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And I Will Fight For You

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Martyn, the runaway knight, is accompanied by his lord, Ren, the earl of Loupwynn, as they travel from Meriport to the strange crypt that others tell them about. Once inside, they find these stories to be much truer than they sound, encountering things that shouldn’t exist.

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AO3

8.5k+ words below cut!!!

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Martyn had heard tales from other people in town about a strange crypt they’d discovered in the woods, not all too far from the swampy town of Orchidea. This certainly was a topic of interest, as most people within Orchidea and Meriport denied knowing anything of its existence. No, only those of them who had gathered to this land from far-flung places seemed to speak of it. ‘It has an…otherworldly, strange feel to it.’ One would say. ‘The monsters within keep returning anytime you go back. But so does the treasure…’ Another would comment. And well, Martyn could certainly handle some monsters if it meant more treasure.

As he gathered his things in preparation, he was interrupted by a knock at his opened door. Ren stood there, dressed for adventuring. “Martyn, before you say a word of objection, you cannot make me change my mind. I know you want to explore the strange crypt, and I want to as well. Plus, between the two of us, I’m the one who actually knows where it is, as I’ve seen the ruins outside of it. But I admit, I felt a tad…uneasy, at the thought of trying to enter before, while alone. So for that reason, I refuse you to enter alone either, and we can delve into the crypt’s depths together.”

Martyn sighs. He just had to tell Ren last night about his plans, huh. He should have known how Ren would react. It's not all too dissimilar as to when he’d left home to come here, leaving a note in Ren’s window the night he slipped away, only to find once he’d settled down in Meriport he gained a neighbor not even a week later, and Ren was at his side again. “Ren, I really appreciate the show of companionship here, but you are aware that this place contains monsters, yeah? Fighting them off can be much different than if you were to fight another person. They don’t think or act in the same way we do, don’t have the same level of sentience, if any at all. As long as I’ve known you, which is to say, practically my whole life, never have I once seen you battle something that wasn’t a person. I don’t want you to get hurt…” He rests a hand on Ren’s arm, gentle and caring. Friendly, as he’d say, but does not think. True, he thought much more of his friend, longed for more, but he could never admit to it. Not if it meant the possible rejection of his feelings, his friendship ruined, and the loss of ever getting to even hang out with Ren again.

Ren waves Martyn’s hand away, instead placing one of his own hands on one of Martyn’s shoulders. “I will be fine, Martyn. Have some faith in me! I got all the way here on my own, did I not? Meriport is far further than I’d ever travelled before, even with the assistance of my family and their workers. I’ve fended off beasts and thieves, and arrived here with very few scratches, which even then, they were insignificant. I am confident in my ability to be able to take on monsters. I will be joining you, there is no way to stop me.” Ren grins. He came from a noble background, his parents being a duke and duchess, and as their eldest son, he was an earl. Which likely made it quite the scandal back home that he’d left in such a hurry to chase after a knight who, while was indeed his companion since childhood, was of a more commonfolk heritage, whose parents worked for the aforementioned duke and duchess. It was by Ren’s request that his parents enlist Martyn in knight training, under the guise that Martyn would become his guard. In truth, the pair just never wished to have to become separated.

No, even when Martyn left, he did not want to be apart from Ren. But he could not bear to be around that place anymore, could not bring himself as Ren’s guard to have to accompany him to court any other people. So he’d slipped away, abandoned his life and only in guilt informed Ren of where he was headed, instructing him not to follow, that one day he might return, but needed a fresh start in new lands more than that. Was part of him glad that Ren refused to listen to those instructions? Yes, of course he was. But now he’d caused an earl to flee from his home, venturing far away on his own, just to look for him in a town that neither of them had any stake or history in. He himself could never return back, at this point, even if Ren begged him to. He would be in quite serious trouble if he stepped foot in that place again. “...fine. But we’re bringing any extra healing supplies that we can. You’re not getting any serious wounds on my watch, my lord.”

