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]

[Orym lives. That is certainly what he does. There isn't much else one could really call it. He'd promised Brontë that he would live, and he will keep his word on that. It's the last thing he promised him. He can't break that. But there's not a lot of life in that living. He goes through the motions. He protects the town. Maybe he takes risks he shouldn't, gets a bit reckless. Maybe he bears the scars of a few of those worse decisions. But he still lives, as a ghost of himself.

There's a numbness in it all, nights spent half afraid to sleep for knowing how often he dreams of Brontë. He loves and hates those dreams, though the hate is because he knows that dreams have to end, and waking to find himself alone again.

When the news reaches him, when it finally makes its way to this far flung town, the numbness disappears and instead everything is pain.

No.

He can't. He can't be dead. Brontë can't be. Orym should have been there. Should have been there to keep him safe, to protect him. But he wasn't. He was here, and now Brontë is...

The recklessness only gets worse from there. What's the point of this world anymore if Brontë is no longer in it? He doesn't even know why he bothers to take each breath, but he's still alive. And every day feels darker and colder than the last.]

[makingmyway]

[ The news of the young prince's death shocks the town, and is a hot topic of gossip for a while. But as far away as they are from the capital, the royal family is almost like a myth to them, a story that does not affect them personally. And so life goes on, and eventually the rumors and stories fade and are forgotten, except for the occasional traveler that comes through town who brings a bit more news of what happened, though it's difficult to say just how accurate any of the tellings are.

Amongst the many travelers that pass though the small town, it is not unusual to see bards in the street, on their way into or leaving the kingdom, sharing stories and songs of their travels and earning a bit of coin before heading on their way. And so happens on one such day, around midday, when a bard along with a small group arrives into town. While the rest of the party goes to find lodgings at the local inn, the bard sets himself in the town square, and a crowd begins to gather as his music fills the streets like a passing breeze.

Many of the songs are meant to entertain, but eventually as he winds down he begins to sing a personal, if somewhat familiar song about two star-crossed lovers, deeply in love but driven apart due to circumstance. But the song itself is hopeful, with a wish that the lovers will one day be able to meet again. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym pays little attention to the comings and goings in the town, save for the pieces of them that impact his duties, his missions. He's developed a bit of a reputation among the other guards, for being more than a bit of a loner, not quite a loose canon but verging on that certainly. He heads out into the wilds beyond the town on his own, facing down the more violent things that wait in the woods and threaten the safety of the local populace.

It's on his return from one of these forays that he hears the soft sound of music from the center of town. The songs are lovely, but Orym barely notices, making his way to the small cabin that he calls home.

Or at least, he barely notices until the music changes. Something in it catches his attention and before he consciously realizes it, his footsteps are bringing him in that direction. He's a sight -- covered in dirt and blood from the battles of the day, most of it not his, though some of it certainly is -- but he can't bring himself to caring about that.

The tune is pulling at him, the words a familiar tragedy and the voice. It's his mind playing tricks on him, certainly, but it sounds achingly familiar. Tears are in his eyes and falling down his cheeks before he knows how hard it's struck him.

It's hard to see through the crowd that's gathered (he's a halfling; this is always his lot in life) and he's almost afraid to look, to know the way his heart will break when he sees the singer isn't who he desperately wishes it could -- but knows it cannot possibly -- be.]

[makingmyway]

[ The song continues for a while, the hopeful message echoing in the air even as the music itself comes to an end. There's an applause from the crowd, some placing a few coins in the pouch that the bard has on the ground in front of him, then begin to disperse as when they townfolks realize that the bard has ended his performance for the day.

And as the people begin to drift away, Orym will see the Air Genasi bard gathering his things, a light breeze around him and sending his loose ombre hair and cape fluttering, a peek of the sunrise lining visible as it dances around him. His clothes are simple - if a bit fancier than most for a bard - and a bit worn from travel, but despite having just arrived into town he seems to be in good spirits.

And more than anything, he will certainly seem quite, painfully familiar. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[The crowd leaves, but Orym remains frozen to the spot. The music ends, and he knows he should turn to continue his way back to the place that he calls home -- even if it's empty enough that it feels like a mockery of the word. But he stays rooted where he is, desperate to catch a glimpse of the bard.

Then he does. That flash of blue, the long hair caught in the wind that moves around him like it loves him. No.

It can't be. He's seeing what he desperately wants to see, impossible things, ghosts. That's what Orym tells himself as he tries to will his legs to move. They fail him instead, and he drops to his knees right where he is, still staring, like he's seeing some phantom in front of him. And he has never felt quite so small in his life in the shadow of the foolish rush of hope that he is so desperately trying to fight before it consumes him. He won't survive that hope shattering. He won't. He's so broken already.]

