Dead men walking

Loren hadn’t really had many close friends, and he’d been estranged from his family (not that there were many of them left). So it’s not like he was expecting all that many visitors. But he’d still been hoping that, rather than having to go out and find each and every person he owed an apology and an explanation, they’d come to him. He’d feel safer and more secure that way, on his own turf, in his own home. But there was at least one person who he felt the need to go see in person. Especially after that person failed to make an appearance at the Manor. Loren was trying not to read too much into that absence, but it was hard. It was weird to think that, after the huge fight he’d had with his family over it, that he’d finally come to call the Launcleyn Manor home. Fate had never really been on his side: it turned out that all his protests and anger had been for naught, and his family had been decimated while he’d been gone, off in his own little world of self-pity and self-hate. But loss certainly had a way of clarifying things. And while many people had lost much in Caido, Loren felt he was certainly a contender for the most pitiful figure in the Hollowed Grounds. All that was to say the former librarian had come home, far too late. A lot of that was his own fault, though. Now that he was back, he was resolved to make up for lost time, in whatever way he could. It was hard, though, given how unstable he felt. But just because something was hard didn't mean it wasn't worth doing. And he'd had more than enough experience with difficult choices. The hardest thing, he'd discovered, was meeting those he’d left behind: Loren had no idea what to tell them, or how they’d react. While they had, presumably, changed in the past year, and experienced things the Launceleyn could only begin to imagine, the former librarian was much the same. Oh, his frame was gaunt and his skin was pale, and he had a wild and sad look in his eyes these days. But he hadn’t grown. If anything, he’d actually shrunk into a smaller, sadder shell of an already small and sad man. It wasn’t like his soul was fertile ground. But Loren had always had to fight for everything in his life. Unlike his more talented, more popular, more loved kin, unlike his friends who seemed to know who they were in a way the Launceleyn had never experienced, unlike those who’d had things handed to them on a silver platter, he’d carved out what he could from his sad existence. While it might have been a pitiful and unimpressive life, it had taught him something: when push came to shove, he’d fight, and he’d win, and he’d survive. He’d bounced back from worse tragedies than this. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that. That didn’t make his stomach less queasy as he made his through the streets of the settlement to the Monster Hunter’s Guild. Of everyone Loren had left behind, Ronin was one of the ones the Launceleyn was most worried about seeing. The two of them had been through a lot together; they’d been friends, incredibly briefly lovers, estranged, and then back to friendship, all in a dizzying whirl. But that all felt like a long time ago, and the former librarian had never been truly secure in their relationship. So now, it felt like a rocky, uncertain thing. Regardless of how he felt, though—and despite the fact that Ronin had married Remi, Loren’s other former lover, making things even more complicated—when the former captain and current King had failed to show up at Loren’s doorstep, it had stung. However, instead of wallowing, like he’d done for so long, the Launceleyn had decided to do something about it. Loren was done removing himself from the world: it hadn’t stopped him from hurting. Quite the opposite in fact. Now he was going to throw himself into life, as if by participating in everything, he could finally figure out who he was and what he stood for. Because right now, there was an emptiness inside that yearned to be filled. That wasn’t the whole truth, since he was also a mess of scattered thoughts and conflicting emotions. Honestly, the only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to get this visit out of the way, and sooner, rather than later. It would almost be as bad as loving Remi, who Loren had loved and lost. The Launceleyn wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasn't sure he ever would be. As a peace offering—because Loren didn’t think Ronin would accept the Launceleyn’s presence without one—the former librarian clutched a bottle of wine. While the Manor was slightly derelict and in disrepair, its wine cellars were well stocked. That wasn’t too surprising, given that Edy had been living there. The woman loved her alcohol. It hurt to think of her death, though, so Loren thought of Ronin instead. That hurt, in a different, more immediate way. The two of them didn’t have the best track record with alcoholic beverages, considering that one time they’d gotten drunk, fucked, Loren had one of his numerous mental breakdowns as a result of said fucking, and their friendship had almost irrevocably broken because of it all. But it was a symbol for them nonetheless. And even if they had a bad habit of bringing each other bottles of booze, at least it was actually a habit. Perhaps it would show Ronin that, at least in some small way, Loren hadn’t changed, that he could still be relied on in some small, but important fashion. He clung to that hope like he was drowning and only it was keeping him afloat. Finally, he arrived at the Monster Hunter’s Guild. It didn’t take long to get directions to Ronin’s room; it was daunting, going to the other man’s living quarters, and Loren was doing his best not to hyperventilate. He paused outside the door, trying to relax. His hands were white knuckled from clutching the wine. All he was doing at this point was putting off the inevitable. So, though his limbs felt like lead and dread coiled in his gut, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. “Ronin? It’s…” he hesitated, voice completely uncertain, then swallowed. “I-it’s Loren.” There really wasn’t much more to say. LOREN Not quite an open book

