would smell as sweet

LOREN

Loren was much slower than Ronin. And the Launceleyn was much slower than the king. Besides, the summoner was still wrapped up in his spell, sending the siren winging around. Perhaps that’s why, when the other man charged towards Loren, axe in hand, he didn’t move out of the way in time, leaving himself completely open to whatever attack Ronin was abotu to launch.

A beggar's book

outworths

a noble's blood

the wounds are open and bleeding out

An open target was a sweet one indeed, and Ronin did little to slow himself down as he realised his attack would hit. The hunter would tackle Loren, his shoulder aimed squarely at the Launceleyn's sternum to try and wind him, and he threw mindless, maddening force into it. It was no surprise, then, that the blow sent them both tumbling to the ground, Ronin fighting to get the librarian beneath him so he could bring up already torn and bloodied fists and rain blows down upon him. "You should have let me leave," he snarled through a hideous laugh.

THE

FALLEN STAR

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LOREN

Maybe Loren should’ve let Ronin leave. As the blows rained down and the summoner proved helpless to stop them, winded and bruised from the fall as he was, it certainly seemed like a good idea. But in a weird way, the summoner had the king right where the Launceleyn wanted the other man. Because they were right next to to Rose. And the siren, totally forgotten by Ronin, had swooped down and grasped its stem almost gently in its talons. Loren wanted for a fist to come swinging down and then ordered his creature to stop singing, hoping somehow that might disorient the king while simultaneously using his telekinesis and the siren to jerk the flower forward into the path of the strike. And, more importantly, one of the thorns.

A beggar's book

outworths

a noble's blood

the wounds are open and bleeding out

It was delicious, the smell of blood on the snow, only serving to further fuel Ronin's blight rage. He had completely forgotten the siren, it was true, bringing up his right hand for a particularly nasty strike at Loren's head. With the Launceleyn beneath him doing so little to defend himself, it was likely that he would simply get bored and stop the assault sooner or later. Or he'd just beat Loren to death - either way.

So the combination of the singing cutting to silence and the rose stem being thrust in the way was, perhaps, a literal lifesaver for the librarian. His strike slowing with his sudden distraction from the siren, it was a glancing blow to Loren at best, and one that opened a long scratch upon his wrist from one of the rose thorns.

Snarling his displeasure and rolling away, Ronin sprung to his feet and angrily tried to shake out the sudden numbness in his hand. "Fuck you Loren," he snapped. Helpful.

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LOREN

The thorn pricked Ronin, which at least meant the other man stopped beating Loren up and rolled off the Launceleyn. For his part, he dismissed the siren and lifted a hand with a pained groan and plucked one of the earplugs out, managing to catch the tail end of the king’s words. ”R-Ronin?” It came out in a breathy whisper: the summoner was still winded from the earlier blow to his sternum. Tears sprang to Loren’s eyes. He couldn’t say if it was because he wasn’t sure if the Rose had worked its magic, or if it was because it had and this was the other man’s reaction.

A beggar's book

outworths

a noble's blood

the wounds are open and bleeding out

With the pain from the prick of the rose came clarity, and an acute awareness about everything currently wrong with Ronin's world. His exhaustion, aches, pains, hunger and thirst were all laid bare (and he wobbled and sank down to kneel in the snow as it crashed over him). As well as that, the dawning realisation of what he'd been doing - what he had done - caused a hitch in his breath, blue eyes flickering over Loren. He groaned a curse through gritted teeth, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, forcing himself to his feet to approach his former friend, glancing over the marks Ronin had left on him. "...For fuck's sake. I'm sorry - I just..." He shook his head helplessly. He had no words for it, no excuses.

THE

FALLEN STAR

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LOREN

As Ronin’s words grew more coherent—or at least less actively hostile—and the other man’s feet approached, Loren felt his own thoughts grow a bit hazy with the pain. ”I’m fine. How are you?” As soon as the other man got close enough the summoner would flop a hand over to hopefully touch the king’s foot and send a pulse of healing magic through them both using the little remaining energy Loren had left. He didn’t have enough to treat the worst of the beating he’d just received, but at least the fog in his mind and the pain receded a bit.

”Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” The Launceleyn took a deep shuddering breath. ”Dunno how much time we have, soooooo, I’m a dick. I’m sorry for how I acted in our meeting and of course I missed you.” Maybe he wasn’t making complete and coherent sense but that was pretty understandable, and hopefully the relief and happiness in his voice to hear his old friend acting more like himself was clear enough. ”Can I pass along a message to anyone for you?” Presumably there were people Ronin wanted to speak to far more than Loren.

A beggar's book

outworths

a noble's blood

the wounds are open and bleeding out

"What the hell kind of question is that," Ronin said flatly in response to Loren's how are you, and he resisted the urge to step back and away from the Launceleyn's reach. A good thing he didn't, given the blast of healing energy he received, and Ronin looked down at himself - and Loren - in dismay. "It kind of was my fault," he murrmured, though it was arguable that it was less his fault than it was Loren's for standing there and taking the beating.

Raising his eyebrows at the sudden stream of words and apologies, Ronin felt utterly unprepared for such a conversation, especially given how little time he might have. He could feel it still, the blight burrowing beenath his skin, and he bit down hard on his lower lip as if to focus.

"I mean... I appreciate it, Loren. But now isn't really the time for this conversation..." He supposed, though, if things went as south as they looked like they were going to, there wasn't really another time for it. A message, though...?

Ronin smiled weakly. "If I die from this, let everyone know I'm sorry for letting them down," he said. "That's all." Yes, there were other things he wanted to say, but nothing he wanted to tell Loren - or that he wanted Loren to pass on to the intended recipient.

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FALLEN STAR

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LOREN

”Sorry. Pain talking.” At least, between the healing and the fact that Loren wasn’t actively in danger he was thinking more clearly. He popped the second earplug out to hear better. However, when Ronin insisted that he was partially to blame, the summoner shook his head. ”No it really wasn’t. I know it wasn’t you.” Yes, the king had beaten the Launceleyn up before, but the other man had a very good reason. Namely that Loren was being a dick, again, which meant he really should examine his behavior given that this was becoming a recurring problem.

However as Ronin talked about this not being the time, Loren wrestled back his automatic response that he didn’t know if they’d get another chance. Instead he just sighed. ”No time like the present. And I really do feel bad, for not...for assuming you’d never want to see me again.” As the long spoke about dying, the summoner bit his lip; that wasn’t a message he thought he’d pass along, because Ronin would survive this. But the other man wouldn’t want to hear that. ”I’ll tell them.” It wouldn’t come to that, though, not if Loren had anything to say about it.

Unfortunately, he might not.

A beggar's book

outworths

a noble's blood

the wounds are open and bleeding out

Ronin tutted under his breath at the Launceleyn's stubborn insistence about blame and guilt; it had been so long, he had quite forgotten just how properly awful Loren was at giving away punishment. But it was nice to hear, at least - that it wasn't him. Ronin knew that the other man meant it in a this was me way, but for the hunter, it was testament to the fact that the blight was not who he was.

Rubbing a hand across his dirty forehead, Ronin stepped back through the snow to linger by the nimbus that had come to hover nearby, the little cloud nudging at his legs until he half fell upon it. "Thank you," he said quietly, assured that the Launceleyn would pass the message on if the worst happened. In the meantime, though, he needed to get away from the Spire and all of the precious roses planted there.

"Look after yourself," he said, the nimbus raising up until it could easily zoom away with Ronin sitting upon it, the brooding king a silhouette of shame in the retreating shadow of the Spire.

~FIN

THE

FALLEN STAR

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