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And in the blink of an eye, it’s done.
A laugh pulls itself from Imogen’s throat as Laudna slams into her, holding the sorceress tightly.
“Well, I definitely didn’t expect that,” Fearne says as Ashton cackling behind her. He shoves Braius in the shoulder as Chetney howls with joy.
Dorian let’s his eyes scan over them, a smile of disbelief on his face. They did it. They actually manged to stop Ludinus.
It’s over.
He lets his eyes fall on Orym, who is staring at Dorian like he’s never allowed himself to before. Laughter bubbles from Dorian’s mouth as he drops his ancestral sword and lute to the ground. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he runs for Orym. They collide, and Dorian lifts Orym into his arms, spinning up into the air as he laughs like a mad man.
They get to try. There’s a future now, and they get to see if they can walk through it together.
Orym clings to the back of Dorian’s shirt as if he’s worried Dorian will disappear.
Dorian falls to his knees and holds Orym at arms length. He cups Orym’s face and leans close.
It’s been on the tip of Dorian’s tongue since Orym’s desperate sending stone message weeks ago. The genasi has wanted to say it, but couldn’t find the right moment. Even falling asleep with Orym in his arms last night (that was last night? It feels like it was months ago…), Dorian couldn’t get the words right.
But now…he can say it now.
“Orym, I—”
Dorian cuts himself off as Orym steps away. His hands linger in the air, reaching for the halfling. There’s a question on his lips, but he stops when he sees the vines snaking out from under Orym’s armor.
“Oh no.”
Dorian looks over his shoulder and sees Fearne staring at Orym with a look of horror that he’s never seen on her face before.
“What’s wrong?” Dorian asks, reaching for Orym again.
The halfing dodges, but his movements are stilted. The vines aren’t just coming from under his armor. They’re bursting out of his skin.
“I…I had to, Fearne.”
Horror turns to anger on the faun’s face.
“Orym, what the hell is happening?” Dorian demands.
The halfling studies him with an intensity that nearly makes Dorian shrink back. When Orym opens his mouth to respond, he chokes. Vines erupt from his mouth, strangling the words. It’s a horrifying mirror to the Wildmother’s blessing in Vasselheim as the vines engulf Orym’s small frame. Flowers blossom along the twisted cocoon.
Dorian lunges forward. He pulls at the vines, flinching as the thorns rip at his flesh. He feels Fearne’s hands on his shoulders, but Dorian will not be deterred. He wrenches at a vine, but it withers in his hand. The ash blows from his palm. He looks up to Orym and gasps. He feels Fearne collapse against his back as they watch the vines die just as fast as they grew.
There’s nothing there. Orym is gone.
~
After much discussion, it’s decided that Dorian and Fearne will enter Ligament Manor. They argued that a massive party would rub Nana Morri the wrong way. It had taken hours to talk down Orym’s sisters-in-law and the Voice of the Tempest.
“He deserves a happy ending, Dorian,” Keyleth had said to him. She pulled him away from the group into her private quarters. She wanted to speak with him before they left for the Feywild. “Of everyone, he deserves peace.”
Her eyes drift to the slightly ajar door off this sitting room. Dorian knows the man they rescued from the Malleus Key is resting there. He’s heard the story whispered many times. If he survives, he may just turn it into a ballad.
Dorian nods at the Tempest, and she presses up to her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. If she blesses him, Dorian has no idea, but he’s filled with a warmth he hasn’t felt since he last saw his mother.
“Bring him home, Dorian, please.”
There is no question that all of Bells Hells would travel to the Feywild with Fearne and Dorian, but they remain on outskirts of Morri’s domain.
“I’ll be able to hear you if you call,” Imogen says, tapping her forehead. “Just give us the signal, and we’ll come runnin’”
“We’ll be fine,” Fearne reassures them. Dorian is sure she’s ignoring the growing number of eyes staring at the party from the thick canopy above.
In his head, he hears, “You’ll holler if it gets bad?”
“Of course,” he silently answers back. “But hopefully it won’t come to that.”
Ashton pulls Fearne into a hug and lifts a trinket from her dress. She clearly notices, biting them on the nose before brushing a kiss against their cheek.
Dorian aches for the soft touch of Orym’s skin.
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Fearne says.
~
“I think we’re all blowing this out of proportion,” Fearne says as they approach the massive tree house. She’s trying to act more confident than she appears. Dorian’s known her long enough to see the panic she’s trying to hide. “All we’ll have to do it talk to her. It’s not like these bargains are a big deal or anything.”
“Mm hm,” Dorian offers, desperately trying not to think of the topiaries and powerful archfey turned into wall art.