Loren would have been shown through the guildhall to the set of stairs which led up onto the mezzanine and the doors beyond; the guildmaster's living quarters. The Monster Hunter's Guild itself was fairly busy at that time, and whilst Ronin should have been downstairs and among them, it was an increasingly rare circumstance. The ex-captain had been - as was the new norm for him - asleep in bed, fighting off an exhaustion that would not leave him be no matter how hard he had tried. He hadn't visited Loren, no. Why? He hadn't known, quite simply; hadn't read the notice, hadn't been around anyone who had known the librarian to guess at his return, hadn't done much other than brood and plan and plot over what the fuck he was supposed to do with the dwindling amount of time left before him. Remi was out - a bonus. He was out with Aoife - even bigger bonus, though his daughter was one of the few things that could cool Ronin's temper these days, when it was fired. Only time would tell whether or not the child would have been good to have on hand for this meeting. At first there was no answer as Loren knocked; but when, finally, the hunter within stirred enough to make out the words, a dark, gruff chuckle could be heard. "Oh, yeah?" he called back. "Why don't you pull the other one." Shuffling footsteps and the door clicked open at last, revealing a dishevelled Ronin, barefoot and shirtless, his left forearm still bandages, dark rings beneath his eyes betraying his exhaustion. Exhaustion and confusion, as he examined the man outside. It looked like Loren, if Loren had a bedraggled twin that wasn't Neron. "Oh," he said. Because there was nothing else to say, right then. RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.

At the familiar voice, Loren tensed. It sounded like Ronin—or at least, similar to what the summoner remembered—but there was a quality to it that the Launceleyn couldn’t quite put his finger on. But it might just be the fact that it had been a long time since he’d heard the former captain’s gruff tones, or it might just be the door between them. A long moment passed, and Loren found himself fidgeting, ready to bolt, flee, hold off this encounter for as long as possible. However, he’d done quite enough of that already, so he held firm. Despite the dread rising in his chest, the librarian knew he couldn’t hide or run from his problems any longer. So he stayed, fighting off the rising panic, mostly winning that battle. Still, it didn’t make waiting for the door to creak open, ever so slowly, any easier. Loren didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he saw Ronin again. But it certainly wasn’t the sight that greeted the librarian: shirtless, barefoot, bandaged, exhausted, and somehow diminished from the giant of a man the Launceleyn had once knew. The last time Loren had seen Ronin, the man had been the very definition of vivacious. Sure, they’d been terrified of the new land and the things within it, but there had been exhilaration too. Now, though, Ronin lacked that spark Loren was used to seeing. Altogether, the image of the other man hammered home how long the librarian had been gone in a way little else could. Nervously, the summoner ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled (not that it had been in great shape before that), before attempting to speak. “I, I…” he stammered and then trailed off, not even knowing where to start. “I brought…” and he held up the bottle, as if it was a shield and offering both. But nothing he could do or say in that moment seemed to be right. So Loren found his mind drifting to what he could do: his eyes strayed to the bandages on Ronin’s arm, and almost of its own volition the librarian’s arm was rising, healing magic rising in his fingertips. “You’re hurt. I can…” and then he stopped himself, not knowing if Ronin wanted help, especially from a long lost friend who appeared on the other man’s doorstep from seemingly out of nowhere. Besides, surely a king had access to the best healers anyway, so what could someone who only knew the basics of the art do. Loren swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat and hold back the moisture forming in his eyes. “I mean...if there’s uh, if y-you need healing…” Loren fell silent, words failing him. Instead, he pleaded with his eyes: they begged Ronin to do something, give the Launceleyn some sign that his presence was, if unexpected, at least not totally unwelcome. It was more than he deserved and everything he needed. LOREN Not quite an open book

