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Ashton finds Orym in Nana Morri’s creepy-ass garden.
Orym is practicing his sword forms, but not with his usual grace or passion. His movements are stilted and robotic rather than flowing seamlessly from one motion to the next. They watch him from a distance, tucked slightly behind an awful definitely-actually-a-cursed-person topiary so as to avoid being noticed. Ashton’s been trying to find a moment to talk to Orym in private about everything that happened, to make an apology (to beg him not to leave, please don’t leave, please don’t leave me behind) but it feels like everytime he tries to pull Orym aside he’s already quietly slipped away. Or one of the others has a breakdown (a breakdown that Ashton caused with his stupid, reckless, foolish fucking decision), and the whole group has to pull together to triage each other’s mental and emotional wounds.
Fearne’s idea to come stay with her Nana in the Fey Realm was a good one. As much as Bell’s Hells care for each other, they aren’t always the best at communicating. And Ashton’s latest monumental fuckup has left fractures in the group that desperately need to be stabilized. They can’t go on this crucially important recon mission to the fucking moon if they can’t trust each other (can’t trust Ashton).
Ashton can see Orym’s blade shaking in his hand as he pauses to hold an extended lunge. Even at a distance, they can hear Orym heave a long, tired sigh. He slowly drops his sword arm until the blade tip brushes the grass, and shifts from his fighting stance to stand stock-still with his back towards Ashton.
“I know you’re there, Ash.”
They curse themselves internally - they should have fucking known that Orym would notice him hiding back here like a coward. Orym notices fucking everything. It’s kind of annoying, actually. Ashton peeks out from behind the topiary, but Orym doesn’t turn to face him.
“You know, if you want to sneak up on people in the dark, you might want to start wearing a hat or a hood or something.” Orym gestures to the side of his own head, referring to the light that dances in Ashton’s brain beneath the glass implant. Ashton rubs at it absentmindedly.
“Hats look really fucking stupid on me. Never liked wearing ‘em.”
“Probably a good thing you puked up that Shard, then. If all your cracks were still glowing, you’d have to start wearing sleeves too.”
“No fucking way. Sleeves are bullshit.” Orym huffs a quiet laugh at that. It’s hollow and sad-sounding, but Ashton relaxes a little. Maybe Orym’s more open to mending fences than they’d been starting to fear. Ashton takes a few steps closer to him and stops, leaving maybe five or six feet of space between them.
“Yeah,” Orym mutters, “It’d be a travesty to hide those biceps.” Ashton snorts a surprised laugh at that. Orym shifts from foot to foot, loses a little of the tension he was holding in his shoulders at Ashton’s initial approach, but still doesn’t turn around.
“Sorry for sneaking up on you like that. I wanted to try and talk to you, but you looked pretty preoccupied and I didn’t want to bother you if you didn’t want me to. I wasn’t trying to be a fucking creep or anything.”
“I know. I’m sorry too. I know I haven’t been around much since…” Orym trails off, still facing away from Ashton, “I think I just needed some time to process… all that.” He waves a hand vaguely, can’t seem to bring himself to directly address the stunt that Ashton pulled with the Primordial Shard.
“You don’t owe me an apology for that. This whole fucking mess is my fault.” Orym shrugs, grips his right arm with his left hand, thumbs at the moons on his shoulder. They’re both silent for a long moment.
“I’m getting really tired of watching the people I love die, Ash.” Orym’s voice is thin, and sad, and trembling. Ashton’s insides twist into a knot.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I just… I don’t understand why, Ash? Why didn’t you tell us what you were going to do?” Ashton shuffles guiltily and looks at the ground.
“Fearne didn’t want the shard. Said she was afraid of what it might do to her, how it might change her for the worse. I didn’t want her to have to take it if she didn’t fucking want it, but the rest of the group was kinda… pressuring her to take it and… I knew you’d all try to stop us. To stop me.”
“But why didn’t you at least come to me?” Orym’s still facing away. His shoulders are up around his ears, his fists clenched at his sides. Ashton’s heart is in his throat, “Fearne’s my best friend! Why didn’t she feel like she could come to me with her concerns? And you and me, I thought…” Orym sniffles and scrubs furiously at his face with his arm, “I thought we had an agreement. That we’d try to help each other. That we’d ask each other for help when we need it. Did I…
“Did I do something wrong?”
That last plaintive question is what finally breaks Ashton. They stride purposefully towards Orym, drop to one knee in front of him, and fold him into a crushing hug. They can feel a steady stream of tears starting to dampen their shirt.
“This is not your fucking fault, do you hear me? None of this is your fault,” Ashton presses Orym tightly against his chest. Hopes the resolute rumble of their voice will settle in Orym’s bones and chase away every hint of self-doubt, “You’re the best fucking person I know, and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, that I ever made you doubt how much I trust you.”
