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Martyn doesn’t like the sunset.
Of course, he’s never said that he doesn’t. He couldn’t break Ren’s heart like that. The man loves the things, he’d go on for hours if you let him. Oh Martyn what a lovely end to the day. Oh Martyn look at those colours. Oh Martyn, oh Martyn, oh Martyn.
Martyn can’t help but think that sunsets are a bit mean if anything.
They’re beautiful, sure. They light the world in that evening glow, making their ramshackle base look like something honourable and his friends look all the more radiant.
But how cruel is it of them to shine so brightly when all they mean is an ending.
He never quite wants the day to end, he wants it to stretch and stretch and stretch. He wants to be left to smile and laugh and work and never have to lay his head down on a pillow.
This time especially. This time the sunset means the beginning of the very last night before they go to war.
Martyn leaves the walls of Dogwarts, digging through the cobblestone so as not to risk setting off the trap at the entrance. It’s a dangerous one, rigged with enough TNT minecarts to kill someone five times over.
Outside, it’s brighter, the rays of the setting sun illuminating his teammates. Etho and BigB spar on a section of gravel while Skizz sits on the ground in front of them.
Martyn leans back against the wall behind him watching bemusedly as Skizz barracks for Etho, switching sides instantly when BigB gets him in a headlock.
Martyn sends a contributory whistle along to them, “Go B!” It wouldn't be loud enough to be heard over much more noise, but BigB smiles over at him.
The smile turns out to be a mistake as Etho uses the moment of distraction to wrench out of his grip and bowel his sparring partner to the ground, landing with an elbow pinning his chest to the ground.
Skizz claps, “I always knew you had it in you Etho.”
Martyn walks over to them, “Yep, never doubted you for a moment.”
He hears Etho scoff beneath his mask as he and Skizz detangle, “You only like me when I’m winning.”
BigB crosses his arms, “Better to be loved for your success than to be betrayed.” He mock glares at Martyn. “I thought you were on my side.”
Martyn shrugs, “And I was. Until Etho got out of that nice hold, I’m on the side of opportunity.”
Skizz nods, “That way you’re always on the right side of history.” From the ground, he looks up at Martyn, “You want in next? Etho beat me but you can verse him.”
Martyn shakes his head, “Thanks mate, maybe later.” If there is a later. “Do you guys know where Ren’s got to?”
BigB jerks his thumb over his shoulder, over to where the hill starts to slope down to the river. “He’s brooding.”
Martyn should have guessed.
“Thanks guys. And Etho? I think B deserves a rematch. You totally cheated.”
BigB shoots a fist into the air and Etho groans, Skizz whoops, seemingly more for the excitement of the moment than anything else, and Martyn makes his way towards the river.
Halfway down the hill, sitting on a small outcropping of rock, is Ren. His cloak is off, sitting on the grass beside him with his axe resting atop it.
His crown is on his knee, and as Martyn watches, Ren traces a finger over the sharp prongs. Round and round the crown. Over and over again.
Martyn sits down next to him on the rock, it isn’t quite big enough for two people, but they squish and they have squished before, their thighs pressed close together and Martyn’s arm balancing him behind Ren’s back.
“Hi,” Martyn says.
Ren doesn’t reply immediately, just continues his finger’s route around the rim of his crown.
“The sunset is beautiful this evening,” he tells Martyn. He isn’t looking at the sunset, he’s looking down.
Martyn looks at the sunset, it does look nice, but he’s more interested in the colour it turns Ren’s skin and the shapes it makes when it reflects off the crown’s red jewels, if he’s being perfectly honest.
“It is,” he tells his king. “You’re right.”
Ren’s back is trembling against his arm, Martyn can feel his thighs shaking. He doesn’t think it just started, he can’t believe this is his first time noticing.
He pushes his thigh more firmly against Ren’s.
“You’re not wearing your crown.”
Ren shrugs, a huge, expressive, movement, even in his state of reverie. “It doesn’t feel right.”
Martyn reaches over, taking the crown from him gently, running his own hands over the metal, warm from Ren’s touch.
“Why not?” It’s yours.”
Ren sighs. He leans back a little and runs a hand through his long hair, fingers getting snagged in the waves. “It is mine.”
“But it doesn’t feel right?”
Ren turns to look at him for the first time, “If I ask you a question, can you promise to answer honestly?”
Martyn is not practiced in honesty.
“I can promise to try.”
Ren closes his eyes, thick eyelashes spreading over the hollow of skin beneath them, and for a moment Martyn thinks he’s said the wrong thing. That Ren won’t ask his question.
Then, Ren speaks.
“Do you think I deserve to be king?”
Martyn repeats the question in his head, letting his mind pronounce every syllable.
Do you think that I deserve to be king?
Ren is the king. Ren is his king. He cannot think of a world in which he isn’t. Deserving has never been a part of the question.
“I don’t think,” Martyn starts carefully, trying to keep his words truthful, “that that is important.”
Ren opens his eyes, and there’s fire in them. He scoffs. “Pray tell, why would it not be important? It’s the only thing that’s important.”
They’re still pressed close together, but Martyn can feel that Ren has gone stiff against him.
“What matters is not what you have done to deserve power, but what you do with it once you have it.” It all sounds a bit more introspective than he meant for it too, but he supposes Ren is in an introspective mood.
“I think you’ve done good.”
“I’ve done plenty of bad.” Ren tells him, and Martyn knows he’s right. “I’m not sure if the good outweighs it all.”
Martyn shrugs, tries to smile at him, “Maybe I’m biased.”
Ren smiles back, a bit sad. “Maybe you are.”
Martyn picks up the crown, and, holding it above Ren’s head, he raises his eyebrow.
Ren raises his back.
Slowly, carefully, Martyn lowers the crown onto his king’s head. It’s crooked, he fixes it.
“There you go,” he whispers. It looks right.
“Thanks, Martyn,” Ren says just as softly, before, after a moment of silence, turning back to look at the sunset.
Martyn follows his gaze and sees that it’s getting progressively dimmer as the stars begin to come out to play. He likes how the sunset turns the clouds pink, and as he watches them get darker, the colour only reminds him of blood a little. The last light, they call it, the last light before the end.
“Was it worth it?” He asks his king, and he knows his words sound like a finality. Was it worth it? Now that we’re done?
“Was what?”
“All of it. Did we get what we wanted?”
He hears the sound of Skizz’s laughter above them, loud and bright. He sees a salmon splash in the river. He watches the sun disappear over the horizon and the full moon comes out to replace it.
He thinks it, the unspoken words. We are going to die tomorrow.
Ren sighs next to him, and Martyn feels it through his body as well. “I think I did,” he says. “I got you, and I got Dogwarts, I got Etho and Skizz and BigB. I got a hell of a lot of happiness here.”
A hell of a lot of happiness.
“So did I,” Martyn tells him, “I got a hell of a lot of happiness too.”
Even if this is it, even if this is the last day I get to have it.
Ren’s hand lands heavy on Martyn’s shoulder, and Martyn turns to look at him. The other man’s brow is low and crinkled, his deepest eyes serious.
“You know I’ve got you, right?” Ren asks, voice low and urgent. “Whatever happens, I’ve got your back.”
Martyn sighs. He lets himself slump over a little, resting his forehead against Ren’s shoulder. “I know,” he says, “and I’ve got yours as well.”