[makingmyway]

[ As he's gathering the money that the crowd had given him, he catches movement from the corner of his eye, and turns to see the halfling guard on his knees on the ground. That, plus the blood across his skin, has his eyes widening, and grabbing the rest of his things he hurries to the fallen guard, kneeling down in front of him. ]

Orym...! Oh no, are you hurt?

[ There had been so many ways he had imagined this reunion going, what he would say or do. But all of those fly out of his head at the haggard sight of the halfling, as he can't help cupping Orym's cheek. But despite the worry and concern in his eyes, there is also an overwhelming relief, as he feels his own heart coming alive for the first in so long.

Because Orym is here. He's still here, just as he hoped he would be. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[It's the sound of his name that is the thing that breaks him in the end. He looks up in time to see the bard kneeling before him and gods he knows that face. It's the face he sees in his dreams every time exhaustion pulls him down into the sleep that he tries so hard to resist. Those eyes and that voice and Orym can't breathe. His lungs refuse to work, his heart forgetting anything about how to hold a rhythm.

He chokes on a sob before he finds his voice, barely a whisper, strained and shaking and almost afraid to be any louder for fear of sending this moment scattering into illusion.]

Brontë..?

[He leans into that touch, the hand warm and solid against his face. Is this real? Is Brontë truly here?

All at once he decides he doesn't care. Let it be a dream. He'll just never allow himself to wake again. With a sob he flings himself at the other man, arms winding around his neck.]

Is it really you?

[makingmyway]

[ He manages a faint smile of his own, tears welling in his eyes as he gently strokes Orym's cheek. And while he isn't quite prepared for the embrace, he still wraps his arms around him, holding him close as if he had no intention of letting him go. ]

It's me, Orym...I'm here.

[ He releases a shaky breath, his chest tight with the surge of emotions that threaten to overwhelm him as he holds his love in his arms, like he had wanted to do for so long. ]

I've missed you so much.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Brontë will find himself with an armful of sobbing halfling now, small body shaking with the force of the emotion that's coursing through him. Relief and joy and confusion and the echoing ache of these months of pain and grief and believing...]

You were dead. They said you were dead.

[His arms tighten around him as if even speaking the words might remind the universe that they're true, that fate will snatch this moment away from him. There's still strength in those arms, though Brontë will find Orym leaner than when he knew him, still all wiry muscle, but thinner, harder somehow, as if the world has been wearing him down to his sharpest, barest parts.]

[makingmyway]

[ He makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, gently cradling the back of Orym's head. He can feel that the halfling is even slimmer than before, and it worries him a moment. But the words he speaks has things falling into place. ]

I'm sorry... I had hoped to reach you before the rumors did.

[ Then he hesitates, glancing around at the square. Most of the crowd has long since moved on, but a few people are watching them curiously, their attention drawn to the strange sight.

Gently, slowly, he draws back a bit, brushing some of the tears from Orym's face. ]

Is there somewhere we can talk in private?

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[He's really here. It's Brontë and he's here and he's alive and Orym's heart starts to remember how to beat. He reluctantly releases the other man as he draws back, remembering himself where they are, the scene that they must be making.

Right. Yes. He finds himself leaning into that touch without consciously meaning to, but he nods at the question.]

I have a place. It's not far.

[He climbs back to his feet, unable to tear his eyes away from Brontë as if he is still afraid he'll vanish if he looks away for an instant.]

[makingmyway]

[ With as reassuring a smile as he can manage, he gets to his feet as well and takes Orym's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, an unspoken reassurance that he's here as he follows Orym to his residence.

And this time, he won't be letting him go. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[A breath to steady himself and the halfling curls his fingers around Brontë's, and begins leading him back to the small cabin that has been his abode in this little town. He's half in a daze as he does, clinging to the hand in his like it's a lifeline he desperately needs.

When they arrive, he opens the door and leads Brontë inside. The cabin is neatly kept, but it seems oddly barren. There's little here, no sign that anyone even lives here save that there is wood by the fireplace and blankets on the bed tucked away in the corner.

It's a small and spartan affair at best -- though made for the larger races, since halflings aren't exactly common in this part of the country. It's little more than one large room and a washroom. The bed, a table and chairs and not much else.]

[makingmyway]

[ As he steps inside after the halfing, he can't help a small frown as he notices how bare the cabin seems to be. There's no personal decoration, none of the little touches he remembered Orym had in his quarters back in the palace.

And his heart ache, for he could take a guess as to why. ]

Oh, Orym...

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Perhaps the most telling thing, the most damning piece of evidence for how Orym has been living, is that there is not a scrap of anything green or alive in the entire house. Not a leaf, not a flower. And that had always been a constant for the halfling, flowers and vines, small pieces of the greener world that he couldn't help but scatter about in his presence.

