#someday I'm going to write a more epic unbury your gays fic about these two when we have more info on them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-kaedageist · 2 years

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Spoilers for Campaign 3, Episode 17, as well as Campaigns 1 & 2

He wakes in a body with a resurrection scar across his chest, haunted by the memory of climbing out of his own grave. This happens, sometimes, in the world he lives in. It’s rare but not unheard of. The dead do not always stay dead in Exandria.

He has a faint memory of a half-elven man with black hair and a sad smile. “I can’t do much,” said the man, “but you died protecting her. The least I can do is offer another chance.” He doesn’t even remember who she is.

Second chances are fickle, he learns. He wakes up without even remembering his name.

He flees the area where he was buried, where there are likely people who would know him, repacking the earth over his grave to hide his escape. He ends up in town after town - Byroden, Kymal, Stilben. He gets a job on a merchant vessel and sails to Wildemount, finds a place for himself in Darktow working for the Revelry. One night, he drinks too much wine and tells his story to a stranger in a bar. The purple tiefling nods as though he understands.

“Your past doesn’t make you,” the tiefling says. “I was supposed to be someone else. I was someone else. Hell, my brother also woke up in his own grave. Be who you are; who cares who you were?” There’s a certain sense to this logic, ringing true in his mind.

He’s used many names since that day when he woke up, but none of them have sounded right. When Kingsley Tealeaf asks what he truly wants to be called, he doesn’t know what to respond. What is his name? He still doesn’t know. The Champion of the Matron of Ravens gave him this second chance; that is the only thing he can recall.

It takes three years for his memories to return, and even then, they only come in flashes.

He’s in Marquet by then. He’s established a flourishing trade in wines from Feolinn to Ank’Harel, with a cut of his profits going to the Revelry. He has a stable life, and he’s even somewhat happy.

A loud voice breaks through the evening calm. “NANCY! I’ve been looking all over for you!” He peers around the wine barrels in his cart to see a woman all in pink running up to a group of adventurers in front of a tavern. They are a strange group; one of them looks like a faun? The halfling in the group turns around, giving an exasperated but fond smile to the yelling woman in pink—

It is like being struck by lightning. Orym.

He doesn’t even know his own name, but he knows the name of this sad halfling man. Orym wasn’t sad in his memories, though. Orym wasn’t sad before he woke up in a grave.

The adventuring party hasn’t noticed him, shielded as he is behind the wine barrels in his cart. He studies them. Orym is sad but smiling; he jokes and seems very comfortable with them all. A person made of stone - an earth genasi? - laughs loudly. A woman who looks even more dead than himself plays with a strange puppet.

Orym is sad, but Orym is also happy.

He knows he can’t burden Orym with this, not until he remembers more of who he is. Not until he remembers more of who Orym is. So he does the hardest thing he’s ever managed since the first day of his new life - he signals the horses to drive away.

The barrels are brought to their ultimate destination, a wholesaler who works with Meatman Imports and Sexports. He sails back to Wildemount with gold in his pockets, his memories remaining frustratingly out of reach. He returns to Darktow. Kingsley laughs at his predicament, like his life is a trashy novel.

“I don’t think memory matters,” Kingsley says. “You are who you are in this moment. But if you really want to know…I know someone who can help.”

That’s how he meets the fearsome Sapphire of the Lucidean.

She’s not nearly as terrifying as the stories make her out to be, although she does immediately try to convince him to let her give him a tattoo. After hours of conversation, she presses her palm against his forehead and casts Greater Restoration. The memories return like warmth from her hands.

His name is Will.

He is from Zephrah, on Tal’dorei.

Orym is his husband.

It takes time to find him again. He scours the streets of Ank’Harel, inquiring at the tavern - the barkeep doesn’t remember the strange adventuring party from months before. He considers returning to Zephrah, but he’s not sure he wants to open that can of worms - not until he’s sure of the reception he’ll receive. He finds himself lying on the deck of his ship, staring up at the stars as the waves in the harbor gently rock it to and fro. That is when he receives a message from the Sapphire, who seems to have added him to her messaging rotation.

“Hey Will!!!” her cheery voice chirps in his ear. “We killed so many fish people today, they tried to steal Fjord’s ball again! Did you find your husband? Hope you’re not going—“ The message cuts off abruptly before it is finished, an inexplicable flash of sound in the night.

“Hello, Sapphire,” says Will. He can reply, right? “I haven’t found him yet.” Ruidus is high in the sky, a deeper red than normal; he wonders if it means something. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who’s good at finding people?”

The next day, the Sapphire appears on his ship via teleportation with a tired-looking blond elven wizard in tow. He doesn’t know why she’s decided to help him with this, but with a grin, she produces a mirror for scrying. When he asks her why, she shrugs. “It’s very romantic, you know?” she says. “You died and now you’re alive again, searching for your true love! It’s like something out of a novel.”

“She adopts people,” the elf tells him. He’s been mostly standing off to the side, watching the ocean; Will can’t quite place his accent. “You will never understand why. She is simply your friend now.”

There’s something charming about being bullied into friendship from sheer force of personality. Worse things have definitely happened to him.

