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The sun rises were never harsh. Light leaked through their window at a reasonable hour, gently rousing them from whatever kind of sleep they were lost in. Dorian had learned to sleep in. There was no need to wake up before the sun. The only adventure out there was the love of his life.
The bed beside him was empty but not cold. Nothing in Zephrah was cold, not really. Even the chill of the winter months were chased by warm mugs of hot chocolate and whatever heat they could create between the two of them. Dorian sat up and let the blanket fall around him. He stretched, cracking his neck and popping his shoulders. The effects of an adventuring life were not skin deep. Every part of him ached and he wondered how he ever slept sitting up or on the hard dirt.
Dorian pulled himself out of bed and shook out the comforter over the mattress. He liked coming back to a made bed and there was no one to do that for him here. He made his way to the window with shaking morning coordination, stumbling over his own feet before opening the curtains. Flinching at the bright light, he fumbled for the latch.
The windows opened outwards, double panels like outstretched arms greeted their garden. And the winds answered in turn, sweeping through the trees, rustling roaring between mountains and cottages. Their tomatoes wiggled and waved while the zucchini and other low to the ground vegetables stayed put. The wisteria on the sides of the cottage and the climbing roses on the fences released pedals into the air. They swirled and swarmed with the cherry blossoms that always floated about.
Never in all his sheltered years did he think he would call a place this beautiful, home.
Dorian opened the door slowly, quietly, a habit he had yet to break. The sounds of the morning were different every day, sometimes there were eggs frying, sometimes whisks whipped against glass. This morning there was the distinct flapping of pancake against skillet. It smelled like the burnt batter of the first ugly try and sweet maple butter. Dorian's stomach growled as he tiptoed closer to the kitchen.
Peeking around the corner, Dorian saw Orym at the portion of their kitchen that was perfectly sized for him. The kitchen window illuminated him in morning sun. It caught in his hair and made him golden. The kind of warm brown of a perfectly made pancake. The smaller stove had the frying pan on one burner and a percolator on another. The smell of coffee slowly started to mix with expertly made pancakes.
Orym hummed a tune to himself. Dorian tried to place it but couldn't. It sounded so familiar.
Dorian rested his hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of Orym's head. He didn't startle or jump. He just hummed in acknowledgement, like a cat waking up. Orym leaned his head back to peer up at him. Those green eyes so deep and rich with love, even after all these years Orym made Dorian blush like he just grew a flower in his hair.
“Morning,” He said through a bright smile.
“Good morning,” Dorian said, his first words of the day were low and scratchy.
Dorian couldn't help himself. He had always been drawn to Orym like a magnet. That smile, those eyes. He had to lean down and kiss him fully, hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face, thumbing his beard and the little patch of grey on his chin. Orym hummed and overlapped a hand with his own. The only reason they separated was the smell of batter starting to burn.
“What's the plan today?” Dorian asked, watching Orym shake the pan, tossing it into the air, and expertly catching it.
“I was thinking we’ll stop by Will and Dad first,” Their monthly ritual wouldn't be interrupted for a simple party. Dorian was always happy to go, but he worried the strict schedule was a guilty conscience trying to make up for all the time Orym spent away. “Then we’ll open up shop. Fearne said she’d help decorate.”
Dorian surveyed the kitchen landscape to see if they were missing anything for their breakfast. He decided he wasn't in the mood for any meat on the side. Instead he went digging in one of the ice boxes for fruit and yogurt. Then, he got started on setting the table for them. He reached into his own cabinets and drawers before moving over to Orym’s side of the kitchen. He leaned over to get halfling sized cutlery, a plate, and a bowl.
“Did they make it here last night?” He hadn't heard anything from either one of them. Dorian expected them to be late. Until Fearne mastered whatever spell allowed the ashari to travel by tree, Dorian would always count them as late.
“They didn't come knocking in the middle of the night so I'm assuming no,” Orym said with a little laugh. He set his current pancake onto the stack and started to scrape the bowl for the last one.
“I’d get Baernie to help you,” Dorian said, adjusting the place settings just so. He was always impressed with the resourcefulness of his in-laws whenever he looked at their dinnerware. The same pattern in two sizes. Even the silverware matched. Then again, they had bought this sort of thing before. “She’s here already and will probably listen to you about where you want everything.”
Fearne, with all of her good intentions, did whatever she wanted and dealt with the consequences later.