The man before him really was Loren, Ronin realised as the other man moved and spoke and... well, offered near instantly to heal him. Such selflessness could only be the real deal, after all. At once a riot of emotions bombarded the hunter - anger, certainly, for Loren had left without a word. Left him, left Remi (and left him heartbroken at that), left all of them. No sign of him at all, and to just show up again without a word... well. Fuck that, for a start. There was also relief, because of course Ronin was glad that his lost once-friend was alive, but with relief came confusion, frustration, questions - all of which took far more energy than he possessed. "Huh?" he said usefully. "I... no. It won't work, save your strength." Waving away the offer, he let go of the door at last, having been unsure whether or not he would want to slam it in the would-be imposter's face or not. The bottle, as usual, was their saviour, Ronin glancing down as Loren drew his attention towards it. "Yeah, that'll do it," he said, standing aside for the Launceleyn to come in. The room was well lit, mostly by the glass skylight installed by his husband not so long ago, that Ronin might watch his beloved stars without needing to go too far. Said skylight was open, too, so the air was relatively fresh with only a hint of the dry, rotten-earth smell that had been lingering on Ronin's skin for so long now he didn't think he'd ever wash it off, even if he got better. "And where the fuck have you been?" he asked. Tactless, but at least it would get answers. RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.

When Ronin responded with something more than a simple 'oh', Loren felt his heart start beating again. Or at least, that’s what it felt like: time had stood still as the librarian waited for the judgment, the shouting, the anger, everything he deserved and more. But now that the moment had actually come there was none of that. And it left the summoner completely off balance, even more than he’d already been. He was so distracted by the lack of a hurt response that the Launceleyn responded without thinking. “What do you mean, it won’t work?” Then his mind caught up to his mouth and he couldn’t believe the casual way he’d replied. Surely he had to do more than that. He couldn't just waltz in here and act as if nothing had changed, offer of healing and wine notwithstanding. Or maybe he could. Loren blinked as the other man let go of the door, not sure what that meant. Then he was given an answer of sorts as Ronin eyed the bottle, apparently came to a decision, and invited Loren inside; for his part, the librarian stepped into the quarters as quickly as he dared, almost as if he was worried the other man would rescind the invitation if the summoner waited too long. Sparing a glance for the room, Loren noted that it was well furnished, beautiful in its own way. There was, however, an odd odor in the air, despite the fact that the skylight was open, letting in a fresh breeze. Obviously Loren wasn’t going to be commenting on it. The sight of the room and the surprise of being allowed inside had taken the librarian’s attention off the situation at hand for a crucial moment, for it was at that exact instant that Ronin asked the question that had surely been on the king’s mind. So much for niceties, but the Launceleyn hadn’t exactly earned that. It was probably for the best that they were getting this out of the way, but it didn't really feel that way to Loren. Barely, he kept the panic at bay. He’d known this question was coming—prepared for it, even—and yet it still managed to catch him off guard. Loren closed his eyes, and gripped the bottle tightly again, mentally steeling himself against Ronin’s response to the librarian's crappy excuse. But eventually the Launceleyn opened them, and met Ronin’s gaze; after everything that the librarian had put the king through the summoner owed the other man that much. After all, what else were old friends for? Loren didn’t know. He’d never had an old friend before, and he wasn’t sure had one now. Hesitantly, in a broken voice, he tried voice what could not be spoken, explain something he didn’t really understand himself (or at least didn't want to admit). “I wish I had...a, a better answer for you. I really do.” Here he bit his lip, trying to keep from breaking down. He’d been doing that far too often since he came back. “I was in the Hollowed Grounds," he admitted in a halting manner. Physically at least: but Loren wasn’t really sure he could say the rest of him was there. He took a deep breath, knowing that Ronin would probably not like to hear that the Launceleyn had been there the whole time. “But…do you remember how I used to get? How I would...retreat? Lose myself?” The words came out choked, and the Launceleyn knew he was botching this. But he was doing the best he could. Still, he had to try harder to make the other man understand, if only so that the librarian could understand it for himself. “I couldn’t deal with...it doesn’t matter. But I couldn’t cope." He took one last deep breath, and let it out. "So I shut myself down.” The statement echoed in the air between them, and Loren looked away. He didn’t want to know what Ronin thought of the Launceleyn's weakness and shameful behavior. LOREN Not quite an open book

