LOREN
Rexanna had a lot to say, which Loren supposed was fair, given how he’d unloaded on her. Unlike his jumbled and garbled mess of an explanation, her words came and clearly and coherently. And, wonder of wonders, they made sense. Still, he waited for her to finish—considering that she’d done the same for him, he thought that was best—before responding to what she said. ”Thank you.” That seemed like a good place to start. The depths of gratitude he sank into that word was nearly palpable, but already he could feel the barest hints of certainty stirring within him. Wonder of wonders, he thought he could do this.
”He didn’t put it on me. Not really.” The Launceleyn didn’t know why exactly he was defending the other man except that he disliked when others misconstrued his words and after everything the summoner had done to Remi, it seemed that Loren owed the alchemist that much. ”He said that he has no wish for any life other than the one he has. But because he loves me, somehow, despite the gods’ interventions, because he loves me and he loves unconditionally, there will always be a part of him that will wonder what it would be like to be with me, and to see that, to have that taken away again hurts him.” Saying it out loud made the Launceleyn realize how messed up he’d been and still felt about the whole thing. ”If it was anyone other than Remi I would’ve said that was manipulative, almost, and cruel, and even he admitted it was selfish and told me not to let it stop us from being friends. But…” The summoner’s voice trailed off, hoping that the blue-eyed woman would understand that he was having trouble reconciling the kind and gentle Remi, who only wanted the best for everyone, with the vision of the other man who was jealous and seemed to want the world for himself. She probably would, given the comment about the unfairness of it all.
It was good and right that the alchemist be happy and fulfilled (which is why the Launceleyn didn’t care about the other man’s Ascended bites). But not if it was preventing Loren from doing the same. Then again, no one was really stopping him but himself.
Actually, Rexanna did know about his past, the salient bits. He’d done a similar unburdening with her on the Bone Bridge. It had been about the Launceleyns: the oath, the upholding of strength as the virtue above everything else, their need for total obedience, and the torture they inflicted on the least among them to ensure it all. And he’d been that way for so long that he’d borne the brunt of it. ”I feel like all I do is apologize, sometimes. And I know that my worry for others often overrides my common sense and that I should ask what people want and listen more. It’s just not my first instinct, which is why I try to tell people that I am bad with words and why I try to do the right thing even if I do it in the wrong way.” He wasn’t getting better at that, but again, LongNight didn’t seem the time to try new things.
As the conversation swung toward Rexanna’s past and past behaviors, he gave her a little squeeze. He understood. He really, really understood, about feeling like he deserved the terrible things that happened to him because he was a bad person at heart; that he preferred to sacrifice himself, and his time, health, energy and well-being, than consider risking that for others; that doing things for others had always felt so much easier than doing things for himself. As for her comments about fucking, both metaphorically and then literal, well, when it came time to respond he let out a little huff of laughter and gave her another squeeze. ”Thank you, again. And I’m sorry that you went through that, even if I’m glad that this is the place it brought you eventually, both mentally and physically.” And by his side, though he wasn’t quite bold enough to say that.
Lifting his head, he leaned it against the wall behind him. ”I think...I think I’m ready to move on.” The wonder in his voice was nothing compared to the relief he felt in his mind when he admitted that, to her and to himself. He glanced over at Rexanna briefly. ”And if I’m being honest, I’m getting a little sick and tired of hearing about how I wasn’t here the past year, as if it wasn’t something I told myself every day.” Enough. He’d had a mental breakdown, had overcome that, and didn’t have to feel constantly guilty for how that had hurt people. Didn’t need to constantly feel the need to atone for his sins, both real and imagined. And if that meant occasionally hurting people he’d once known, well they kept telling him how they’d changed. So if they couldn’t get past his own metamorphosis, Rexanna was right: Fuck ‘em.
”He didn’t put it on me. Not really.” The Launceleyn didn’t know why exactly he was defending the other man except that he disliked when others misconstrued his words and after everything the summoner had done to Remi, it seemed that Loren owed the alchemist that much. ”He said that he has no wish for any life other than the one he has. But because he loves me, somehow, despite the gods’ interventions, because he loves me and he loves unconditionally, there will always be a part of him that will wonder what it would be like to be with me, and to see that, to have that taken away again hurts him.” Saying it out loud made the Launceleyn realize how messed up he’d been and still felt about the whole thing. ”If it was anyone other than Remi I would’ve said that was manipulative, almost, and cruel, and even he admitted it was selfish and told me not to let it stop us from being friends. But…” The summoner’s voice trailed off, hoping that the blue-eyed woman would understand that he was having trouble reconciling the kind and gentle Remi, who only wanted the best for everyone, with the vision of the other man who was jealous and seemed to want the world for himself. She probably would, given the comment about the unfairness of it all.
It was good and right that the alchemist be happy and fulfilled (which is why the Launceleyn didn’t care about the other man’s Ascended bites). But not if it was preventing Loren from doing the same. Then again, no one was really stopping him but himself.
Actually, Rexanna did know about his past, the salient bits. He’d done a similar unburdening with her on the Bone Bridge. It had been about the Launceleyns: the oath, the upholding of strength as the virtue above everything else, their need for total obedience, and the torture they inflicted on the least among them to ensure it all. And he’d been that way for so long that he’d borne the brunt of it. ”I feel like all I do is apologize, sometimes. And I know that my worry for others often overrides my common sense and that I should ask what people want and listen more. It’s just not my first instinct, which is why I try to tell people that I am bad with words and why I try to do the right thing even if I do it in the wrong way.” He wasn’t getting better at that, but again, LongNight didn’t seem the time to try new things.
As the conversation swung toward Rexanna’s past and past behaviors, he gave her a little squeeze. He understood. He really, really understood, about feeling like he deserved the terrible things that happened to him because he was a bad person at heart; that he preferred to sacrifice himself, and his time, health, energy and well-being, than consider risking that for others; that doing things for others had always felt so much easier than doing things for himself. As for her comments about fucking, both metaphorically and then literal, well, when it came time to respond he let out a little huff of laughter and gave her another squeeze. ”Thank you, again. And I’m sorry that you went through that, even if I’m glad that this is the place it brought you eventually, both mentally and physically.” And by his side, though he wasn’t quite bold enough to say that.
Lifting his head, he leaned it against the wall behind him. ”I think...I think I’m ready to move on.” The wonder in his voice was nothing compared to the relief he felt in his mind when he admitted that, to her and to himself. He glanced over at Rexanna briefly. ”And if I’m being honest, I’m getting a little sick and tired of hearing about how I wasn’t here the past year, as if it wasn’t something I told myself every day.” Enough. He’d had a mental breakdown, had overcome that, and didn’t have to feel constantly guilty for how that had hurt people. Didn’t need to constantly feel the need to atone for his sins, both real and imagined. And if that meant occasionally hurting people he’d once known, well they kept telling him how they’d changed. So if they couldn’t get past his own metamorphosis, Rexanna was right: Fuck ‘em.
REXANNA