Ren laughs. “Martyn, please, you don’t have to call me by that title. How many times have I told you in our lives that to you, I am just Ren. As my guard, my knight, you are first and foremost my best friend. Only around others back home were you to address me as your lord. But alone there, and anywhere here, I am Ren. I have no rank in Meriport, and here we can be just us.” He flashes Martyn a soft smile, and gods, this is why it was so hard for Martyn to watch Ren courting. That smile, those eyes, the way he spoke, if Martyn hadn’t known any better, he’d say it was almost as if Ren shared those feelings. But there was no way, how could he? Ren deserved so much better, and that seemed to be exactly what he was after, given the status of those he courted.

Martyn simply nodded, and returned to his packing. When all was set, the pair ventured out together, leaving the walls of Meriport and making way to Orchidea. They venture along a road that takes them through a sheep farm, where they flee from quickly as Ren had accidentally angered the shepherd living there. They continue onwards, stumbling upon a small settlement of other travelers, who welcome the pair in for the night. They’re weary of this group, of course, but join them around the fire that night nonetheless. Martyn tried to object, but Ren was intrigued and pulled out his pleading face, so he relented to him. They settle, and eat dinner with the others when one, a half-elf with a scar and tealish robes, speaks up. “Have any of you guys ever heard of and/or ventured into the mysterious crypt within the woods outside of Orchidea?” Some nodded, murmurs of ‘yes’es and ‘no’s, and he started up again. “I myself had made way into its depths, and fought the many monsters within. It’s so chilly in there, like the souls of those buried within are around you, watching with some unknown emotions. I will say, it is very overgrown and damaged within, but yet, every tomb is still practically pristine, the writing on them fully legible. But I will warn, sometimes you might…see things, while you’re within the many chambers. I could have sworn I’d seen…well, obviously it wasn’t me, but…someone, or something, that bore a… rather striking resemblance to myself. But human, and wearing other clothes.”

Martyn gives Ren a look, as if to say ‘this is why I didn’t want you to come’. Ren gives one back, conveying ‘this is why I didn’t want you to go alone’. Their attentions are pulled away by the clown girl raising her hand. “Oh oh! I had that happen too when I went in! I tried to follow it, but I just arrived at a dead end, and it was gone. Kept muttering something about a mangrove, whenever I was quiet and still enough for me to hear it.” And indeed, with all the little bells on her outfit, Martyn can completely understand how it may be hard for her to hear anything quiet unless she was still as a statue. But what she said certainly piqued everyone’s interest, even if they didn’t say or mutter anything about that. Whatever these things they saw were, they could talk and disappear. They would almost just sound exactly like ghosts, if not for the fact that both people conveyed that what they saw looked nearly exactly like them. That was far too close to merely be some sort of a coincidence. Nevertheless, the rest of the night is passed in an exchange of stories, which Ren participated in, but Martyn did not. Why would he need to if Ren was talking for the both of them anyways? Especially as Ren was thankfully leaving out a few details from his stories, such as his noble status and the fact Martyn was a trained knight.

Come morning, the pair briefly join the others for breakfast, before continuing on towards Orchidea. They reach the town by midday, taking a brief rest for lunch within the tavern. There, a blond man sat at the bar gushes to whoever would listen about the local candlemaker, how beautiful she is and how he’s doing his best to try and impress her. He’d even made way to the strange crypt outside town, but other people at the bar laughed him off, including the bartender who decided that the one drink he’d been served was enough, cutting him off. Embarrassed, the man goes to leave, but Ren gestures him over, inviting him to join them for a chat about the crypt, what he’d experienced inside.

“I’m not gonna lie, it was downright spooky in there. I went down with my housemate Oli, figuring two people going would be smarter than one. Which ended up being a very good idea, seeing as those monsters were just about everywhere. There were so many winding hallways, it's some kind of miracle that we didn’t get lost down there. Even if…” he trails off, frowning and looking around. He leans in closer, talking lower “Even if there were things that seemed to want us getting lost.” Martyn raises an eyebrow, asking him to elaborate. The man sighs, rubbing one of his temples. “We were in a massive room with a lot of different tombs, we split up between top and bottom level to find and gather as many materials as we could. I was investigating one of the tombs when I heard these squishy, slimy footsteps. I called out for Oli to follow me, that I’d heard something odd, and I chased after it. I went down a corridor, and turned into a dead end. I turned around, but…the hall behind me was gone, there was a wall. I turned around again, and suddenly there were two paths open. Down one, it led straight back to the main room. Down the other…”