He stops short of entering the home and turns to Fearne. “He never said anything about this?” he asks.
Fearne looks a him for a moment before averting her eyes. Guilt presses heavily on her shoulders.
“Once. That night with the sword business. With Delilah. He mentioned it, but I never brought it back up. We just got so caught up with everything…” She trails off and turns away.
'No time' echoes in Dorian’s head. He catches Fearne’s shoulder and gently moves her to face him again.
“None of us asked,” Dorian said. “That night was…a lot. But we can make it right now.”
Fearne quickly wipes the tears that have rolled down her cheeks. “He was never okay, Dorian. I should have…”
“I think we’re all guilty of not recognizing his turmoil,” Dorian said, squeezing her shoulder. “He is always so concerned about everyone else. He likes to say he’s not a leader, but he puts everyone ahead of himself.”
Fearne clutches his hand on her shoulder. “He doesn’t get to do that anymore.”
“You’ll help me make sure?” he asks with a soft smile.
Her eyes glistening, Fearne nods, and they head into the manor.
~
Their welcome is more subdued than last time. The flowers remain closed, but still move as if watching Fearne and Dorian pass. The bard has his lute in his hands, but his fingers are still. He has a song at the ready should he need it. He’s been working on it for quite some time.
The thick walls of the tree trunk echo their footfalls as the pair move up the stairs. Fearne’s expression is pinched. She steps lighter than she normally would. Dorian keeps a pace behind her, humming to himself.
Orange light flickers at the top of the stairs, bending the shadows menacingly. Dorian’s step stutters, his eyes seeing a stretch of a spider’s web against the light. He breaths through his fear and hurries to keep up with Fearne.
They crest the top of the stairs into the parlor. The tiki bar is cleaned and tidy on the far end of the room, and the large, cracked leather easy chair is vacant. The sconces on the walls dim as they enter, leaving the room a deep umber color.
“This isn’t normal, is it?” Dorian asks. “Normal of course being relative—”
“Fearnie?”
The pair freezes and turns to the stairwell leading to the tree top. Orym has a hand on the bannister and one foot still on the last stair. He’s healed from whatever hurts he sustained during the battle with Ludinus. The vines didn’t seem to do anything to harm him. There’s a tension in the way he’s holding himself as if he’s surprised they’re here.
That look breaks Dorian’s heart.
Orym’s eyes land on Dorian, and he inhales deeply.
“Fearne, dear!” Nana Morri’s voice booms from the opposite side of the room. A door that wasn’t there a moment ago closes behind her. “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon, though I suppose whisking your friend away so quickly would necessitate a visit.”
Fearne runs forward and clings to her grandmother. Dorian can’t blame her. He genuinely didn’t think they would get out of there. He can only imagine how he’s going to react when he sees his father and mother again.
“Nana,” Fearne says as she pulls away. “I came to ask a favor.”
“Did you?” Morri says, her long neck craning to look over at Dorian. “And you brought the cute boy with. Interesting.” Her head turns to Orym. “Very interesting, indeed.”
Dorian bites his lip, fighting his instinct to speak. Fearne said she could make this work. He has to trust her.
“Nana—”
Her grandmother takes Fearne’s hand in her own. Her long fingers wrap twice around her grand daughter’s wrists. “I don’t mean to cut you off, my dear. You know that I would do most anything for you. But I know what you’re going to ask.”
“Oh?” Fearne says, trying to act surprised.
“I know you care for this man,” she says, nodding towards Orym. “But he made a bargain. I honored my end, and now he is honoring his. This is the way of things.”
“But Nana, he—”
“Is an adult who made his choice.”
“Fearnie, you didn’t have to do this,” Orym says. He still hasn’t moved, but he’s very deliberately not looking at Dorian. “I knew what I was doing.”
Dorian feels a deep anger well up in his stomach. It fights with the love he holds for Orym. The emotions burst out of him, despite his best effort to keep them in.
“Making a bargain to save your friends?” He says, an incredulous laugh causing his voice to break. Orym looks at the floor with a flinch. “After everything with the crown, I thought you would know better.”
“Dorian, I had to.”
And Dorian gets it. He really does. He can’t go back in time and stop Orym from offering up his future to make sure his friends would be safe. But he can try to fix things now.
Dorian looks to Nana Morri, who is leering at him with increasing curiosity. “Would you like to bargain, young man?”
Orym's eyes go wide. He moves to say something, but Dorian doesn't give him the chance.
“I’ve come to collect what wasn’t Orym’s to trade.”
