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"Me hand, accompany me on an excursion outward."
Martyn blinks, ignoring the dull headache emanating from his temples, and looks up from his paperwork. His king is on the move, already rising from his desk, and in three strides he's out the door, cape billowing behind him. Martyn scrambles to follow, barely managing to straighten the pages before racing behind. "Shall I saddle the horses, milord?" He asks, breathless.
"No need." His king doesn't even look at him. It makes Martyn worry that he's messed up too much. "I've already had the stablemaster prep them beforehand. Everything should be ready for us."
The throbbing ache in his head transforms into a stab of pain that shoots through him, and Martyn can't help but let out a low hiss. Ren, for the first time, looks at him sharply. "Are you alright?"
"Fine, sorry," Martyn replies, attempting to give the most carefree grin he can. "Just had a rock in my shoe. I can get it out once we're at the stables, no big deal."
Ren doesn't look like he quite believes him, gaze flickering up to the flowers intertwined with his bandana for a brief second, but something in his expression grows more determined and he continues on with no further comment. Martyn lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. There were times he hated his flowers for telegraphing his every feeling, but nowadays, he was just grateful the old language of his people had been lost. Folks nowadays had no clue that something pretty could have more meaning to it.
They make it to the stables with no further delays, and sure enough, their two horses are waiting for them. It takes seconds to mount up and ride off, even with Martyn pretending to shake out a rock from his shoe. Ren leads the way, setting a brisk but manageable pace, heading away from the city and towards the countryside.
"Where are we off to, milord?" Martyn asks, nudging his horse to move alongside Ren.
Ren's stern demeanor that he'd been maintaining slowly melts into something softer as he meets Martyn's gaze. "You'll know when we get there," he teases, and before Martyn can insist on a proper answer, he clicks, speeding off.
Ren leads them further away from the cold forests of Dogwarts and into warmer climates, the trees thinning out to give way to more grassy hills. Until finally, they cross over one last hill and the grass suddenly bursts with color- hundreds of flowers in every color across the entire field. "Let's saddle our horses here," he commands, and the two do so.
Being by so many flowers does make Martyn relax ever so slightly. The imposing taiga of Dogwarts was perfectly serviceable for a creature like him, but there was something refreshing about flowers that just couldn't be beat. Still, a picturesque location like this was a perfect place for a surprise ambush. As the king's Hand, it was his duty to make sure Ren was safe. Especially after the ritual- Ren was theoretically more powerful now, but also more vulnerable. Martyn had to be prepared at all times, because just one stray arrow, one knife from an assassin-
"Martyn!" Ren's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He's moved away from the horses now, further into the meadow. "Come and join me, me laddie."
How did he miss Ren getting that far? There's another sharp pain, right behind his ear, but Martyn's prepared for it this time and doesn't even flinch. He trots along to where Ren is, accepting the hand that his king extends to him. He figures it's just so he doesn't slip across uneven ground, but Ren pulls him closer, grabbing his waist as well. "Let's dance," he commands, grinning.
Martyn sputters. "Wha- here?!" He can't help the incredulous tone that creeps into his voice. "Milord, we're in the middle of the open!"
"No one is here but us, me Hand," Ren counters.
"We're right by Timmy and Scott's," Martyn protests. "Anyone could come round-"
"And you'd protect me, would you not?" Ren's smug, the prick, because he knows Martyn can't deny it.
Still, he tries to come up with some sort of an argument. "We don't even have music," he says, lamely.
Ren doesn't look the least bit dissuaded. "I'll hum us a tune." And that's that.
His voice is low and soothing as he leads Martyn into a slow waltz. Martyn's never been much of a dancer, so he trips over both Ren and his own feet a couple of times. But Ren just laughs lightly, and continues on.
They dance for a while, Ren even dipping and twirling him every so often. Still, with no terribly urgent task to focus on, Martyn's mind wanders back to the one place he's been trying to avoid.
It's the only way, he knows, this is the only way for them to survive. Martyn has to be the one to do this. Ren has to be the one to die.
There is no easy way to become a god. And even then, godhood doesn't mean invincibility. But all their enemies have magic on their side, or other supernatural forces at play. Ren's only got Martyn, and that wasn't going to cut it.