He tenses, squeezing his hands around the glass in his hands, “It…it looked like me. But I was…different. I had scales, fins, and gills, I wore scaled armor with splotches of slime on it…and we just stared for a moment, before it gestured for me to follow, turned, and rounded a corner down that path. There was what looked like snow down that way, and a rather briney smell. I almost did follow, but I heard Oli screaming and ran out to the main room. As I ran out, Oli was running to my left from a hallway I certainly hadn’t seen before, and we ran right into each other as our paths intercepted. When I looked to where we’d both run from, there were only walls there, cracked and mossy like the rest. I guess he had a similar experience I had, hearing a lute strum and following it. Saw something with his face and ran screaming. We eventually found a suspicious lever, and once we pulled it, a massive door opened up, and we were finally able to get out.”

“What do you mean finally able to get out? Could you not find your way back to where you went in?” Martyn inquires, concern growing on his face. The man shakes his head, explaining it was more to it than that. They tried to bail out almost instantly, but when they turned back, the stairs they just went down were all broken and near impossible to climb. Again, Martyn shoots a look at Ren to say Ren definitely should not have come. And Ren returns it with one to say that Martyn can’t go in such a place alone. The belltower rings at the top of the hour, and the man is suddenly reminded of a place he needed to be at that moment. He rushes off, encouraging the pair not to go, but wishing them luck if they go anyways.

They finish their meals, and then set back out again. Thankfully, the strange crypt is only about an hour’s journey into the woods outside of Orchidea. Ren starts to veer off the path, and Martyn follows close behind. Once they emerge into the clearing, he just stops and stares. Yes, sure, it was pretty much just two or three broken walls, some pillars, and some pews, but there is no doubt that this place was certainly a massive, beautiful structure at some point in time. A castle, cathedral, or just especially impressive landmark, it did not matter. The back wall, which stood behind the set of dark stairs that was most likely the entrance to the crypt below, must have at some point contained a stained glass window, with the way some of the stone was liked up and shaped within it. “Martyn, while I am also one to appreciate the beauty of magnificent architecture, I suggest we head in sooner over later, so that we have the chance of there still being some sunlight when we come back out from there.” Ren interrupts his thoughts, having already made his way to the top of the stairs that lead down. And Martyn nods, following him over, but taking the lead as they descend below.

They head down through the dark stairway, the light of their torches doing very little to actually provide any light of their surroundings, as if there were some magical force keeping them in darkness. Suddenly, up ahead, they see some light at the bottom of the stairs. They head towards it, and walk out into a large room, with many arches and pillars in various states of disrepair. Martyn glances back at the stairs, and sure enough, what were completely intact and smooth stairs moments ago were now crumbled ruins and stones. He and Ren look to one another, and both suppose there’s really no going back from here now. The only way is forward. Martyn slightly shivers, pulling his cloak up over his shoulders now as opposed to how he had been wearing it at his elbows. “Gods, they were not kidding that it was chilly in here…how about you, Ren? You alright back there?”

He turns to see Ren re-adjusting his cape, moving it over both shoulders instead of just the one. “I’m fine, but certainly in the same boat that you are. Let us continue on, and perhaps getting in some more moving will further help to warm us.” Martyn nods in agreement, and they take not even three more steps before they’re suddenly ambushed by skeletons bearing various weapons. Martyn of course takes the lead, going into the fight ahead of Ren and trying to make swift work of any with ranged weapons first. He also does his best to keep an eye out for Ren, in case anything gets to be too close. Thankfully, no such thing happens, and the skeletons are swiftly dealt with. They both take a moment to catch their breaths before putting their swords back away, looking around the room again. “Where do you suppose we go from here? Nobody ever gave us directions, I realize…but also it seems like it might not have mattered, if this place could change its layout at will.” Ren looks between the two open pathways, every other arch having rubble, a tomb, or a sealed wall below.