“We’ll stop by after seeing Will.”
They ate their breakfast in comfortable silence, nudging feet against knees and stealing blueberries from one when the other ran out. After the third time Dorian kicked Orym's chair out.
“You can make your own, why are you stealing mine?!” Dorian whined as Orym practically crawled over the table to reach his bowl of yogurt.
Orym grinned a mischievous smile, fork extended. “Yeah but the ones from Dariax's yard are so much better.” A pang of nausea and guilt rocked his stomach and suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood for blueberries anymore.
Dorian rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. Orym could do that to him. He scooped up the last strawberry and pushed the bowl his way. Orym didn't even hesitate picking out his blueberries, leaving the plain yogurt.
“You're impossible,” Dorian said.
“I love you too,” Orym said and Dorian’s ears began to ring. I love you. Love you. Love . He could never get tired of it. Orym told him at least once a day and Dorian still wants to hear more.
Dorian met Orym in the middle, much less strenuous than Orym practically laying on the table. He kissed Orym again. He tasted like sweet berries and morning coffee. With a drop of hesitance, Orym tried to pull back. Like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to break the kiss or not. Dorian simply kissed him deeper, chasing him the small distance he pulled. Letting Orym know exactly what his preference was.
Orym ended up smiling too wide to kiss. “Come on, you slept in. We can't get distracted,”
“Fuck the opening time. No one's charging you rent.” Dorian kissed Orym's cheek, then his jaw. His goal was down his neck, maybe leaving some bite marks along the way.
Orym fully pulled away, leaving Dorian hanging. “If it was just about opening then I'd take you right here,” He said, making Dorian’s face flush while the rest of his blood headed southward. “But we’ve got errands before the party.”
Right. Dorian didn't forget about Will or Derrig. He did forget about what time everyone was coming for the party. He sighed and scooped up the dishes. As he stood up, he placed one more kiss on Orym's forehead.
“Are we dressing for the party now?”
Orym hopped down from the table and over to the stove, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. “I don't think we’ll have time to come back.”
Dorian loved any excuse to dress up. Parties and pagents and dates all excited him to no end. As soon as Orym offered up their space, Dorian started his commission. A roaring red jacket with a dazzling phoenix emblazoned on his back. Its wings spread down his own arms. The thread twinkled with glitter as each embroidered feather seemed to move with the light, fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. Flames dripped from the feathers, around his arms and down his pant legs. A phoenix a new. His trusted winged boots felt like the perfect cap to the ensemble. Dorian slipped on all his jewelry. His ears adorned with cuffs and studded with multiple gemstones. Diamonds and rubies and zircon to match. A delicate chain lay perfectly across his collar bones. The simple silver band Orym had given him on his left ring finger.
Gold jewelry would have looked better with the red and the flames. But Dorian still couldn't bring himself to wear gold again.
Orym liked to dress up, to look nice, but not to the extent Dorian did at least. He preferred simple things. That didn't mean Dorian didn't commission something for him too. His shirt was breathable and light, delicate stitching crawled around his wrists and around his arms, mocking vines encircling him. Down his sides and around every hem and seam, Orym had ivy holding him together. Three little buttons hung open, exposing a tuft of chest hair. The fabric itself clung to his body, hugging the curves of his stomach and relaxed pectorals.
Sometimes Dorian thought a fully dressed Orym was hotter than a naked one. Then he saw Orym naked again.
Dorian gently folded his jacket over his arm and reached for the blanket they took when they had lunch with Will and Derrig. It was going to be a short visit but Dorian was not getting grass stains on his red pants. Maybe later, if they snuck away.
“Do we have everything?” Orym asked, doing a scan of their home.
Dorian looked around, getting a better vantage point. “I think so.”
Orym blew out the breath he was holding and set out. Dorian closed the door behind him. Immediately as his hand left the handle, Orym took hold of his ring finger.
The way to the graves was a gorgeous stretch of a winding path. The view itself, mountain peaks laced with fluffy clouds as far as the eye could see. The ground beneath their feet burst with color and life. Every flower in existence must have been planted along the path. It was something Dorian admired about the ashari. Death could be a morose scar left on the living. The ashari never let it fester and rot. Death was a beginning as much as it was an ending. Without winter there was no spring. With no death there was no rebirth. They were supposed to be celebrating that today. It only made sense to celebrate the other side of the coin.
