Shadows and Dust

Some things are only learned with time.

There were rays of morning sun threatening the solace of sleep, urging the half elf awake with beams that refracted in multiple warm hues inside the bedroom. He stirred, shifting in position beneath the linen cover and felt… only warmth. To anyone else, perhaps, this would be the usual way of rousing after a night of rest but for the husband of a fallen knight, it meant one thing. He was waking up alone. For the second time in a row.

Soft footfalls were the only sound within the walls of his home, perched high in clouds of Pandaria that had become their secluded paradise. He knew better than to search the rooms for Orlando. He wasn’t there. Water was set for tea, a ritual for the Light-following medic, much in a state of numb mindedness that came when life was discordant. Fresh herbs were crushed and steeped, the rising wisps of moisture from his steaming cup another reminder of a missing chill. How ironic, that was. To be without a familiar thing and yet feel the cold pang of dread so keenly in one’s chest. He attempted to exhale it out and moved with his drink into his sitting room; the expansion his husband had gifted him complete with vaulted ceiling, lush cushions and a pristine grand piano. He sat down at it without truly pondering the why, running a hand through his mess of wavy shoulder-length blond hair. The cup found a home on a woven coaster meant just for such an occasion atop the instrument, lifting the protective panel off the keys. Pale hazel eyes lingered on the keys, as if awaiting their response to numerous unanswered questions.

((https://youtu.be/-H6CUWsOPXA))

At some point he recognized that his fingers had begun a slow melody and tuned fully in, letting the notes and chords work their magic over him. Succumb to it. After a minute or so of this, he allowed his inner melancholy drive the piece, a slightly more complicated pattern that drove bile to his throat in both sadness and recognition. Orli had sated himself with two fights recently. This wasn’t the call of blood that made his husband forget to come home, like numerous times before. Levyn had, of course, seen the signs then, knew what was coming when his partner returned home with bloodied knuckles and that sheepish grin. No, this wasn’t that. Not this time.

He looked down at his own hands then, returning to the more simplistic notes from before as he glared at the scars (long since “healed”) that marred the flesh he kept so well hidden when outside these walls. Doubts, feelings he’d not wanted, not intended, not ever cared to re-live again came soaring from within and threatened some undoing in the passive priest. He loathed it. Was repulsed by it. He had vowed never to let it overtake him again.

“Where the FUCK ARE YOU?” he screamed to no one, because he was indeed alone, not only in body but at that moment… In this marriage. This tattooed ring on his finger that etched through lines of agony, abuse and distrust. Hateful. There was a violet swirl around his hand as it lifted up the full mug of tea and sent it hurling with vehement force into the large window opposite him, not even hearing the jarring sound of shattering glass as he stalked his way back into the bedroom and bolted the door from the inside.

(( @orliando for mentions, because you’re a cheating asshole))

Dawn was beginning to creep its way over the lofted hills of the Jade Forest as Orlando’s heavy, plated footsteps found their way up the winding path to the home he shared with his husband.  The evening’s festival date had gone well enough, nothing to be sulky about to be sure, and yet somehow that familiar pull had still called him, and after tucking Levyn soundly into to bed, dragged him back to the arena that his partner so loathed. Stopping outside in his forge first, he would strip off the layers of well-battered armor, carefully as to not rouse the hopefully still sleeping priest whom he’d left inside to sleep the night before.  With a laden sigh, he pulled a clean shirt from his bag, stripping off the blood soaked rag he currently wore and tossing it into the smoldering forge fire.  With clean shirt in hand, he began to take the first few tenuous steps towards the front door of his home. but stopped fast when he looked down to his battered hands for the first time in recent memory.  “Shit…”  He hissed out through clenched teeth, turning to sink deeper into his forge and seek out the drenching trough.  Tossing the shirt over an anvil, Orli dunked his head into the cold tank, splashing it over his shoulders and arms.  Inhaling a long, slow breath, he remained bent over the tank, fingers clenched around the rim of it until the water stilled enough to show the knight’s reflection. 

Raising his swollen fingers to brush the wayward scarlet locks from his face, he winced at the obviousness of his own reflection.  The bruises were already beginning to quickly heal, as they always did, but there would be no disguising what had transpired in his absence. 

His absence…How long had it been this time?  The coming dawn seemed to be racing him now.  Was it the first sunrise to pass since he’d last seen his husband?  Somehow he could never quite be sure when his icy mistress demanded his attention.  Pausing long enough to glare back over his shoulder at the now seemingly sated halbert that he’d propped in the corner of the forge.   Shaking away the thought as he pulled the fresh shirt over his head, he began to make more haste in his progress towards the front door now. 

As he stepped out of the forge and into the dim light of near-day, another all-too-familiar companion decided to make herself known.  Peeking out the collar of his linen shirt, a small white rat rose to her haunches on Orlando’s shoulder, pink nose wrinkling as a tiny paw reached out to grip the point of his nose.  Turning his head down to face the tiny muse, his cerulean eyes narrowed.  “Go now…”  he hissed at the visage.  “I’m done with you for today.”

FELLOW TRAVELERS (2023) Episode 3 • "Hit Me"

A lesson in how to gird your loins.