Martyn thinks for a moment, looking as well. “I’m feeling a right…I can see a long hallway down that way, while the left has a very short one with a quick turn. Which means I can’t see what’s down that way and so I don’t trust it to not ambush or trap us.” He leads the way to the right, peering into each dip in the walls. Some being just small alcoves, others being tombs, and others being other paths. He does not go down any of these other pathways, instead waiting until he reaches the back wall before changing direction. Which, back here, the only option is to turn left. “Right, should we head left here, or do you want to go back one of the other ways?” Martyn peers down the hall to the left while waiting for Ren’s decision.

“…um, Martyn…? That hallway we just went down is gone.”

“What!?” Martyn turns quickly, and sure enough, where there was previously a long hallway, there was now just an entrance to a tomb. They both head in, and Martyn tries feeling against the back walls for any loose bricks or secret passages or…anything, really.

———

Ren, meanwhile, takes his time to observe the tomb. Red and white banners hang in the entrance. A diamond axe resting in a mount on the wall above the tomb itself, the words ‘The Red Winter Axe’ carved into the mount base. A black and red coat is draped over the top stone, a clawed handprint placed on the back. He notes the candles around the room, all green save for two red ones on either side of the foot of the tomb. He kneels down, getting a closer view of the name plate. “The Hand of the Red King…” he reads out, frowning. “Martyn…have you ever heard of a Red King?” He raises his head, leaning slightly to the side to peer around to where Martyn was.

He pauses, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have. Of all people, I’d think you might. You’re always reading stories and legends. Why do you ask?” Martyn walks over to join him, crouching at his side.

“I just…maybe would have liked to see a name put to this title. They have no name on their grave, Martyn…It seems unfair, does it not? This was a person, they had a name, a life outside of the title they bore, the person they’re tied to. Loved enough to be buried in a grand tomb with treasures and artifacts, but not enough to be remembered as his own person.” He reaches out, brushing his hand against the nameplate. It feels…strange, almost sort of tingly and perhaps…warm? “Hand, I am sorry you face this fate of being nameless for all eternity…perhaps if I find your king, or anything about your Red Winter axe, I might find you. I will bring you your name.” He stands, turning to Martyn, who stands as he does. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

———

“Yeah. And um…that…is a sweet gesture, Ren, but…you don’t have to do that for them. They’re dead, they won’t know anything different.” Martyn views as Ren frowns deeper, looking back to the tomb again. His own brows furrow, and he places a hand on Ren’s shoulder. “Hey…is…is there something you want to talk about? Why it’s bothering you that some dead person you’ve never heard of doesn’t have a name? You know you can talk to me about anything. It's what I’m here for as your best friend.”

Ren sighs, shaking his head. “I…honestly don’t know. It really does just not seem fair, you know? It’d be like…if you died, and your grave read ‘The Knight of the Earl of Loupwynn.’ I just don’t think it would be right to do that to anybody, to take away their name like that. Especially if it's someone you cared very much for.” He begins leaving the tomb, and Martyn walks right along with him. They continue down the hallway to the left, quiet except for the couple of times they face more skeletons. Even then, not much is said between the two. Martyn is unsure of how to respond to Ren’s last comments, and Ren has simply just continued to be upset. They try to navigate through more hallways, walking past more seemingly endless corridors, tombs, and the occasional treasure rooms.

Finally, Martyn stands still as he peers into another tomb at the end of a hall. Ren is behind him, silently looking around. He reaches back and tugs on his cape. “Ren…look at this tomb.” He hears the shuffling of Ren’s feet as he turns around, hearing the quiet gasp behind him. The entryway had the same red and white banners as the Hand’s tomb, but grander and with one draped over top of the stone encasing in the center. “Reckon this is that king…?” He mutters, eyes fixed on the spot where the nameplate was, though the inscription on it was covered by the draped banner. He walks forwards, Ren staying in place behind. However, there’s rumbling the moment Martyn steps foot inside the tomb, and he looks up and behind in time to see large cracks forming, rocks beginning to fall down. Where he was, it would be far too risky to back out into the hallway, so he leaps further into the tomb room, hearing the heavy rocks crashing behind, and soon all the light that was provided by the hallway was blocked out, leaving Martyn in total darkness.