Orym knelt in front of Derrig and Will’s stones and brushed away the leaves and dirt that had collected. “Hey honey, hey dad,”
Dorian spread out the blanket and quickly took his seat in the corner. “Hi Will, hi Derrig.” Giving them the tiniest of waves. He never knew what to say. The first time they came, Dorian asked for permission. Permission to love Orym while Will was away. He promised to love Orym. Dorian promised he didn't want to replace him. He knew he could never replace Will. There was a gentle breeze around them, and Dorian wasn't struck down by a bolt of lightning on a cloudless day. So he took that as an agreement.
“Besides coming to see you, today's really special,” Orym said to them. “Laudna’s coming with Imogen and we’re throwing her a rebirthday party. She remembered the time of year and widdled it down to a month and a week. She chose a day she liked the number of, in the end. A new birthday to go with her new name and her new life. It got her so excited ‘Mogen wanted to throw her a surprise party. I offered up the brewery. Baernies gonna help decorate, though she doesn't know it yet.”
Dorian listened intently to the way Orym spoke to Will and Derrig. Such love and reverence after all these years. It was beautiful how integral their love was to him. Dorian thought often about wanting to meet Will. He thought they might be friends, if they knew who they were to each other. He seemed wonderful from all the stories Orym and Nel and Leeta and Baernie and Maeve told.
But there was not a world where both Dorian and Will could exist with Orym. Another painfully, silencing fact. Will had to die for Dorian to fall in love with Orym. For Orym to set off on his journey across the world, for them to meet at all. The life and love Dorian got to enjoy was because Will’s was cut short.
And Dorian was thankful to be able to love Orym. He could not change the circumstances in which they came together. But he could honor the sacrifice made to allow it to happen. So he did. He visited Will and cleared his grave and thanked him every time they said goodbye. It was the least he could do.
“Well. We gotta go bother our sister,” Orym said, thumbing the engraving of Will's name in stone. “I’ll pay her in beer and she’ll politely take it and give it to Leeta when she thinks I'm not looking.”
“I told you she prefers the cider,” Dorian said. Orym flashed him that helpful smile.
“Fine, fine, I'll give her a custom six pack,” Orym turned back to Will. “Maybe she’ll like this new one.”
Dorian laughed. “Will, your husband is impossible.”
“ HIS husband,” Orym gasped.
Dorian was already standing and folding up the blanket. “You’re his husband when you're being hardheaded.”
“And when I'm agreeable?” Orym brushed off his knees, then his hands.
“Then we share.”
Baernie was easily recruited. Aside from being one of the kindest people Dorian has ever met, she would also do anything for her younger brother. The devotion the family had to each other was unlike anything Dorian had ever seen. He of course gave up everything for his own brother once upon a time. But the triplets, Nel, Keyleth. There was a reason Orym didn't have a last name. He was of the Air Ashari. They were all his family. Before Will. After Will. Until the rift to the plane of Air closed.
The Brewery was a culmination of rehabilitation and a genuine love for the creation of beer and serving the community. The first months back to Zephrah were filled with poor nights of sleep and jumping at every quick movement of leaves or children. Orym would wake up in the middle of the night, he couldn't seem to stay asleep for longer than four hours at a time. Dorian would either stay up too late or wake up too early, catching him on either end of his normal “shift". They worried each other and they both decided that they needed to fill their days with something.
Orym got a job at the Airy Eyrie, helping out Marlis at the beautiful beer garden. Marlis in turn taught Orym all about beers and ciders and meads. He had to know what he was selling. Orym fell head over heels for the brewing process. It was methodical and patient. He had his room to be creative but there was a structure to it. Making cider under the cabinet turned into small batches turned into a largish scale operation at the far edge of town, a building overlooking the valleys and mountains. Picturesque. The perfect place to place Bell’s Brews
Dorian, on the other hand, didn't crave a real job. It's why he set off adventuring afterall. While Orym was off at work, Dorian would wander the streets of Zephrah. He must have looked so lost in the strange, quiet place. Dorian went nowhere without an instrument in hand. His flute or mandolin. There were so many gorgeous places to sit and think about the horrors he’d seen. So he picked any given tree or park bench or public courtyard and started to play. Some days he was alone for all the hours he plucked at his strings. Other days, he’d amass a crowd all listening to his mindless musing. His favorite days he played for the children of Zephrah. Half-elves and half-orcs, halflings and humans. Their wide, wandering eyes watched him with wonder. Playing for them, turned into teaching them. Dorian never expected to like teaching. He never thought he had the patience. But that was before the world rushed past him in a vortex and threatened to swallow him and everyone he loved whole.
