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It shouldn't come as a surprise that when invoking The Red King, a winter worse than anyone has ever seen will follow. Yet here Martyn is trading gold for silk then silk for blankets, wondering if there's more to life to being a weapon. Sure he had somewhat of a plan for this, after all what sort of winter spirit wouldn't? Not him. Yet the cold still invades Dogwart, slipping through every nook and cranny. Though every window and spilling through every door opened.
Most are dealing with it the best they can, yet one hides from the cold, unsure if it's due to being Red or being the Red King. It's anyone's guess. Perhaps even a combination of both.
Still, Martyn hums a tune, the lyrics long forgotten, dropping off a blanket to Skizz before slipping through into the heart of Dogwarts, no, the heart of Renchaining, The place Martyn met his king when all of this first happened, before this place even had walls. Looking back on it all, it seems odd that once there was a hand without his king, and a king without his hand.
“M’lord,” Martyn mumbles, careful not to wake the possible sleeping king, nudging open the door to the bedroom,“ I come bearing blankets.”
Not just any blankets, quilted blankets, made from the scrapes of the flag, woven from only the best of wool, spun with love. Only the best for his king. Ones he stitched with love and blood once it became quite clear of the strength this winter will bring. Blankets with love infused every step of the way. After all, only the best for the king. Only the best for the one who gave Martyn a place to live, a thing to live for. It's only fair he repays that kindness in bucketfuls. Only the best for His king.
“Me Hand, It's so cold” Ren complain, curled up under a pile of blankets as close to the heater as possible without setting himself on fire. “I'm not bred for this kind of weather.”
“I know, m'love. I know.” Martyn hums, carefully shifting more blankets to the pile, making sure it's all even and there are no lumps.
“Thank you, m'deary,” Ren's voice says from under his slowing-growing pile, his tale wagging.
“Of course M'liege.” Martyn loving says, “Just gotta finish fortifying the rest of Dogwart before bed.”
Both of them know how important it is to keep the cold out and the warmth in. Any heat lost could sway the tides of battle. Worse even, one of them could catch a cold. Heaven knows what dangers a slowed reaction time could cause. A winter night is a vastly different enemy than a winter day. As silly as it looks, nailing blankets over windows quite literally could mean the difference between life and death. There's the added danger of what if they run out of potions to treat sickness. What if someone attacks in their time of need? Few others are willing to help the enemy. Perhaps once the hobbits would have. Yet that bridge burned long ago. What if one of Dogwarts, worse even the king, dies of frostbite? Some nights, he still wakes up screaming, scared once again of Ren dying due to frostbite on the Black Heart altar.
The feeling of a clawed hand grasping Martyn's wrist is enough to pull him back to reality. Martyn smiles as Ren gently presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “I love you,” Ren says, as if his actions didn't show it enough. As if everything they have been through wasn't enough proof. As if Ren needed to prove his love throughout everything they have been through. As if it wasn't enough. As if he doesn't say with every breath, with every smile, every second spent with Martyn. As if it was something debated and not a known fact of the universe.
Martyn smiles, “I love you too,” he whispers, just barely audible over the cracking of the furnace.
One simple phrase, yet it bears the weight of the world. Three simple words, 8 letters, yet many actions show it. Marytn could not image being the hand of anyone else, could not image being on anyone else's side but Ren's.
Ren worms his head out of the blankets. “Come cuddle with me?” he asks, tilting his head and doing his best impression of puppy eyes.
Marytn laughs and pulls up a blanket. “Of course, m'Lord.”
Ren laughs. It's a beautiful laugh, one Martyn couldn't get enough of. One Martyn would do anything to hear in peacetime. It's a sound that rings out almost angelic, one no cord could match. A sound only to be heard in this hell. A sound Martyn would sell his soul to hear again.
“Hey Martyn,” Ren whispers. “When this is all over, do you want to go get coffee? We could get a wonderfully nice warm drink and curled up in front of the fireplace somewhere nice.”
Martyn hesitates for a second. “ Sure,” he whispers into Ren's hair.
He's never quite sure why Ren rambles on about a home, a place outside of war. This is the only place the two of them have. Even though Martyn might be unable to shield Ren from harm here, with the cards they have been handed, he's quite glad to help keep him warm, may it be a fur coat, blankets, or body heat. There's not much Martyn could trade his life for, but the chance to live at this moment forever, with no fear or danger, is one of them. Perhaps in a different life yet this is the only one they get. Might as well get the most out of it while they're both alive. He doubts the ghosts get a happy ending.
Later, when the rest of Dogwarts run out of blankets, that's how they find the hand and the king, curled up in each other's embrace, Ren's snoring, just barely audible over the furnace.