The Sapphire starts to scry. (“You must call me Jester!” she insists, but he never once called the Tempest ‘Keyleth’ and he intends to show her the same respect he showed the last woman who gifted him with such kindness.) For several long moments, she is lost to an inner world, magic beyond any that Will has had access to. There is a flash of green across the horizon. Her eyes blink open once more, and she smiles at him. “I found him,” she says. “Ezrin can teleport us!”

Will expects the elf to complain; instead, he smiles indulgently and asks where they are going.

Of all places, Orym and his friends are in Whitestone. Staying with the de Rolos.

There is a bit of chaos when they initially teleport in; Ezrin and the Sapphire end up facing off against a gunslinger before they establish that they’re friendly. The gunslinger turns out to be Percival de Rolo himself, because everyone Will meets these days is both famous and slightly deranged. Will has only heard stories about him; it is like being in the presence of royalty.

“Well, here’s the thing,” the Sapphire says, sitting down with Lord de Rolo at his long dining table. A small tiefling girl runs by being chased by an older child who looks mostly human, except for the faint point in the boy’s ears. Lord de Rolo has fed them a fine meal, and even Ezrin the wizard looks less annoyed. “This is my friend, Will! His husband is somewhere here; don’t you want to help us reunite them?”

De Rolo doesn’t seem to know what to think. “Your husband?” he repeats, focusing on Will. There are dark circles under his eyes; this is a man who is deeply tired, even though Will can also sense that he’s content. Maybe it’s all the children.

“Is there a group of adventurers staying with you?” Will asks. He doesn’t even know the name of Orym’s adventuring party. When he’d known him, Orym hadn’t even been the type to join an adventuring party. But Will has become a pirate and a merchant, spending years not even knowing his own name. They are both changed irrevocably. He wonders if they’ll still fit together as easily as ever, or if some things that shatter can never be put to rights.

“Ah, Laudna’s party,” de Rolo says. Will doesn’t know who Laudna is, but he suspects he’s about to find out. “They are staying in the east wing. She has an…affliction that we are assisting with.” He says the last with danger in his voice. Will suspects he would not want to meet this man in a dark alley.

De Rolo leads them to the east wing; the Sapphire is practically bouncing on her heels as she walks. Ezrin feigns disinterest, but Will catches him studying portraits of generations of the de Rolo family as they make their way down a long gallery corridor. These two from Wildemount are out of place. He hopes he hasn’t led them both too far astray. Maybe they can take him with them, if Orym does not wish to see him again.

He’s surprised to discover he’s nervous. What if Orym has moved on? What if Orym has forgotten him? What if his return throws a wrench into a happy life, a life that Orym’s built from the ashes of their shared life together? Fear roils in his belly like indigestion.

De Rolo opens the door to a different sitting room and ushers them inside. Orym’s adventuring party is very large; they all turn to stare at the visitors, distracted from a game of some sort of cards.

The Sapphire, an expert at breaking the ice in every situation, opens her mouth and begins to speak, and that’s when Orym spots him. Their eyes lock. Orym’s jaw drops. His face is pale, his eyes are bright. Will has never stopped loving him, even when he didn’t remember he existed.

Orym has always been fast; he’s across the room before Will can blink. Will meets him in the middle without realizing he was moving, everyone around them fading into the background as he stands in front of Orym with tears shining unshed in his eyes.

“Hey,” he says. It sounds stupid the moment the word leaves his mouth, but he’s committed to this path, now. “I’m alive.”

Orym opens his mouth. He closes it again. His eyes are suspiciously damp; Will is impressed, because Orym has never been much of a crier. In lieu of words, Orym holds his hand up. It has been nearly seven years, but Will knows immediately what he’s asking. He kneels down so Orym can press his fingertips to his face, tracing the planes of his cheek, his jawline.

“I didn’t remember for a long time,” Will whispers hoarsely. “The moment I did…I had to find you. Even if you’ve moved on. Even if there’s nothing here for me any longer.”

Orym closes his eyes; a single tear streaks down his cheek. “I would never move on,” he whispers. “Not away from you. There will always be a place in my life for you.”

Will feels dampness on his own cheeks as well. “That’s all I need,” he says. “A place.”

Orym tugs him in. Will meets him halfway, still on his knees, enveloping Orym in a hug and pressing their foreheads together. He hears someone in the backroad coo, “awww” - he thinks it is the Sapphire but doesn’t have it in himself to care.

Will pulls apart after a long moment. “I may not be the person you remember,” he confesses. He winces. “I’ve been a pirate.”

Something in Orym’s eyes shines brightly. ��I’ve stolen a priceless artifact,” he whispers.

“You have not,” Will says fondly. “I can’t believe that.”

Orym grins and concedes. “Ok. I was cajoled into stealing a priceless artifact against my will.”

Will can’t help himself; he reaches over to brush his fingertips through Orym’s hair. “And you’re an adventurer now. Look at you.” He’s delighted to see that Orym still blushes.

Orym takes his hand. “We’ve both changed,” he says. “I want to hear everything. I want to tell you everything. I need to introduce you to my friends.” He smiles, filled with so much disbelieving joy that Will is honored to have been the one to instill it in him. “Will. I’m so glad to have you back.”

As they hug again, both of them crying, Will hears in the background, “you’re from the Feywild?!“ It is the Sapphire’s voice, in a tone that tends to be followed by trouble.

He pulls away from Orym and breathes in deep. It’s time for introductions.

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