So he learned to slow down.
The building was as rustic as Zephrah could get. Old reddish brick and exposed wood beams. The place came with taps already and a pile of tired wooden furniture. It was what Orym could afford. The moment he told Chet that he was going to use the discarded tables and stools, just until he got on his feet, Chetney Pock O’pea was sizing up trees to carve. Within the week, the whole place was furnished and Chetney had moved on to restoring the floors, the banisters, and anything else that still had some integrity.
As they approached the front of the building, they noticed someone leaning against the doors. That little prickle of paranoia crept up Dorian’s spine and to the base of his neck. A flash of fear and panic mixed with sudden dread that he didn't have a weapon on him. It had gotten milder, this sixth sense, but it never went away.
Upon closer inspection, it was Chetney. Asleep and drooling with a sturdy looking stool in hand. Dorian could feel the ground shaking from his snoring. If it wasn't for his roaring sinuses Dorian would have sworn he was dead.
“Chetters you look like a drunk," Orym said, nudging him with his foot.
Chetney popped awake, springing upward to his feet as if he wasn't a thousand years old. Dorian was convinced Chet was going to outlive all of them even with his tremendous head start.
"I'm not drunk! I was just resting my eyes!” Chetney wiped away the smear of drool on his cheek for emphasis.
“Why are you cradling that stool like a life preserver?” Dorian asked, unlocking the doors and pushing them open. "Have you found the ottoman of eternal life?"
“No! It's a present for your better half,” Chetney said, practically shoving Orym over as he forced it into his hands. Chet gave Orym a glance. “Your partner over there really needs to learn how to respect his elders."
Orym looked up at Dorian. “I dunno, he's really good at respecting me ."
Dorian blushed and Chetney let himself into the brewery without being invited in. He was a werewolf, not a vampire, and was there for the party after all.
"It's for behind the main bar,” Chetney said, waving straight ahead. "I saw you nearly snap your neck last time on that hand-me-down piece of junk. If you're not going to make the whole setup accessible you should have equipment that won't kill you.”
Orym inspected the new step stool. Sturdy and wide, it would stay perfectly stationary even during a rush. It was also intricately carved with three carefully placed moons and winding ivy.
"Hey, thanks Chet," Orym said. “It's beautiful. I'll go replace it right now."
Baernie waved a hand and all the lanterns lit up, illuminating their place of business. A place of pride for them. They built this business and the community that came along with it. It was a warm place for anyone to float in and out of. It was important to them to have a place where everyone felt safe.
The distinct sound of wood against wood came from behind the bar and a moment later Orym popped up, easily reaching around the bar. Dorian smiled and leaned up against it, taking the rare opportunity to look up at Orym.
"I'll take a Cosmo with extra lime,” Dorian said through his eyelashes. "Pretty please?”
A flush of red bloomed across Orym’s nose and cheeks. “Anything for you,” He said. They didn't really serve liquor. They'd have a small menu of three seasonal cocktails. Suffice to say their mint julep, lavender honey cream, and lemon drop did not a Cosmo make. “I'll just have to stop at the store first-"
"Can you two stop flirting?” Baernie pleaded. "I have a wife at home who is very upset that I'm helping decorate for a party neither of us are invited to."
“Tell Liv you and her can come,” Orym stole a kiss from Dorian before hopping down to the ground. "You're family. You just don't really know the guest of honor.”
"She's the scary one?” Baernie asked, following on Orym’s heels as he made his way to the center of their dining area. “With the long hair and the black ooze?"
Dorian tapped his knuckles on the bar. “You know, that's not as specific as you think." He said. Scary, long hair, black ooze? Opal and Laudna had some interesting similarities. And depending on who you ask, Fearne could slot herself in with them. Long hair and certainly scarier in the fey realm. Her withered hand could be convinced to drip.
“The white haired one.”
"No.”