Ronin, of course, made straight for the bed positioned beneath the skylight, waving a hand absently at a nearby chair that he used to sit in to sketch and paint, before he'd gotten too sick to be bothered with it any more. Leaving Loren to the chair and sinking down onto the side of the bed, Ronin clenched his tremoring hands into fists. It was like one of his fever dreams, he realised, and perhaps that contributed to his muted and easy responses. Or maybe the blight had just put a barrier between the shock of his old friend's sudden reappearance. Either way, it was a situation that balanced on a knife edge. "Healing doesn't really... do much for me, right now." He shrugged his shoulders, brushing his fingertips over the bandages on his arm. Luckily the wound had closed enough that the dressing wasn't stained ink black with the sludge that currently pumped through his veins instead of blood. Letting his hand drop, he gazed up expectantly for the explanation that, like it or not, he felt he was owed. Only... when it came, it blindsided him completely. Loren would have shocked him less if he had slapped him across the face. He had been here? The entire time? Through the wedding ring on his finger, he had no doubt that Remi, wherever he was, would feel Ronin's heartrate increase to a thundering rhythm, and he had to force himself to take a deep breath in and out again before responding to anything Loren was saying. "You shut yourself down," he repeated, blue eyes sharp as he gazed up at the Launceleyn. "I died," he said, as if that was a good enough place to start when it came to what he'd been up to this whole time. RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.

As Ronin made his way over to a bed under the skylight, Loren trailed awkwardly behind him. Every moment, the librarian waited for the king to give some sign of what he was feeling: these dull responses were nothing like the Ronin the Launceleyn used to know, and, on top of his fear of rejection, Loren was simply worried for the other man. It didn't seem that Ronin was in good shape. But it wasn’t the summoner’s place to say anything, at least not yet, maybe not ever. So instead, he just paused, before sinking slowly into the chair that the other man indicated. The wine bottle was still clutched awkwardly in the librarian’s hands, and he briefly glanced for a place to put it. Nothing obvious sprang to mind, so he just set it on the ground for now. It would probably be better to keep his mind clear anyway; he had a terrible track record with alcohol. Though Ronin seemed reluctant to talk about his wound, Loren much preferred that topic than, well, explaining the librarian’s presence here. Besides, if there was something wrong with Ronin that magic couldn’t handle the summoner wanted to know about it; despite everything else he was or wasn’t, Loren was still pretty knowledgeable, and pretty good at problem solving. His personal issues could wait. Or well, maybe not, but Loren had always put others before himself, and since he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance to offer aid (whether it was wanted or warranted didn’t matter), he’d have to do so now. It was just a benefit that it put off the inevitable fight that was coming. “Healing doesn’t do much for you? What does that mean?” The Launceleyn’s words were soft, but his eyes flicked between the bandages and Ronin’s face as a concerned expression stole over the Abandoned. Whatever else might happen today, if Ronin was hurt and couldn’t be healed, then the summoner would not stand idly by. Loren couldn’t meet the piercing blue gaze, so he looked away, hands clenched tightly in his lap. It was hard to parse exactly how Ronin was feeling—besides upset and incredulous, which anyone would be—which meant that the librarian didn’t know what else to say. “I told you I wished I had a better excuse. But...I’m sorry.” His words came out barely above a raw whisper. Maybe there was no excuse. And probably no apology would make things better. Unfortunately, this was all Loren had to offer. Then, all thoughts of his own failings flew out of his mind with two simple words: ‘I died.’ Loren’s head shot up, and his jaw dropped. He stared at Ronin for what had to be an inappropriate amount of time, but the librarian’s mind refused to process that information. “You...you d-died?” His eyes darted all over the other man’s body in a frenzied rush, as if to spot some sign. “Are you an...Ascended then?” Loren didn’t know how he felt about that; while he’d still be glad that Ronin was alive, it wouldn’t be easy to swallow. However, even though that’s the only explanation that the Launceleyn could think of for someone dying and coming back to life, he didn’t think that was the case here. At least his guilt had been shoved to the back of his mind as he tried to figure out one puzzle too many. LOREN Not quite an open book

