Dead men walking

They did lose someone to it—more than one person, actually—but Loren wisely didn’t follow up on that. He’d been trying to speak of perseverance, but of course Ronin, who was suffering, would think of death instead. And then it got even worse when the king brought up the sacrifice. “Definitely.” The Launceleyn’s voice was soft. It might require a sacrifice. These things usually did. But it wouldn’t be Ronin: the librarian would make sure of that through every means at his disposal. Once again Loren’s attempt to explain fell flat. Maybe that was because there really was no excuse. Maybe the Launceleyn was just going to have to get used to the fact that he’d never be able to answer for what he did. Maybe there was no amends he could make, no repentance at the end of any path he could follow. That thought caused him to take another large sip, which would no doubt cause Ronin to judge the Launceleyn even more harshly. For some reason, the librarian didn't care about that any more. “No. It’s not wise,” he admitted. But it was necessary. And he didn’t think anyone would think him wise ever again, if they ever had to begin with. Thankfully they moved on from things that Loren couldn’t do—explain himself—to things that he still probably couldn’t do, but at least could try. “I’ll make the most of it.” Empty words, probably, at least to Ronin, but the Launceleyn meant them. Then, however, the librarian was shocked enough to give his friend a hurt look; yes there were other people the Launceleyn needed to see, but Ronin wasn’t ever going to be secondary to Loren. “I came to see you, Ronin.” His voice came out softly, trying not to make this about himself, since he’d already done more than enough of that. Then he hesitated, and looked down into the depths of his glass, as if by staring long enough the wine would reveal the truth to him, even though that was not where the truth in wine lay. “But. H-how is he?” There could be little doubt which he Loren was referring to. LOREN Not quite an open book