Orym started to describe to his sister what he had in mind for the decorations. A symbol of life and death and rebirth. Dorian didn't stay to listen to them. He had food to cook. They had been preparing all week. Appetizers and mains and cookies and muffins. Everything was in the deep freeze, waiting to be warmed. They had an industrial kitchen lying and waiting. When Imogen started going on about how nice it would be to have a party for Laudna. How their little cottage on a hill didn't have space for a party, Dorian knew her game. He couldn't really be mad. Orym did offer the venue as if it was his idea.
Dorian set a timer for the appetizers. When it was time to turn the oven down, it would be the entree’s turn. Hosting and catering were very different things. But their big hearts offered it all to their favorite dead lady.
When he stepped out of the kitchen, the brewery was transformed. Large branches of trees that were not there, sprouted from the wood, weaving across the walls. Many of them converged on the ceiling and started growing leaves. A canopy of ever changing leaves hung overhead. From green to yellow to orange to red, each leaf went through its own life cycle. They blinked out of existence for the briefest of seconds before regrowing, bright and green again. They were offset and no two next to each other were in the same stage. Between each leaf there was a ray of golden light peeking through, like Whitestone’s Sun Tree. A gorgeous display of nature and life and magic.
“Oh," Dorian sighed. “She's going to love it."
Orym beamed up at him. “I hope she sees herself.”
There was no doubt in Dorian's mind that Laudna would be in awe of the magic that mirrored her.
Baernie put the finishing touches, some flowers along the walls, inside the small vases on the table before she turned to them.
“I'm going to go tell Liv we have somewhere to be tonight," Baernie said. She leaned down and kissed the top of Orym's head. “I'll see you in a bit?"
“Thanks for your help," Dorian said. “It's beautiful."
Baernie always had a soft expression on her face. It still somehow melted into an even mushier look of love. She stepped to Dorian and kissed his cheek. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to. Dorian and Orym's family had an understanding. Dorian was not there to replace Will. He could never manage that. A sentiment Dorian understood well. But he was an addition. Their little brother loved him, so they loved him.
That didn't make it any easier.
"I can't believe you've ruined all this beautiful wood for a party,” Chetney said, helping himself to one of the brews from the tap. He poured it sloppy and harsh. Dorian knew he didn't care what he was drinking. He also knew it would drive Orym crazy. "I hope you can make this go away without damaging the finish.”
Orym wasn't looking at Chetney or his disrespectful pour. He was still watching his work move and change above him. "You know? I might keep it like this. At least for a little while."
Chetney rolled his eyes and took a sip. “What about you, big blue? Are you playing anything tonight?”
Dorian always had an instrument on him. Or two. But, for once, if he could help it, he would just listen. "Some of my students are going to play, actually.” Dorian said.
“I'll have to get some ear plugs,” Chet mumbled.
There was very little use in fighting with Chetney. And he didn't need to defend his students. They had formed a little band under their own volition. Dorian would not hire them if he didn't think they could perform. For the sake of their reputations and his own.
"You won't need them with all that cotton in your ears, grandpa.” Dorian said. His ear hair really had gotten out of hand. Dorian could never think to go out like that. Or perhaps Chetney’s cataracts were getting worse.
“WHAT?!" Chetney shouted, just to yell at Dorian.
“I SAID-"
The front doors suddenly slammed open, which was a feat since they were weighted to prevent the wind from doing exactly that. Fearne was standing in the door frame teal hair wild and her dress disheveled. Butterflies covered her from head to toe. They gathered first around her right horn, overlapping and swarming. One delicately clinging to the very tip. They trickled down her hair, sparse but not lost, until they created her dress. Every inch of her dress was covered with blue and black butterflies. There did seem to be some fabric underneath, but it seemed for auxiliary modesty over anything else. The butterflies continued down her left leg, wrapping around her thigh and calf in a spiral. A final butterfly sat where the toe of any shoe would be on her hoof. He couldn't tell if they were real or fake from where he stood. He could have sworn their wings were opening and closing.
Dorian's heart stopped for a moment. It had been so long since he last saw her. Lined in light and gold she looked radiant, ethereal, even in her haphazard state. The setting sun highlighted her perfectly.
"We made it! We’re here!” Fearne said. She charged her way over to Chetney and Dorian and scooped them both up in a tight hug. She pressed them into her chest and did her best to crush the air out of them. All Dorian could do was hug her just as hard. He squeezed her with all of his strength, grateful for her to be in front of him. "Oh you don't know how hard it was to get here.”
“Next time we should stowaway on an airship instead of a water ship.” Ashton said, waltzing in after her and closing the door behind them.