It was awkward, and for the first time (perhaps ever) Ronin was more content to sit in uncomfortable silence than to fill it with conversation. He watched quietly as Loren found a place on the floor for the wine bottle, and some distant part of himself (hidden, buried deep within him now) gave an aggrieved shrug at the the lack of hospitality, of care shown to friends lost and found, whatever the circumstances. Because for as horrible as Ronin looked and felt, Loren hardly seemed the man who had left either. But it kept coming back to him, to his injury, to his sickness, and Ronin growled his annoyance under his breath. "Have you been living under a rock or something?" he snapped, before raising a finger at Loren. "Do not answer that," he said, frowning deeply and glaring at the ground. "There is a sickness in the Greatwood that people have been calling the blight. It has started to spread to people - and I have it. How I got it is another story, it doesn't matter much right now." He waved the explanation away. "There's no cure, not one that we've found yet anyway. I've got until Deepfrost until... well. I die, one way or another." Again. Apparently. The apology fell flat against Ronin's blunted edges, and the hunter tiredly ran his fingers through his hair. For someone to have been here the whole damned time and to not know any of this was beyond him. "Yes, Loren. I died. I fought the Spire Demon - the monster that guarded the Spire - and it self-destructed and took me with it. The goddess Safrin put me into the sky as a star, where I spent a lovely few lifetimes with Vanya, and then Ashetta made a deal with the god of death and plucked me back again." He spread his hands, as if to say 'are you happy with that', before realising he had missed something out. "Ah, yeah. Vanya died, too. In this room at Longnight, giving birth to our daughter. So that happened shortly before I exploded, as well." RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.

It was a good thing that Ronin had told Loren not to say anything, because his mouth was already open. He snapped it shut quickly, not wanting to risk alienating his friend—or, well, whatever the two of them were now—even further. Still, he could only stay silent for so long. As soon as the other man explained what was wrong with him, Loren felt compelled to say something. “Who do I talk to about helping find a cure?” There wasn’t a question in the librarian’s mind that he wouldn’t help. And he certainly wasn’t going to entertain the notion of Ronin succumbing to the blight. Leaning forward, Loren spoke with an intensity that shocked even him. “You are not going to die. I’m a shitty person, and an even worse friend, but I can do that much for you.” After all, if the Launceleyn came back just to immediate lose one of the only friends he’d ever had, it might finally break him. Well, again. He’d already lost too many people he loved. This time, Loren didn’t say anything when Ronin finished going over the events of the last year. He just sat there, in awkward silence, trying to process it all. But it was too much: when he finally managed to find his voice again, he discovered that he once more had nothing to say. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine...that’s…” It was unbelievable. The sheer volume of information overwhelmed him, and the awkwardness of it all was practically palpable enough to taste. It sounded like a really unbelievable tale spun by an incompetent bard: people exploding, and coming back to life, and being made into stars by divine beings, with monsters and mayhem galore. So Loren started chuckling, completely unable to control himself. It started with a giggle, but soon progressed to full blown hysterical laughter. “I’m sorry,’ he wheezed. “It’s not...it’s not funny, I just...it sounds so...wow.” He was laughing so hard that tears started pouring down his cheeks, although upon reflection he might have also just been crying. Several times, he managed to quiet down, but each time he’d see Ronin’s face, and then Loren lost it again. Eventually he quieted down, and he was immediately appalled. “Oh fuck. I’m sorry. I know I keep saying that, but I really do mean it.” He was babbling now, trying to make up for his behavior, just now, and, well, all of it, everything the librarian had done or failed to do. “I wasn’t laughing at you, promise! Obviously that’s awful, what you’ve been through, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better. And there’s probably nothing you really want to hear from me, after I left you, and everyone else, behind.” He bit his lip and looked away, knowing he’d probably just ruined whatever small chance he might’ve had to reconcile with Ronin. But, in the Launceleyn’s heart, he’d known that it was incredibly unlikely to happen. He was still going to try, though. “But it...it sounds like you could at least use a glass of wine.” This time, there was mostly sadness tinging Loren’s words, but hidden deep within was the barest seed of hope. If he could do that much for Ronin, it would have to be enough. LOREN Not quite an open book

