royalty, where this was just a day in the sun between someone who could be his friend rather than his lord, Orym thinks he would be brave enough to reach out and catch his fingers with the other man.

But that is not their world, so he keeps his hands to himself, letting Brontë lead the way, falling into step just behind him, just to his right. They're on the palace grounds, and threats should be minimal, but Orym does not take chances. Especially not with precious things. This Prince is a very precious thing.

Once they've made it to the training grounds, he waves at a few of the guards he knows.] Practice swords are in the back. There should be something wooden that'll have decent balance. Worst we can do is bruise each other with those.

[makingmyway]

[ In another world, Orym would be able to walk right beside him instead of slightly behind. What Brontë wouldn’t give to live in a world like that instead.

Brontë nods politely to the guards as they pass, hoping they don’t look suspicious here. Then with a nod to Orym, he heads around back to where the practice weapons are kept. He and Cyrus have their own training here on the grounds, though at separate times then when the guards are practicing, but he’s snuck around here to watch the guards train enough times to know how to get around.

Finding where the wooden swords are displayed, Brontë looks over the various pieces before choosing one that looks similar to the scimitar he uses. He picks it up carefully, weighing it in his hands before practicing with twisting it around.

Satisfied, he rests the wooden blade against his shoulder. ] I think this should work.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The halfling watches as Brontë chooses and tests out the sword. There's something about the way he holds the weapon that seems natural, as if he understands the way the weapon should feel in his hand. The prince had a natural grace to him that Orym had admired noticed, even more than the other Air Genasi that he'd known.]

Looks good to me.

[Orym nods and selects a practice sword for himself, giving it a similar roll of his wrist before making a few quick slashes through the air. That will do. He inclines his head back the way they came, where there's an open area out of the way where they should be able to spar without drawing too much attention to themselves.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë can’t help watching as Orym tests his own sword, seeing the way his muscles seemed to ripple beneath his skin. It was obvious that Orym was an expert in his field, even from before the halfling had become his guard, but there is something about getting to see it up close that has his heart racing.

With another nod, he walks with Orym to one of the practice areas, and takes a stance across the way from him. ]

So what’s first?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Defense.

[Orym nods to himself, walking past Brontë and settling into a readied stance of his own. Defense is the most important part, so far as Orym is concerned. You can't fight if you're dead, and a good enough defense will let you learn what your opponent is working with.]

Let's see what you've got to start with. I'll come at you, try to fend me off.

[He lets his head tilt to the side, setting his shield aside for the moment. He waits for Brontë to be ready before he is in motion, darting forward towards the prince, sword coming up in a short quick arc aimed towards the prince's off arm.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë nods, though can’t help feeling a little nervous now. Defense isn’t generally his strong suit.

But he still readies himself, and when Orym charges towards him he manages to parry the strike enough to move out of the way, getting a few steps of distance before taking a swing himself. ]

[makingmyway]

[ For as well as things had been going, Brontë should have known that it was too good to be true.

While he had really enjoyed his relationship with Orym, being happier being in love with his guard than he had ever been, there was always the fear of them getting caught, and the trouble they would get into if they were. And despite being as careful as they could be, in the end it had all been for nothing, and somehow they ended up being found out anyway.

Even worse, apparently their plans of eventually escaping the castle to start a new life together had been discovered - maps with routes and notes found in Orym's room that they had done their best to keep hidden - had also been discovered, and there had been plenty of information there to twist around in order to seem like Orym was planning to abduct him, which was more than enough of a reason for his parents to have Orym arrested with plans to execute him.

Even after Brontë confronted his parents after Orym was taken to the prison cells, admitting that he was in love with his guard and insisting that it had been his idea to run away, his parents refused to listen. It was only hours later, after begging and pleading and negotiating with his father under a Zone of Truth spell, was he able to get Zeru to agree to spare Orym's life.

It was also the most difficult thing he had ever done, and nearly tore him apart. But he could do it, if it meant Orym would be able to life.

Now, late in the evening and accompanied with two guards, Brontë headed down towards the dungeons to see Orym. His father had agreed to let him say goodbye to the halfling before he was reassigned to the outskirts of the kingdom, as far away as they could send him.