Marquet was a long way away. Between foot travel and the time on any given vessel, Dorian predicted they left at least a week ago.
" Next time ,” Fearne started. "I'm going to get the hang of this tree spell and we’ll be here in an instant!” She released the two of them and turned quickly, her eyes catching on Orym.
He smiled his kind, wonderful smile that could turn any bout of bad luck around.
"Hey Fearnie.”
Fearne squealed and skipped to him. Orym already had his arms open wide as she lifted him to new heights. She twirled him around in her arms and infected him with her golden light. They were both swimming in it. A yellowed homey joy that he always felt with the two of them. They are where Dorian's life truly began. After a year on his own, of the world doing its damnedest to prove his parents right, he came upon them. The Crown Keepers were the sweetest, kindest, group of idiots he could have found. Everyone one of their hearts were so large, it was a wonder how the world hadn't swallowed them whole. The night they met was a whirlwind of every social cue he had learned at home and on the road. Dorian was a little drunk, which made charming them all much easier. It didn’t make his awful attempts at flirting with Orym any easier though.
He felt it then, the start of his life. In that beautiful townhouse, drenched in the laughter of these brand new people. The fun he felt. The effortless way he spoke to them. How simple it was to be himself around these people. Dorian was surrounded by the Crown Keepers, Fearne on one side and Orym on the other, when he felt his heart begin to melt. And he finally woke up.
“She took us to the verdant expanse,” Ashton said. "She got this big old thing confused with one right by her portal back to the fey."
Dorian broke his gaze to look back at Ashton. Their hair seemed to glitter more in the light. Their precious veins glinting against the warm yellow flame of the candles. He took in all the ways they've changed and all the ways they've stayed the same. Their dedication to the theme was also drenched in fire. A gem was placed on their chest, dead center and beating. It was red until they breathed in, then it glowed orange like a fanned ember. The crystal was angry and the veins of their pumice arm were a matching red. Dorian wondered why, of all the times Ashton was remade, reborn, they chose that one.
“She took us there too, once," Dorian said. She led them off their path, and they were better for it, he thought. It wasn't where they were going but it was where they needed to be. "She couldn't seem to stop herself. Maybe it was her fey nature trying to spirit us away. Or maybe she was just home sick.”
Ashton seemed to flinch at that. "Yeah… I think she misses home…" They groaned and ran both their hands over their face. “This is a brewery right? Where the fucks the beer?"
Dorian brought Ashton to the bar when the timer went off. He left them to their own devices as he went to plate the array of puff pastries filled with all kinds of meat and spreads Alama helped make throughout the week. Dorian was partial to the spinach and cheese ones. He filled several platters full and set them out on a bar and a few of the tables.
Orym was still in Fearne’s arms as she told him all about her travels and her adventures. Dorian would be jealous, or otherwise frustrated that he was the one doing all the work, but it didn't feel like work. When he served at the brewery for actual paying customers, that was work. Preparing food and drink for the people he cared for the most? That wasn't work. That was love. Real, tangible love. Orym taught him that.
“Who's ready to party?!" Opal and Dariax came crashing in with their own boos and gift bags. Dariax had been living a relatively quiet life in Zephrah, growing blueberries and cultivating other herbs for the plethora of herbalists. Nel got him to join the union, he was even a leader. Nurturing looked good on Dariax. Dorian could almost shake the guilt of leaving him behind when he saw how happy Zephrah made him. Though, in the end, it would be something that haunted him for the rest of his life. That first time they saw each other after everything. The look on Dariax’s face. Dorian never wanted to make anyone feel that betrayal and sadness again.
Small lotus flowers were weaved into Dariax’s beard and his loose linen jumpsuit matched the soft pink bleeding into white of the flower. A delicate flower. Anyone who didn’t know Dariax as well would think that was out of character for him. For those who knew him, it made perfect sense.
Opal, on the other hand, all ooze and mismatched eyes, had a weight on her head no one should bare. No matter what they did, what the world looked like, the scars of her choices still marred her. Opal’s make up was intricate and emerald. The metallic green shell split down her face to reveal copper wings. Six legs sprouting from her eyes, mimicking a scarab’s. Her tube top sparkled in reflective silk while the whole outfit was perfectly tailored to her. Her heels were impractical and opalescent.