But what Martyn does have is knowledge. Knowledge on how to become something greater. Knowledge that would require him to sacrifice his freedom, and Ren his humanity. Knowledge that would bind the two together, for better or worse.
The fact is, Martyn isn't human. He's always been able to pass as one, excuses and half-truths falling easily from his tongue. But his lack of humanity meant that he's lived a long time, and living a long time means you've seen some things. He's seen how a failed ritual can end up. Some lands would be forever cursed due to how badly humans had messed up. Messing around with godhood could destroy the very fabric of Ren's soul, should he not be strong enough to reform. If Martyn was wrong about Ren's strength, Ren would be subjected to a fate worse than death.
His hands are shaking as he holds up the Red Winter axe. Ren's kneeling on the altar, head bowed, eyes closed. Martyn thinks back to times before Dogwarts, when humans sacrificed animals in exchange for magic. He can't help but think his king looks a lamb ready for slaughter. And that surely made Martyn irredeemable, breaking every vow he's ever made to protect and serve his king. To now be the one to swing the axe down, to transform a lamb into a wolf, to condemn him to a life of constant violence and bloodshed, to ruin him, he's ruined him, he's gone and killed his king-
Their dance stops. The lighthearted smile that Ren had been wearing is long gone, replaced by a more solemn one. "I'm sorry, me Hand," he says, wearily. Because Martyn was being too much of a burden, he knew. "I had foolishly thought bringing dancing amongst nature would be enough to heal what ails ye. I can see it did not."
"I'm fine," Martyn says on instinct. Trying not to mess up even further.
Ren gives him a sad smile. "I fear you are not." He reaches a hand out to brush against Martyn's flowers. Pricking himself on the many thorns. "Your flowers have meanings, do they not, me laddie? I may be ignorant of the specifics, but I've noticed they're not as colorful as they once were."
Martyn chews on his lip. "I mean, part of it has to do with the changing seasons, milord. I'm not gonna be as bright as I was in the spring." It was the beginning of autumn, the days where summer hadn't fully given up it's claim yet, but a cold breeze wasn't too uncommon. Winter would be upon them soon enough.
"And the thorns?" Ren prompts, undeterred. "I have seen the flowers of aloe plants and rhododendrons. Neither of them bare thorns that looks like these."
"I mean, the thorns aren't that important. You not even going to mention how I've coordinated the flower colors? Red and white, because I'm so patriotic."
"Martyn." Ren's voice is pleading, and Martyn instantly feels guilty about joking around. Ren reaches out to once again intwine their fingers, his hands warm and calloused. He continues, voice soft as he admits, "I- I know I demanded much of you, on the altar. And I offered you the choice to slay me and continue on with your life. And yet, you've stuck by me, done all I've asked of you and more. I could not ask for a better Hand."
"Don't say that," he can't help but hiss as he looks away. The earnestness in Ren's eyes is too much, surely he doesn't mean that, he couldn't possibly mean that after all he's done. After Martyn's sullied him so thoroughly.
Ren squeezes his hands. "Look," he demands, bringing their hands up and forcing Martyn to see. "These hands are the ones that picked me up from the altar. They wiped the blood from my face. They've washed away all the filth I carried with me. I'm no longer human, yes, but I'm still your king. Do you doubt your king's words?"
Martyn hesitates. Because no, he'd never doubt Ren, he couldn't after all they'd been through. But at the same time, Ren wasn't infallible. He had made plenty of mistakes in the past. "I…" Martyn begins, but quickly trails off. There was no way to convey what he felt.
Sensing that, Ren pulls his hands together, pressing a kiss to Martyn's knuckles. "I asked the unthinkable of you, me laddie. And I'm cruel, I know, because the truth is, I do not regret it. Not when I can spend the rest of eternity with you."
Martyn shakes his head, petals crinkling slightly. "You can't imagine how long that is. You'll get sick of me."
But all Ren does is smile. "I don't think so. I think I'll finally have enough time to figure out what your flowers mean."
Against his will, he feels the thorns digging into his flesh begin to recede. Martyn scoffs, unable to keep down the smile that slowly begins to creep onto his face. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you," Ren replies, pulling him in for a kiss.