———

“Martyn!” Ren calls out, trying to run after his friend before it was too late, but he was much too far away to help. He looks up to see some rocks heading right down towards him, and he crouches, covering his head with his arms, bracing for impact. Instead, he feels a cold, near wintry chill, and processes the sounds of stone clanging against metal. He raises his head, falling back into a sitting position as he sees the figure before him. A black and red coat, with a clawed, red hand square on the back. Legs that fade from being opaque to hardly visible at the feet. In a lowered arm, it holds a diamond axe, though this one is more stained with blood than the one mounted on the wall. On a raised arm, there was a shield, which was likely the metal the stones clanged against, and the reason Ren was sitting there, unharmed. However, the strangest part was that it had golden blond hair akin to Martyn’s, the ribbons of a black hairband mirroring the green ones of his friend. The height and build, at least from what he can see at this angle, was the same, too. His brows knit together, and he stares directly at the figure, which now lowers its shield, brushing itself off while keeping its back towards him. “Who are you, and why do you look like Martyn?”

It freezes, pointed ears perking up at the last part of his words. “...my lord?” It turns, gaze set downwards at Ren, who widens his eyes and scrambles backwards a bit in alarm. This thing had Martyn’s voice and face, too. Though, rather than the diamond shape below his eye being a birthmark, on the figure it looked more akin to a burn scar, as if it’d been branded there. It smiles wide, but in a far from sinister way. It seems delighted, happy, excited, even. As if seeing an old friend for the first time in many years. “My lord, I finally found you! It’s been so long, I…” it kneels down before him, head bowed. “I…must apologize. I’m so sorry I was unable to avenge you…I had your body in my arms when they stabbed me in the back. I wasn’t given a chance to actually fight after they got you…” Ren can hear in its words that it is trying to hold back tears. Oh boy, this…is going to be awkward, huh.

“Don’t apologize to me, I must be the one to apologize to you. I am not your lord, nor am I your king…I assume you’re the Red King’s Hand, yes? My companion, Martyn, and I saw your tomb earlier. It had the same coat draped over the top of it. But! Right on the other side of those fallen rocks is your king’s tomb…I assume, at least. It had the same banners as yours.” Ren sits up a bit more, watching as the Hand’s ghost looks up at him. Indeed, its eyes are watery, tears being just barely held back from falling. “Do you mind me asking what your name is? Only your title as the Red King’s Hand is on your tomb, and I’d like to put your actual name there, too.”

Its brows furrow, and a tear finally falls, trailing down over the scar. “Has it really been so long already that you’ve lost your mind? That you’ve given my name to something else you imagine in your head, forgetting that you are a king? My lord, please, remember me, remember yourself. You are Ren, The Red King, and I am your Hand, Martyn…” more tears fall from the Hand’s eyes, falling off his face and disappearing. Ren stands in alarm as the Hand says his and Martyn’s names. He tries to say something, anything, but the words get caught in his throat, leaving his brain before he can speak them.

———

Martyn groans as he pushes himself to sit up, having landed on the ground a bit harder than he’d intended to. He blinks in the darkness, trying to let his eyes adjust, but there’s not even a speck of light anywhere. He swears he remembers spotting some red and white candles in here somewhere, so he begins to try and feel around. Once he’d found a small cluster, he reaches for a flint and steel he’d packed in his bag. A couple strikes later, and one of the candles light up. Carefully, he lifts it from where it was, moving it around to get a look back at the entrance. He rushes to it, using his free hand to desperately claw at the rocks and stones to search for any loose ones. His brain is pumping out adrenaline, every single thought at this point focused on Ren. Gods, if Ren got hurt in that, or worse… “Ren! Ren, can you hear me? Please say you’re unharmed, my lord! My…” he shouts, taking pause between phrases. Though he becomes much quieter on his last word, trailing off as he chokes on his words, tears falling. There was no response from Ren at all. He rests his forehead against the wall of rocks, closing his eyes as he starts to sob.

