Dead men walking

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