Orym’s arms slowly rise to wrap around Ashton in return, stretching as far as they can go around his ribcage and fisting tightly in the fabric of his coat. Ashton presses his face into Orym’s hair (he smells of fresh air, and warm earth, and green, growing things) and draws in a shaky breath to continue.
“Fearne didn’t want it, and she thought I should have it, and it felt so fucking right in the moment, like maybe it was fate, y'know? And… and neither of us realized just how fucking terrible it would be, and I’m sorry I put you through that, I’m so sorry.”
“That was… awful to watch, Ash. Really fucking awful,” Orym’s arms tighten around them, trembling, “You were dying, Ash, and in so much pain, and there was nothing I could do. There was nothing I could do.” His tiny body is wracked by a single hiccuping sob, and he shakes in Ashton’s arms like he’s trying not to literally fall to pieces. Ashton clumsily pets at Orym’s hair (how do you even do comfort? He’s pretty sure he’s been cried on more than anyone else in this fucking group and he still doesn’t know) and tries to fight back the tears welling in his own eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt you like that. Any of you, but especially not you, Orym.” Ashton sniffles and chokes up, and godsdammit can’t they have one fucking conversation without crying? “Never you. You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Orym freezes in their arms, but doesn’t pull away. Ashton gets the impression that he’d be stepping back to stare up at them with big, confused eyes if Ashton weren’t currently squeezing him to his chest like a damn python. That’s too fucking bad though, ‘cause their emotional dam is bursting wide open and Ashton’s not ready to let Orym go just yet.
“Like, the others too, sure. But I wouldn’t even have them if it weren’t for you, because you’re the reason I fucking stayed with this group in the first place. Because of your Ashari shit and my Hishari shit, and I thought maybe if I got you to owe me some favors I… I could call them in and finally figure out where I came from and what the fuck happened to me.”
“You didn’t need me to owe you a favor to have my help with that, Ash,” Orym releases Ashton’s coat with one hand to carefully pat at their side (his arms are too short to reach his back from here, fuck, Ashton keeps forgetting just how small he is), “I would have been happy to help you.”
“That’s what makes you so fucking special, though! My whole fucking life has been one long string of transactions ever since that portal spat me out in the Hellcatch. Maybe even before that. No one in Bassuras does shit for free, or in the Hollow. Even Milo, and I love them, I really fucking do… even Milo has to keep a running tab of everything they’ve done to help me, and I was fine with that because that’s just the fucking world I’ve always lived in. Every good thing I’ve ever gotten has come with a big fucking other shoe to drop, every single one.
“And then you come along, doing this fucking mission for your leader just because she asked you to, with your friends who came with you just because they fucking wanted to, helping people left and right just because they needed it,,” Ashton is starting to hyperventilate a little, the contents of his heart pouring out of him like a rockslide, “and you’ve all been so fucking nice to me, and I’ve learned more about my past in these last two months with you than I have in my entire fucking life–”
“Ash–”
“And then Otohan fucking killed you, Orym- you and Laudna and Fearne- and I couldn’t do a single fucking thing to stop it–”
“Ashton–”
“And I can’t fucking do that again, Orym, I can’t, I can’t–”
“ASH!”
Ashton gasps for breath, shaken out of his spiral by Orym’s voice, and inhales the heady scent of lavender. Orym’s patting his side again, still sounding sad and wrung-out and on the verge of tears, but clearly trying to be encouraging.
“That’s it, big guy. You gotta breathe,” there’s a sniffle from the halfling in their arms, “It’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay. Just breathe for me.” Ashton sucks in a few more sobbing breaths that are heavily perfumed with lavender. When they pull back enough to look down at Orym, he’s looking right back. There are fat, wet tears tracking down his face, and his tiny body (still wrapped tightly in Ashton’s arms) is wreathed in fragrant purple flowers. “You back with me?”
“Yeah,” Ashton tightens one arm around Orym and lifts the others to scrub away their own tears, “Shit, yeah. M’okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Orym presses back into the hug and Ashton bends to hide their face against the top of his head again.
“I just... I wasn’t strong enough. To protect you. To protect any of you. I thought if I took the Shard it would give me the power I needed to keep you safe. ‘Cause we’ll probably have to fight her again when we go on this fucking moon mission and I can’t…” Ashton sniffles and tightens his hold, “I can’t watch Otohan fucking kill you again. I think that would fucking break me.”
“Gods, Ash, I… when Otohan… I felt like such a failure,” Orym speaks haltingly, squeezing Ashton back, “She cut you down in seconds. All I could think to do was to get you back up and try to buy enough time for you all to get away. And at the Malleus Key she almost killed the Tempest and I couldn’t even knock out that fucking backpack contraption let alone Otohan herself and… I’m not gonna lie, Ash, the thought of trying to fight her again has me terrified out of my mind. Let alone Ludinus and the others. It– it’s all just too big, Ash it’s too big, but we can’t back out now.”
