Dead men walking

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