This was bullshite, Leander decided as he dove behind a chest of drawers as the window seemed to glow from the ball of magic flung in an attempt to hit him, utter bullshite. Colliding shoulder first with the floor, his head ricocheted off a table leg and he groaned in pain, hand putting pressure against his skull to try to minimise the throb. He did not know Hawke’s motivations, and Leo valued his life too much to dare asking, but where was the Gods thrice damned logic in sending in a fecking scrap when mona was going to play such a large part of the battle?
He had long thought the man had a screw loose, but this seemed to prove it. The Brothers seemed to be dropping like flies, and Leo refused to be one of them. “Circle guide me, I was not destined to die because that megalomaniac’s ego sent hundreds of fools to the slaughter.” The bolt of... whatever it was... had died against the wood, and no embers remained. Leo knelt up, winching as he did so and rolling the injured shoulder gingerly.
The passive risked a glance out of the window, first checking roofs for any assailants who might be looking his way, then channeling a glance downwards. Bodies littered the ground, and Leo had no doubt a fair few, if not all, would be dead. He wondered what call Hawke had over mona to cause so many idiots to blindly fall for their King. Surely no one in their right mind would do as those poor sods had done? “Fecking...” he muttered, turning once again from the window and resting his back against the wall.
Coerced into the service of the King of the Underworld, the passive had no love for Hawke. He had been placed upon the balcony as a watcher and, as far as Leo was concerned, he had completed his directive. He had watched the fight begin, and his services were no longer required. Leander was not naïve enough to believe that, should the senior Brothers learn of his apparent cowardice and inactivity, there would be no consequences...
But the vague threat of punishment was not enough to spur him to fight for the cause. But the reality way that outside was so chaotic, no one would remember if he was involved or not. Gods, he could just lie if asked, and say he played his part, however small it was. Decision made, the passive rubbed at his shoulder gently. It was not bleeding but it would surely blacken by the morning. If anything, that would support his claim of fighting. He settled in, head lying back against the wall, and listened to the shouts and cries from the fighters outside.