They certainly brought a new energy to the room with loud “ohmigods it's been forever!"s and “you should come see me more"s . Dorian received bone crushing hugs from the two of them. Dariax himself only gave hugs meant as spinal readjustments and Opal, well. It was hard for her parting with any of them. Dorian was sure she felt particularly lonely in the past years.
She did not ooze on him, she could control that now. She did not, however, hide the obsidian barbs shooting from her head.
“How have you been?" Dorian asked her in a whisper.
Opal shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. One he could tell was a performance. "You know… doing my best…” She took a swig of her bottle. "It's hard to be around people, you know?”
Pity washed over Dorian's face. How sorry he felt for her. She was so young to face life long consequences. Now every year ahead of her will only be a minute. She was human, after it all. She was not supposed to live for so long. She would watch them all die. And when they were all gone, who would she have? Who would be there to remind her of who she truly was?
"You don't have to worry about that today,” Dorian said, rubbing her shoulders. "Everyone here loves you. Everyone here knows exactly how good you are.”
Dorian watched Opal's eyes fill with tears. She pushed away from him to fan herself.
“Dorian you can't make me cry!" She whined. "This make up took so long!”
Another wave of guests appeared. Baernie told Liv that they were now invited as well as the rest of the family. Maeve and her husband, Leeta and her partner. “Mom's on her way," He overheard. “She's getting Alma first." This was why Dorian insisted on making more food than they needed. It didn't matter how long he spent making fry bread and succotash and curry. So long as everyone was full and happy, it was all worth it.
Dorian's students appeared not long after to fill the gaps between people with lush music. The party started to roar with life. Chatting, dancing, occupied the people. Everyone gaining momentum for a long night ahead of them.
“ Imogen I just don't understand why we’re so dressed-”
In an instant of purple magic and a sudden wind, Laudna and Imogen popped into the brewery, in the middle of everyone. The guests all around them turned. After the briefest of silences, there was a roar of
"Surprise!”
It took Laudna a moment to understand what was happening. She looked around to all the smiling faces, ones of people closest to her. People who loved her.
Laudna’s gasp brightened her up, like she sucked life back into herself. Her cheeks slightly rosier, her eyes a little brighter. Her shoulders came up to her ears and those clearer eyes began to water. She let out a high pitched scream and ran to the nearest Bell's Hell. Ashton got the brunt of her non-existent weight. Laudna’s long, jet black hair was twisted above her head in a tight bun made of intricate snake-like braids. Dorian couldn’t tell where one strand ended and the other began. Though, that was perhaps the point. The ouroboros embroidered in a cold green against a Laudna-typical black slithered from one shoulder, across her torso, behind her back, then over her other shoulder. Or did it start from the head in the center? Or the head on the hem?
Imogen stepped out from the crowd and over to Dorian. Her dress was sheer and pitch black with stitched in crystals. She looked like the night sky. The fabric bellowed all around her as storm clouds in the wind. As she got closer, Dorian could see a silver circular outline so faint it was almost as if it wasn’t there at all.
She brushed past him to behind the bar. Dorian wondered why everyone felt so comfortable to just waltz into their place of business and steal their product. Maybe it was the family atmosphere. Maybe it was the fact that both Orym and Dorian would give so much more than just beer for each of them.
Imogen dug around for a bottle of mead and a glass. She uncorked it and poured herself a bit of honeyed wine. She tipped the bottle to him in an offer. Dorian reached for it, not bothering for a glass.
The mead was sweet, almost sickenly so. It tasted like a drizzle of fresh honey on the tongue. Autumn filled his throat and he was brought back to time spent under dying leaves and ripe corn. Orym had named it Bounty . It was a perfect name.
“Thank you," Imogen said to him. Her lips were pressed against the glass. She wasn't looking at him. She leaned forward on the bar and watched her partner in the center of the room, the center of attention. Positive attention. Affection . “This is really good for her."
Dorian looked between the two. Between the beating hearts in the center of the room and Imogen. “Of course," He said. It felt more important than a you're welcome .
Imogen smiled into her glass and took a sip. She sighed as the sweetness warmed her veins. It sounded like a sigh of relief.
“What are you supposed to be?" He asked her. His symbolism was more of a poster board. There was nothing wrong with being explicitly beautiful. It just made the abstract stand out all the more. "All I see are stars.”
Imogen propped herself on one elbow and traced the illusive silver circle. "I’m the new moon,” She said. "Thought it fit with the rest of the moon shit.”