Ronin blinked at Loren. There was something profoundly egotistical, he felt, about the other man showing up out of nowhere, learning for the first time about the sickness that gripped the area and its people, and instantly throwing himself into cures and reassurances about the state of the hunter's future. Ronin was beginning to accept what was going to happen to him - he didn't need hopeless platitudes. "Anyone," he said. "Talk to anyone, I don't know who isn't working on it. Phoebe has done dozens of experiments and involved Frey, Remi and I have spoken to Safrin and have gone into the Spire to see if we could find and eradicate a source, Amalia has spoken to Vi himself and apparently there is something in the works." Just not in time for him, it looked like. Once upon a time, the sudden and hysterical laughter might have been contagious to Ronin; the ex-captain had always been able to smile easily and to find the ridiculous in an otherwise serious situation, and what he'd been through had been the epitome of ridiculous. Or he might have been deeply offended, given the way his psyche had been utterly shredded by the events. Instead he simply watched quietly, stone faced, as the librarian tried and failed to contain himself. The blight was a funny thing, Ronin was starting to realise. At least he wasn't flying off the handle in a rage this time. "No, not really," he agreed when Loren next spoke, shrugging his shoulders. There was nothing he wanted to hear from his old friend, and the fact that he watched quietly by as the other man inappropriately laughed at his death and the death of the mother of his child... it said it all. Wine, though, suddenly felt like a necessity rather than a treat, and he nodded. "Glass, bucket, whatever is on hand," he said with a faint smirk. Whatever was on hand was nothing at all, in reality, but he was sure Loren's magic would soon be on that. RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.

It might’ve been egotistical to think that he could just waltz back in here and help solve everyone’s problems. Loren would be the first to admit that. But he wasn’t thinking that way. No, his thoughts had gone in another direction entirely. At the front of his mind was another illness—spread by another set of woods, by another deity, no less—that had threatened to take away the people closest to him. It had failed to, in the end, but it had been a close call. He could still remember how helpless he felt watching Astra waste away, when every spell and remedy Loren attempted failed. It had been a unique kind of agony for someone so used to sacrificing himself for others. Now something similar was happening to Ronin. The librarian refused to go through that pain again. Luckily for the king, last time a bunch of trees had threatened the other man, Loren had burned them to the fucking ground. That probably wouldn’t work this time around, but it was always a useful backup plan. Unfortunately, from where the Launceleyn was sitting, Ronin didn’t seem to have much hope left; it was upsetting to see the man who’d once refused to give up a fight acting this way. But a lot could change in a year, and Loren obviously wasn’t in any position to judge. “Okay. I'll talk to them.” Then, the Launceleyn hesitated, sensing that the king didn't want to discuss this any further, but knowing there was still more to be said. When the librarian spoke next, it was in a much softer and more uncertain tone of voice (not that he’d been speaking loudly or confidently before. “Do you remember, the tree curse?” Loren certainly did, but he also hadn’t exploded and come back to life in the past year, nor experienced a tenth of the things the other man had. Maybe it seemed quaint in retrospect Loren deserved that reprimand from Ronin, and the Launceleyn looked at the ground, ashamed. It didn’t seem that trying to explain further would get the Launceleyn anywhere, just like trying to explain where he'd been had fallen flat on its face: it was hard to tell someone you hadn’t been laughing at the tragedy of their life when he kind of had been, just not in the sense Ronin must’ve taken it. Regardless, there was nothing the librarian could say to make any of this better, so he just nodded when the king agreed to the wine. Concentrating briefly, the Launceleyn summoned two glasses, then a corkscrew. He popped open the bottle, then poured a generous portion in Ronin’s glass, which Loren handed to the other man, and a much smaller portion in his own. There didn’t seem to be much to toast about, so Loren just remained silent. Maybe it would be better if he just didn’t say anything at all moving forward, since every word out of his mouth just seemed to make it worse. Ronin had always preferred to vent his feelings at a convenient target; hopefully that much hadn't changed, and here Loren was, basically asking for it. LOREN Not quite an open book