“Fuck. We really are exactly the fucking same, huh? Like a mirror reflection or some shit.” Orym gives a wet, sniffly chuckle at that.
“Maybe a funhouse mirror. You’re a lot taller than me.”
The two of them don’t move for a while, just holding each other in the quiet. Ashton isn’t really sure how long they stay there - it’s hard to tell how much time passes in the perpetual twilight of the Fey Realm. Hell, with Nana Morri fucking around with the time flow, maybe it isn’t actually passing at all. Ashton thinks he finally understands where Fearne’s ‘time is a weird soup’ analogy comes from.
Ashton’s busted fucking body tells him it’s probably been too long, though. Their bad hip gives a sharp twinge and buckles, nearly unbalancing him and Orym both. Half-crushed lavender flowers are scattered around them when Ashton topples.
“Whoa–! Ash, you okay?” Orym’s little hands press more firmly on Ashton’s chest, helping to keep them steady. Ashton shifts enough to stabilize himself without completely releasing Orym from their grip.
“Ugh, yeah. Just, not a great position for…” Ashton gestures at their impact fractures, “all this shit. Didn’t wanna let go yet, but uh…” they trail off sheepishly and Orym gives them a soft, sad smile.
“It’s okay. I have an idea. C’mon.” Orym takes Ashton by the hand and leads him over to a large, smooth boulder with a gentle incline on one side. It’s in a secluded corner of the garden, a little farther away from the creepy-ass topiaries (and thank all the gods for that). Orym kneels before the boulder and plants his free hand in the grass. A gentle green glow emanates from that point of contact and a thick carpet of moss begins creeping up the boulder until it’s completely covered. When Orym is satisfied with his work, he looks up at Ashton and pats the springy green surface expectantly, “Try this on for size, Big Guy.”
Ashton turns and sits until he sort of collapses back against the boulder. The angle is such that he can recline comfortably, and the combination of stone and moss creates a firm cushion that provides support exactly where they need it. Ashton settles with a relieved groan and crackling of joints.
“Y’know, you keep saying you’re fucking bad at magic, but this is some of the dopest shit anyone’s ever done for me.” Orym chuckles and moves to find a comfortable spot next to Ashton, but they reach out an arm and scoop him in close to settle on top of their chest.
“Wh– Ash, are you sure this is okay? I don’t mind if this is what you want, but I don’t wanna hurt you.” Ashton wraps both arms around Orym until he’s almost completely engulfed in an earthen embrace. Like a lost child with a teddy bear.
“If it wasn’t fine, I wouldn’t fuckin’ do it. If it becomes not fine, I’ll let you know,” they shrug and look away for a moment, “Besides, it… it doesn’t hurt when it’s you, not really. Not in any way that matters.” Orym stares at them for a long moment before laying his head to rest with one finely pointed ear pressed to Ashton’s heart. The warm weight and pressure of his little body is a balm on Ashton’s aching scars and raw nerves.
“Okay. If you’re sure.” There’s a soft pause before Orym speaks again, "Sorry I cried all over you.” Ashton snorts.
“Well, I cried all over you too, so I figure we’re even. Besides, halfling tears are nowhere near as bad as whatever the fuck happens when Laudna cries. That shit stains.” They share a laugh at that, and the following silence feels a little warmer. Ashton’s starting to drift off when Orym speaks again
“Y’know… I don’t know a whole lot about magic, or Primordials, or what happened with your parents and the Hishari, but I’d like to keep helping you with that if I can.” Ashton gives him an appreciative squeeze.
“You’ve already helped me more than you can ever fucking know. I’m just glad you still want to have anything to do with me after… all this shit.”
“Not gonna leave you, Ash.”
“Don’t fucking say that, man. I pulled you half-dead out of that fucking mole monster’s jaws in the Shattered Teeth last week. That’s not a promise either of us can keep, and you know it.”
“I– no, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Orym’s hand clenches around a fold of Ashton’s shirt, “I’ll try to be more careful from now on, I just… I saw what that thing did to Chet, and I couldn’t bear to let it hurt you too.”
“You promise to be more careful, and I’ll promise not to make stupid fucking decisions without talking to you first.”
“Promise. No more absorbing Primordial Shards.”
“Trust me, that is not an experience I’m keen to repeat.”
“Also you owe me pie. As much as I want. Whenever I want. For the rest of our natural lives.” Ashton’s laughter rumbles through his chest like the purr of a giant cat.
“I dunno how long that’ll be, but you have a fucking deal.”