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

[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.

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë shakes his head, his hands trembling in Orym's. ] I'm sorry, Orym, but I-I couldn't just... I couldn't just let them kill you. Without you... life wouldn't mean anything.

[ Finally lifting his gaze, he manages a smile, even as his eyes fill with tears. ] I'll be okay. I promise I will. As long as I know you're still out there, alive, I'll be fine.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Brontë...

[He doesn't want this. He feels tears rising in his own eyes, but he steps forward to wind his arms around Brontë. His Brontë. Except, he never really was, was he? That was a pleasant dream, a fairytale.]

I don't want to say goodbye.

[makingmyway]

[ A soft sob hitches Brontë's breath, and he holds Orym tight to his chest. ]

I-I don't either. But this was the only thing I could do.

[ Even knowing that being together could put Orym in danger, he had been selfish anyway. It was his fault that Orym could have been executed, so if he could do something to save him, then he would.

Sniffling a little, he pulls back just a bit, wiping away the tears that finally managed to fall. ] I... I-I have something for you.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The only thing he could do. Orym hates this, hates everything about it. As he draws back, he looks up to Brontë with tears escaping his own eyes.

He can't find his voice, doesn't trust it not to break.]

What is it?

[makingmyway]

[ Swallowing thickly, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve something that he holds hidden in his hand for a moment. ]

I-I... was hoping to give this to you when we left to start our new life together, but...

[ But things didn't always work out the way they wanted to. Sniffling again, he takes Orym's hand and slips a silver ring - emerald-green vines and sapphire-blue flower petals that almost seemed to shimmer, etched all along the band - onto his finger. ]

There's... also an engraving on the inside.

[ Auran words that means: To the flower of my heart. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Brontë...

[The life they were supposed to be living together, over before it even had a chance to begin. Now the tears are falling freely down his cheeks as he looks at the ring, then back up to the other man.

He flings himself at him now, arms wrapped around him like he never intends on letting go. He doesn't want to let go.]

I love you. I love you so much.

[makingmyway]

[ With another sob, Brontë holds onto Orym desperately, knowing this would be the last time they would ever do this. ]

I love you too, so much. No matter who my father chooses for me, I will still always love you. My heart will never change.

[ Then he pulls back, just a bit to cup Orym's cheek in his palm, tilting Orym's face enough to capture his lips in a kiss to convey every bit of that love that he can. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[He doesn't want this to be the end, doesn't want it to be the last time he's in Brontë's arms. He clings to him, trying to memorize everything about the moment, to take in the feeling of him and the scent of him, the way it feels to be held.]

You will always have my heart. It's yours. It will always be yours, no matter where I am. Until my last breath.

[He lifts his chin to meet that kiss, a desperation in it, as if he can't bear the thought of it ending.]

[makingmyway]

[ He shivers a little as Orym returns the kiss, feeling that urgency in return, and he holds the kiss for as long as he can, until it hurts too much and he finally draws back, resting his forehead against Orym's. ]

Thank you... Thank you for everything. This time we spent together has meant so much to me. My only regret is that you were nearly killed for it.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I don't regret anything. You are worth any price, I...

[He would die for him. He'd give anything to stay by his side, but this is goodbye. He reaches a hand up to touch along Brontë's cheek, the light catching on the ring on his finger. He'll wear it forever. And later when he reads the inscription, he'll weep again.]

I will always love you.

[makingmyway]

[ Closing his eyes, he leans into Orym's touch, releasing a shuddering breath. ]

I will always love you too. [ Resting his hand over Orym's he presses it to his cheek as he opens his eyes again, once again filled with tears. ] But promise me you'll take care? The only way I'll be able to get through this is knowing you're out there, alive and well.

I know it's selfish of me to ask... but you'll live for me, won't you?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym doesn't trust his voice not to break. Everything feels like it is crashing down around him. How is he supposed to live without his heart, he wonders? But Brontë has asked this of him, and the halfling can't imagine denying the man he loves anything.

So he nods. He'll do his best. Even if he can't imagine life without him.

He moves tow rap his arms around Brontë once more, holding tightly.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë breathes out a shaky breath, holding Orym in a tight embrace again. ]

Thank you…

[ It won’t be easy, living without the man he loves, the one who holds his heart. But knowing Orym was still alive would be enough to get him through.

After another moment, he places his hands on Orym’s shoulders and draws back, pressing a kiss to the halfling’s forehead. ]

We don’t have too much time left. Once we leave here, one of the guards is going to bring you back to your room to gather your things, and then to a carriage that will take you to the next town over. From there you’ll meet some other soldiers who will travel with you to the town you’re reassigned to.

[ It seems the king was in quite the hurry to send Orym as far away as possible. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[He knows he has to let go. He does know that, but even as Brontë draws back he wants to hold tighter. The halfling forces himself not to though, eyes shutting as those lips find his forehead. Remember this. He tells himself. Remember everything about this moment.

It's the last moment they'd have together. The last moment he could ever imagine mattering. A slow nod.]

I understand.

[Whisked away, and it doesn't matter where. It won't be here. It won't be at Brontë's side.]

[makingmyway]

[ Cupping Orym’s cheek, he manages a small smile, even as tears well in his eyes once again. ]

I know you’ll be all right. You’re strong and courageous, and the town you’re going to will be in good hands with you protecting them.

[ He presses another kiss, this time to Orym’s lips, lingering there for a moment while he can. ]

I love you…I love you so much. Always. Never forget that.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

I'll never forget it. Or you.

[He murmurs the words to his lips before forcing himself to step back.]

And you. Please be all right. I want you to find a way to be happy... You deserve to be happy.

[He deserves so much better than being married off for political reasons, to be trapped in this life. Orym hates all of this.]

[makingmyway]

[ Brontë is able to hold his smile, even as his expression saddens a bit. ]

As long as you’re alive, I’ll be fine.

[ He has no illusions about what kind of arrangement he’s stepping into. Even without knowing who his father is planning to set him up with, he knows that it will be someone with wealth and power, and it will be a difficult relationship at best.

But as long as Orym is all right, he’ll be able to weather through it.

Releasing another breath, he finally rises to his feet and offers his hand to Orym. Once they step outside they’ll be separated forever, but for now they had this last moment.

To hold each other, even just their hands, for the last time. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Fine is not happy, but they both know that. Gods they both know it too well in this moment. Maybe they'd both survive, but could it be anymore than that? For Brontë's sake, Orym hopes so.

He takes that offered hand, holding tighter than he intends to. A last touch. A last moment to hold each other.

It still feels like his heart has given up the will to beat, nothing more than a dead weight in his chest.

Orym takes a deep breath, and a small vine winds its way around Brontë's wrist, blossoming into a little bracelet of blue flowers, winding up his hand and around his ring finger. Orym doesn't have a ring to offer in return, so this will have to do.]