LOREN
Before Loren could stop himself, he found himself responding to the other man’s comment. ”Actually, the point is to look entirely inconspicuous, completely average, not at all memorable.” Giving the alchemist an awkward look, the librarian ran a hand through his hair. ”At least, that’s what I heard.” It was hardly the smoothest recovery but he really didn’t want to get into the ‘my father was a spy’ conversation with Remi.It had been out of line, Loren knew that, so he simply looked down, ashamed, at the other man’s entirely accurate criticisms. ”You’re right. I’m sorry.” Even trapped as he’d felt—and had been, in his own way—it couldn’t possibly compare to Remi’s experiences. Just because the summoner had a rough childhood and life didn't mean others hadn't had it worse, no matter how many scars Loren might possess. His arms came up to hug himself, though as soon as he noticed what he was doing he dropped them. It didn’t matter that the librarian hadn’t enforced many of the stupid norms and customs of Northaven. He’d benefited from and not combatted them, and that was enough.
All the joy had been leeched out of the Launceleyn by now after his numerous blunders in this conversation, and he was having trouble mustering the cheerful teasing that had seemed so easy just moments ago. ”I’m not sure that’s progress.” It wasn’t hard to see that Loren was retreating into the dark place he sometimes went in his head; indeed, even he recognized that, and maybe welcomed it just a little. Regardless, he was helpless to stop it. When the other man commented on the summoner’s frame, the summoner just looked up and chuckled mirthlessly. It was a cold and dark sound. ”My parents are dead and I’m not exactly in the market for a new one.” He’d been taking care of himself for almost a year: Remi’s mother henning was not needed and not appreciated.
Too tired to fight back, Loren eyed the alchemist’s hands as they reached for the Launceleyn. When they came to rest on his shoulders, he tensed; his heart pounded faster in his chest, and he breathed heavier, but he was too scared, both of the contact and of what Remi might try to do next if Loren broke away, to do anything. So the summoner stood there, his blue eyes staring into those filmy white ones, panic and sadness etched onto the Launceleyn’s face, as the alchemist did his best to soothe the librarian.
But it didn’t work. Wrenching himself from the other man’s grip, Loren turned to stare at the manor. ”Oh? They didn’t take it out on my family? They like them, and me? Is that so? Then why were Beatrix and Jace abandoned after Edy’s death? Why do people look at me with distrust every time they find out my last name, as if I’m just back to take over Zariah’s reign of terror? Why have I been threatened just because of the blood in my veins? Why is every offer of help I give, every overture I make, rebuffed?” Maybe it wasn’t fair to be dumping all this on Remi, who already had far too many burdens.
But, sad as it was, Loren didn’t have anyone else to talk to about any of this.
Turning back to the other man, the Launceleyn gave the alchemist a helpless and pleading look. The summoner wasn’t trying to force people to stay where they felt uncomfortable. He was just trying to keep people alive. But apparently no one seemed to believe and trust that, and he only had himself to blame for that. ”Then what do I do, Remi?” Since the other man seemed so sure he knew what was best for everyone, maybe he could actually help here. Somehow, though, Loren doubted it. After all, he was beyond help.
A beggar's book
outworths
a noble's blood