Dorian laughed against the mouth of the bottle, taking another swig. “Probably should have been red."
"It never had any phases,” Imogen said on a snort.
“Well. It doesn't matter now, does it?” Dorian asked. "Soon the little red moon will just be a story.”
Imogen deflated a bit, her fingers finding the cracks in her complexion. The purple lightning never faded. The cacophony never quieted. The only thing she lost was the burning red dreams. She almost lost her mother. She almost lost everything.
"I know that's a good thing and all but I still feel like there's a piece of me missing, ya know?” She asked him. Imogen finished what was in her glass. Then she took the bottle back from him.
Dorian rubbed the silver band on his left ring finger. The things they left behind. The parts of them that were gone and they'd never get back.
"I get it,” Dorian said. "Really. I do.”
She reached out to grab his hand and squeeze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring you down.”
Whatever low swoop his mood took, Dorian quickly yanked himself out of. His gaze went back to the happiness and joy around him and he smiled again. He squeezed her hand back.
“Imogen Temult you could never bring me down." He said and she shook her head at him, shoving him a bit with a playful smile on her lips.
“That doesn't work on me, I'm not into you,” She said.
“Can't I be charming for charmings sake?" Dorian asked. He moved around the bar and held his hand out. “Here. Would you like to dance with me?" His head was tilted upward as regal as he could. He scrounged together all the manner and poise he used to perform.
Imogen rolled her eyes and took another, long gulp of Bounty and took his hand.
Dorian pulled Imogen towards the center of the dining room and started to twirl her around. They didn't really match the music, Dorian somehow stepping in-between the beat and off beat, but Imogen was laughing and smiling so it didn't really matter. All that mattered was the rush of joy he felt dancing with his best friend in the middle of everyone else he loved.
Suddenly, Imogen stopped. Her feet stuttered against the hardwood and Dorian almost went crashing into her. He would have gone tumbling over her. When he steadied himself, he saw Imogen crouching down while Orym whispered in her ear.
“Really? In the middle of the dance floor?" Ashton asked, also just saving themself from being backed up over Orym. Fearne peeked over their shoulder to see what the problem was.
"Give us six seconds, Ash,” Orym said.
Imogen straightened up and waved a hand over Orym. “ Volo non fugia ," She whispered softly. Dorian tried to place the words as quickly as possible.
But in a moment, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered besides Orym who was now eye level. He held onto one of Dorian's hands with one of his own, while the other was placed high above his ribs. He was floating there in mid air, the perfect height for Dorian to place his free hand on Orym's shoulder. The music began to slow into something simple yet beautiful. Something languid and meandering. It was the perfect song to dance to for hours. And oh did he plan on it.
Dorian tucked himself into the crux between Orym’s jaw and his shoulder, fully falling into the novelty of having him above him for once. They pushed and pulled each other in the rocking ocean of the song’s tempo. Smooth and melodic they leaned into each other. Dorian would melt into him if he could.
"I really need to learn how to fly,” Orym said. "I can get a better angle this way.”
An indigo flush spread across Dorian's cheeks as he grinned. "Same face as down there.” And he made damn sure that was a good angle to be seen from.
Orym shrugged and leaned in, kissing the side of his nose, right above his piercing. "But I never get to see this freckle,” He said and Dorian giggled again. He’d kick his feet if he was the one flying. “Or this one." He kissed right below his eye. "And I can't forget my favorite.” A freckle partially hidden by his eyebrow, barely peeking through, narrowly avoiding being sliced away.
As he pulled back, Dorian snatched him into a proper kiss. It was odd leaning up. He felt out of practice. Though it didn't really matter, anyway he could kiss Orym he was happy. Dorian leaned his forehead onto Orym's, the bridges of their noses aligning perfectly. His heart would have been thundering in his chest if the music wasn't easing him into a contented place of pure bliss.
“You know," Orym said, barely above a whisper. If his lips weren't pressed against Dorian's ear, he wouldn't have heard. “We’re good people… I think we deserve this." He said.
Dorian lifted his head and looked around to all of the lives gathered there. The pulsing, palpable delight that filled the spaces between. There was no strife. There was no anxiety. There was no hiding away bits of himself. The world was quiet here. The world had stilled. The world was soft to them.
“Yeah,” He said on a breath. "We’ve suffered enough.”