Talking to them would likely herald a more positive response than Loren would receive from the blighted ex-captain, and Ronin only nodded to acknowledge the librarian's words. He was exhausted, by everything and simply in general, and it was a good thing Ronin was already sitting in bed - it meant when the meeting was over he wouldn't have to make any effort to get back to sleep. "Yes," he said of the tree disease. "I remember it. I think I might have spoken to some of the other Outlanders from Northaven about it, back when the blight first appeared." The 'other Outlanders' mostly being Remi, but the longer Ronin could keep his husband out of this surreal conversation, the better. "What of it?" Accepting the glass with trembling hands, Ronin swore quietly and set it down once again on the beside table, clenching his fists for a moment as if to still the tremors to something less noticeable. It hardly made a difference at this point, but it made him feel better. Finally, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long drink. "Why did you come back?" he asked eventually. "Why now?" RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.

Ronin was tired, and Loren didn’t think the Launcleyn’s presence was helping with that. It pained the librarian to see his friend’s hands tremble. But it didn’t hurt nearly as much as that empty tone in the king’s voice. When the other man asked why Loren had brought up the tree curse, he struggled to put it into words. “I don’t know…I guess I just wanted to remind you that I...we...you have some experience beating plagues and curses.” Even if Ronin didn’t accept Loren back—which the librarian realized had never been on the table—the king still should know that the Launceleyn was a resource and an ally. Although, perhaps it wasn’t good to bring it up after all, given what it had cost them. But there were no doubt many willing to pay that price, the summoner among them. And then the conversation swung back to Loren, and why he’d come back at all, after so long away. That was more than fair: after forcing Ronin to talk about an uncomfortable topic, the Launceleyn should have to do the same. Besides, Loren was the one who’d come here, hat in hand, expecting...forgiveness? Understanding? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He had no hope of getting his old friend back, that much was clear. “Because…” Trailing off, the librarian struggled to articulate, well, anything. Loren closed his eyes and breathed out a deep sigh. “Because the leaves started changing again. That told me exactly how much time had passed. And...I don’t know what I thought to accomplish, by running away from my problems. But, whatever it was, I failed.” His hands clenched into fists and he could feel a desperate tone rising in his voice. “I spent a whole year in a daze, trying to, to, find myself or something ridiculous like that. To get away from my past. To prove to myself, at least, that I didn't have to be, the, the, the weapon my family tried to forge me into.” It sounded worse and worse the more he said. “And I have nothing to show for it, besides hurting the people I cared about.” That had always been his worst nightmare, and this time it had been entirely his fault. Finally, he opened his eyes. Taking up the glass of wine, he downed it in one gulp, then poured himself more. Probably too much. But after everything he’d done, getting drunk in Ronin’s presence seemed like the least of the problems Loren had caused. Plus, he needed something to take the edge off the raw grief and anger he felt coursing through him. LOREN Not quite an open book

"I mean, I never had that particular disease... and we did lose someone from it." Ronin shrugged his shoulders, brow furrowing as he remembered - though it felt so far away now, it might as well have happened to someone else. (And maybe it did, because the happy-go-lucky captain was definitely a world from this Ronin Taliesin). "I'm not sure this thing requires a sacrifice, but... it's definitely something to bear in mind." He didn't know what he had been expecting, asking Loren for reasons as to why he'd come back. They were almost the same as his reasons for disappearing, after all, only too much had happened now. There was too much water under that particular bridge for Ronin to even remember, truly, the reasons for the Launceleyn to be so hung up on his past, and the bugbears that had followed from Northaven were distant pains now. Refocusing in time to watch Loren down his glass of wine and then some, Ronin arched an eyebrow. "Is that wise?" he asked quietly. "So you disappeared. Now you're back. Either buck up and make the most of it, or go away again." He shrugged, the blight that ran through his veins like black sludge making him blunt to say the least. "Which, I suppose, you did do by coming here. Sorry the person you were looking for wasn't here." RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.