Dead men walking

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