Orym isn't thinking of any of that though. No. He's instead just staring at Brontë still, wide-eyed and trying to remember to breathe. He shuts the door once they're both inside.]

Are... are you hungry? I'm sure I probably have something...

[...maybe.]

[makingmyway]

Ah... [ The truth is, he actually is rather hungry. He and his group had just arrived, and they had been running low on supplies for a few days before they got to town. But he hadn't been thinking about any of that, wanting to find Orym as soon as possible. ]

A bit, but maybe... maybe later. [ Once again kneeling in front of the guard, he gently takes Orym's face in his hands. ] Honestly, you look a bit more worse for wear.

[ This close, he's better able to see which smears of blood were Orym's and which weren't. And while Orym doesn't look too injured, it's still enough to worry him. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Orym is going to feed him. It's all he can think to offer, but at the reminder of what he must look like he can't help but flush. Still he makes no effort at all to move away from that touch. He's missed him, he's missed his hands and oh gods it hurts how full his heart feels in this moment.]

I... yeah. I must be a mess. Sorry, there were these knolls... I should wash up...

[He lifts a hand to settle over one of Brontë's and leans into it.] Brontë... what happened? How are you here? How are you alive? I don't... I thought I'd lost you forever.

[makingmyway]

[ He's about ready with a healing spell to help Orym, at least what little he can do since it's still a bit new to him. But the questions have him hesitating for a moment, before he breathes out an exasperated laugh. ]

Well... you have my brother to thank for all that. [ He can't help rolling his eyes a bit, though his smile fades a little. ] I... I was fully prepared to go through with my end of my agreement with my father, to marry whatever suitor he chose for me. But... I guess I was more miserable than I thought, because Cyrus took noticed.

[ Then with another laugh, he makes a sweeping gesture with his free hand. ] So he kindly arranged for my kidnapping, and faking my death.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Oh gods he missed that laughter too. The sound of it has his eyes threatening to fill with tears again, even as a smile tugs at his lips. The expression feels strange, like his muscles barely remember how to form it.

His eyes widen at that bit of news. Cyrus playing mastermind was... well. Not what he would have expected. But gods is he grateful for it.]

And now you're here... [And, interestingly,] And a traveling bard?

[Orym's smile softens.] It's a good look on you, you know.

[makingmyway]

[ He nods a little. ] We both knew Father wasn't going to listen. And I'd already made a promise, so this... this really seemed to be the only way.

[ But now he was free, free to live a life of his own, to live the life he and Orym had wanted to have together.

With a small grin, he places a hand to his chest as he bows a bit, best as he able to while kneeling. ] Thank you. Dorian Storm, humble bard, at your service.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

Dorian?

[Orym echoes, breathless, stepping in closer and winding his arms around the other man once more, leaning into him. He needs to. He needs the contact, to remind himself that this is still real.]

I like it. A lot.

[He shuts his eyes as he turns to press his face to the place where Dorian's neck and shoulder meet, breathing in the familiar scent of him.] I've missed you so much.

[makingmyway]

[ With a smile, he's more than happy to return the embrace, holding Orym as close to him as he can. ]

Thank you. I like it a lot too.

[ Breathing a soft sigh, he presses a kiss on top of Orym's head. ] I've missed you too. Even while we were apart, you were always on my thoughts and in my heart.

[ Gently rubbing small circles in Orym's back, Dorian then hums softly under his breath, calling on the new magic that he has to send a gentle wash of healing over the halfling. ]

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[Something in Orym melts at the press of those lips through his hair, something that had frozen up without him realizing it, a winter that he'd slipped into unaware. And now spring is here once more, a welcome thawing.]

You never left my heart. Not for a minute. Even when I thought you were... [He tightens his arms around him.]

I'm not letting you go again. I can't.

[He feels the wash of that magic through him, soft and soothing, recognizing it for what it is.] Thankyou.

[makingmyway]

[ It's not too powerful, his magic still a bit new and unfamiliar. But he hopes it's enough to help at least. ] You're welcome.

And you don't have to. We can be together now, just like we wanted. [ Pressing another kiss to Orym's head, he then draws back a bit, cradling Orym's cheek in his palm, his eyes filling with tears even as he smiles. ] Whether we stay in this town, or we leave to find somewhere else, it doesn't matter to me, as long as you're there with me.

[bigmoonlittlemoon]

[We can be together now. Orym cannot remember ever hearing anything sweeter in his entire life. He leans into that touch, nodding in fervent, eager agreement.]

Anywhere. It doesn't matter where. As long as we're together. Wherever you go, I'll follow.

[This town. Any town. He lifts his own hand to settle against the other man's cheek, soft and gentle, and maybe Dorian will feel the ring on his finger.]

I love you, Dorian Storm. I will always love you.