Nana Morri laughs from both her mouths, a high pitched cackle and a deep, bassy chuckle. “You know, I’ve heard that one a few times before. But he was never yours, dear boy. You two made no promises or pacts.”
Dorian clears his throat. “No, he belonged to another. The sword and shield he carries are proof of that devotion. He belongs to his husband and his family, the Ashari and Bells Hells. He never should have bargained.”
Morrigan beckons Orym and the halfing steps closer to her. She raps a knobby knuckle on his armor. “No mention of this? I understand it was gifted by someone who loves him as well.”
Dorian looks right at Orym. “Yes, it was.”
“Nana…” Fearne whispers, still tucked into her grandmother’s side. “Please?”
Morrigan looks from Orym to Fearne before fixing Dorian with a calculating look. “This is old magic, my boy. I’m just as bound by it as he is. My grand daughter cares for you both deeply, and technically, the little metal creature died on your mission, even if your band had already been back on Exandria. My end of the deal was fulfilled.” The Fatestitcher cocks her head. “However, if you had something to offer? Perhaps we could trade back?”
“Dorian, you don’t have to—”
“Stop it,” Dorian all but shouts. “You deserve a happy ending, Orym. We had to hold back a whole legion of folk who wanted to storm this place just to give you a chance at one. You’ve carried so much for so long. Let me do this for you. Please.”
He takes a deep breath, pawing at his eyes with the back of his wrist. He blinks away the moisture there and readies himself.
“I offer you a song, my lady,” he says.
And he plays.
It’s not a love song. Dorian isn’t experienced enough for such things, and he doesn’t want the come to come across as saccharine or sappy. The song isn’t about him or his intense feelings for Orym.
It’s a song about the fighter. The survivor. A man who managed to get back up after every fall. Who only wanted to do right by those he holds tightest in his heart. It’s a song about a man who constantly steps in the line of fire to protect those he loves.
But it’s not a love song.
Dorian feels like he plays for hours. Stars are born and burn brightly and then wink out as he continues. His forearms burn and his fingers bleed. His voice cracks on the high notes. But he powers through. He finishes. His lute falls from his hands and he crashes to his knees. His breathing is a ragged gasp.
He looks up, avoiding the looks on Fearne’s and Orym’s faces. He can’t bear to look at them right now. Dorian only has eyes for Morrigan, who has stepped closer to him as he played. There’s a hunger in her eyes, but she blinks it away as Fearne tugs at her spindly fingers.
“Quite a song,” Morrigan says.
“Y-you…honor me…with your praise,” Dorian pants. His throat is on fire.
The Fatestitcher raises up to her full height. “You are lucky my Fearne loves you both,” she says. “You cannot just take him, Dorian Storm. As I said, there are rules in place.” She runs a finger down her chin. “I will free him from his bargain, but you must return here each month when Catha waxes full. You will play for me, and I will enjoy the attentions of the Master Muse and Son of the Wind. And perhaps, you’ll bring your large friend with you. Doomseed was his name, I believe.”
“Oh, thank you, Nana!” Fearne shouts. She leaps at her grandmother and nearly tackles her to the ground. “Thank you so much!”
Dorian’s arms shake as he tries to push himself up. He winces, finally managing, as familiar boots appear in front of him. Dorian lifts his head and looks into Orym’s eyes. There’s fury there, and incredulity and desperation that Dorian has never seen directed his way before. He flinches under that intensity.
“Did you really think we weren’t going to come?” Dorian asks after he catches his breath. His cheeks flush purple as tears shimmer in the corners of his eyes. “You thought—”
Dorian’s words are cut off as Orym crashes their mouths together. They topple over; Orym straddling Dorian’s chest as he frames the genasi’s face in his hands.
“I love you,” Orym whispers against Dorian’s mouth. “I thought I wouldn’t get to say it, but I love you so much.”
Recovering from his shock, Dorian pulls Orym tight against him. He kisses the confession from the halfling’s mouth, trying to tamp down his anxiety over his lack of experience. They’re both panting when they pull back to stare at each other.
“I do too…as well,” Dorian says, his voice still hoarse. “Love you, I mean.”
Orym laughs, resting his head on Dorian’s chest. “I figured.”
The genasi squeezes him tighter and drops a kiss into Orym’s hair. He can hear the rest of the Bells Hells below. Fearne must have called Imogen. He’s excited to see them, but part of him wants to hide Orym away. He wants his little fighter all to himself for at least a little while.
Orym reads his thoughts. “We’ve got nothing but time now.” He kisses the skin he can reach over Dorian’s collar bone. Dorian nuzzles in closer, uncaring who sees.