As the first tear falls from his face, he hears a whooshing, windy sound behind him, a chill much more intense than that of the rest of the crypt closing around him. He turns, pressing his back against the stones behind him. Every candle was now lit with a cyan flame, providing a dim, eerie glow to the room. But what truly alarmed him was the figure, the ghost, before him, which bore a striking resemblance to Ren. Though he had a more regal outfit, a bloody crown on his head, and a prominent scar across his neck. It looks to him with a firm, yet warm expression. A soft glimmer of familiarity fluttering across his face. “My Hand…is it really you…? Have you finally returned to me…?” The ghost of the king reaches forwards, and Martyn pushes harder backwards against the stones, his head not thinking clearly to move aside to get away. An ice-cold, clawed hand lands on his face, slightly phasing into his skin. The king’s eyes widened, surprise and hope showing. “You’re living…my Hand, you’re still alive! Oh, this is just wondrous!” He grins a big, toothy, fanged grin, in the same way that Ren does. “Tell me, what has become of our kingdom? Flourished, I assume, under your command, after my passing? I told you, before the battle, how nicely ‘King Martyn’ would sound, even if it was meant for a different context…”

Martyn’s body finally catches up with his head, and he moves aside, putting distance between himself and the king. “What in the world are you even talking about? I’m sorry, but you have absolutely gotten me mixed up with someone. And it sounds like that someone is your Hand, yeah? His name also happens to be Martyn?” He tries to reach through his bag for anything that might help against ghosts. It seems peaceful and docile for now, but who knows how violent it could become if it sees Martyn will not fall for its tricks? This thing was using Ren’s face and voice to attempt to ease him into a false sense of security, it knows his name, it possibly even knows he and Ren had come across both tombs. Had they unknowingly followed something deep into the crypt, so far in that nobody could ever find them? If so, that made Martyn an absolute fool, and a failure of a knight to protect his lord from danger.

The king frowns. “Martyn, now is not a time to jest, like I know you love to do. What had happened since my death? Why do you deny me, and our memories together? Surely you can never forget that night on the black heart altar. When you lobbed my head off, thus making me into the Red King I became to be known as? My Hand, what has happened to Dogwarts? Don’t tell me you abandoned it…we founded it together, raised it up from its roots and grew it into the powerhouse that it was at the peak of war. Sure, the desert kings and their allies caused a heavy blow, but the mere fact you live tells me they did not succeed in overtaking us.” The king starts to come near, but Martyn steps back, which gives it pause. “Hand…?”

“I am not your Hand, Red King. I have never heard of a place called Dogwarts, nor of a grand war where any place fought desert kings. My loyalty belongs to Ren, earl of Loupwynn, for whom I am his knight. He is my lord. And I don’t know if you’ve ever taken a stroll through these crypts, but your Hand is dead, Ren and I had come across his tomb. All that being said, I would really appreciate it if you could get me back to him. I need to know that he’s unharmed. If he were hurt, I…” he chokes on his words again, eyes watering once more. The king’s own face grows sadder, coming close despite Martyn’s clear discomfort. They look into each other’s eyes, and as a tear falls to the birthmark on his cheek, realization hits the king.

“...you…you really aren’t my Martyn.” A ghostly hand phases over his cheek, somehow managing to wipe the tear away. “Where you bear a natural mark upon your face, he bears one as a result of a horrid ritual from his past. Leaving him burned and scarred for the whole of his life…a life, which in your words, is over…” Tears form in the king’s own eyes, the ears on his head lowering sadly. “You say you saw his tomb…if I get us out of here, could you take me to it? I must see it…I must see him…” And Martyn nods, of course he does, whatever he needs to do to get out and check on Ren. The king backs away, looking Martyn over. “...my name is also Ren. Perhaps…” he pauses, though shakes his head. “...no, it couldn’t. That would be quite unlikely.” It changes its attention to the pile of stones that fill the entrance, observing for a moment before drawing a sword. The king takes a deep breath, likely for focus as it did not need to breathe, before jabbing the sword and striking into the stones.