And Brontë also knows that he has to break the news to Orym - that, as well as everything else. But he would rather Orym heard it from him than anyone else. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym knows he should have seen it coming. He should have done more, been more careful, but hindsight is always so much clearer. He is stoic as Brontë's parents have him taken in chains, sentence him to execution for plotting to abduct the prince. He stays quiet. Let them believe that they want. He doesn't want to say anything to make this worse for Brontë. He wants the man he loves to be okay.

Still, he sees the ache in Brontë's eyes as he's taken away, and desperately wishes he could go to him.

So it's a surprise when in his cell he hears the approaching footsteps, rising to his feet to meet whoever it might be. His eyes widen at the sight of Brontë. Escorted by guards.]

Brontë... ah. My lord. [He bows his head.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë doesn't say anything for a moment, though he can't mask the pain as he sees Orym, still chained inside the cell. Then he clears his throat before turning to the guards. ]

Could we... have a few minutes alone?

[ The guards hesitate, exchanging a glance between one another. Then one speaks up, appearing a bit uncomfortable. ]

Your highness, we're not -

There's nowhere for us to go. [ Brontë's tone is sharp for a moment, but it quickly gives way to desperation as he adds a soft ] Please.

[ The guards look at each other once again, before the second guard - an older one - taps the other on the shoulder. ]

All right. We'll be right outside. But try not to delay, your highness. We have our orders.

[ Brontë doesn't say anything, and waits until the two guards leave. Only once the two of them are finally alone does his demeanor crumble, as he opens the door to the cell and rushes to the halfling. ]

Oh, Orym... [ Kneeling down, he pulls Orym into his arms and embraces him tightly. ] I'm so sorry.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym falls silent as Brontë confers with the guards, hoping that they might be given just this moment of mercy. It's more than he's hoped for, and when the men leave, something in his shoulders relaxes, just slightly.

And then Brontë's arms are around him, and he's melting into that embrace.]

I've missed you.

[Soft and sincere, but he draws back enough to look at him.] Are you all right?

[makingmyway]

I've missed you too.

[ As Orym settles back and asks that question, Brontë can't help a soft, teary laugh. ]

Really? You were arrested and going to be executed, and you're asking how I am?

[ This ridiculous man, he loves him too much. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Of course I am. I've been worried about you.

[What Brontë must be going through. He knew that his parents must be furious, at a minimum. But the fact that the prince is here, well, that means something has certainly happened, and Orym doesn't think it can be good.]

I didn't think I'd get to see you again.

[makingmyway]

[ With a fondly exasperated laugh, Brontë shakes his head as he starts to unlock the chains binding Orym's hands. ]

I've been really worried about you.

[ Once the chains are undone, he tosses them aside to take Orym's hands in his, gently running his thumbs across Orym's knuckles. ]

I didn't either. But my father gave us enough time to... say goodbye.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I'm fine. I knew the risks, and you were worth every one of them.

[So there'd be no remorse for his crimes anyway, of stealing the prince's heart.

As Brontë goes about unlocking the chains though, he can't help a confused look. That's unexpected. There's no way he's just being released. And when the other man speaks, he feels his heart drop like a leaden weight.

What did he mean goodbye?]

Brontë... what did you do?

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë flinches a bit, and purposely avoids meeting Orym's eyes. ]

You... You're being reassigned. They're sending you to a town on the outskirts that needs protecting. We... We won't be allowed to see one another.

[ And very purposefully avoids answering Orym's question. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[He can see the way that Brontë won't meet his gaze, knows his prince enough to understand there's something important he's not saying.]

I...

[How had it come to this?]

What did it cost you?

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë bites his bottom lip, sitting back just a bit as he seems to shrink into himself more. ]

I-In... exchange for sparing your life... I agreed to let my father choose someone for me to marry.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

No.

[Orym shakes his head, hands tightening around Brontë's. His voice is vehement, a quiet desperation in it.]

That... it isn't worth it. I'm not worth it. You deserve the chance to be free, not trapped in a marriage to appease your father.