The pile crumbles apart, a burst of cold wind shooting outwards, a light coating of frost atop the strewn stones. Martyn blinks into the sudden light, and as soon as his eyes adjust, his face falls. This…was definitely not the same hallway that was there before. He runs out, looking around. “What…no, where are we now!?” He starts to run, hoping the king is following because he is absolutely not turning around to check. He truly could not give a damn how that ghost feels, especially as he’s gotten separated from Ren. He peers down passageways, calling out his name, calling for his lord. But he gets nothing in response. He rounds a corner, stopping in his tracks. “…where am I…?”

The room, if he could even call it that, as he appeared to be outdoors, resembled a damaged courtyard. Upturned grass, toppled walls, scorch marks, ripped banners that match the ones where the king and the hand were. He feels an icy claw rest on his shoulder, and he turns up to look at the kind, who gazes across the room sadly. “I know not what magic is making us see this, but…this…this is Dogwarts…as it were moments before-“ he’s cut off as even more transparent figures fill the scene before them, at battle with each other. Indistinct soldiers in red and platinum battling ones in black and gold, green and bronze, and blue and silver. Martyn spots an image of the king facing against a tanned, scarred man, wearing a black cloak and adorned in golden accents and accessories. Likely one of the desert kings he’d mentioned before. He hears the king behind him let out a whimper, and Martyn turns his attention to where he’s looking. And there is the Hand, who, yes, very much does resemble him, facing off against a winged man dressed not too dissimilarly to the other desert king, save for a white shirt below his cloak that was splattered with blood.

They watch the hand disarm the winged king, poised to strike. ‘You never had to do any of this. What happened to you after that day we got separated that took you down this path!? We were friends!’ But before the winged king could speak, a pained cry reverberates through the area. All focus is turned, where the scarred king shouts triumphantly, the red king collapsing and clutching his torso. ‘My lord!’ The Hand screams, running over to him without an ounce of hesitation. He collapses to his knees, pulling the king into his arms. ‘No…no no no no no, you can’t…my lord, don’t leave me!’ The other king reaches up and cups the hand’s face, gently guiding it lower. He presses a soft, near breathless kiss to the hand’s lips before collapsing, death overtaking him. A tear falls from the hand’s eyes, and moments later he’s being impaled by the scarred king’s sword. He collapses forwards, dead. The vision fades away, and it leaves Martyn alone in a large room with the ghost of the king. “My hand…my Martyn…” the king sniffles.

———

Ren makes his way through many different hallways, trying to tune out the Hand while listening out for the real Martyn’s voice. Which is very hard to do since they have the same voice as each other. Multiple times he’d asked for the hand to keep quiet while he looks and listens for anything, and each time he does listen at first, but something inevitably happens where that is interrupted. They’d managed to move some piled stones, but behind was an empty wall. Which meant that Ren now had to search all on his own…accompanied by a ghost who is convinced he is also a ghost, but one that doesn’t remember his life correctly. As they round another corner, and the Hand speaks again, something about a court, he finally snaps. Growling, he whips himself around, ears pinned back, eyes glaring. “Right, enough is enough! How many times must I tell you that I am not a king!? I am a living person, and my Martyn is lost somewhere in this crypt, also alive! At the very least, I hope he is. I don’t know what I’d do if something awful happened to him and I can’t bear to think of a life without him!” He doesn’t know when the tears started, but he sniffles as he finishes yelling. He looks over the shocked face of the Hand, turning away so he doesn’t have to see a Martyn that seems afraid of him. “If we find Martyn, we might find your king’s tomb. So I urge you, let me find him…”

There’s no verbal response, but he feels the cold breeze get closer and move past him, the Hand floating/walking ahead and looking down some paths. He sighs, following. He looks down as well, not just because he doesn’t fully trust the Hand to be totally honest to him, but also because he’s experienced how this place can change its layout at will. This continues on for a while before the Hand gasps and charges into a room. Ren follows behind, peering in before following, looking at their surroundings. They appeared to be in some sort of war room, walls lined in spruce wood, a group of transparent people surrounding a table with a large map. At the very head of the table sat who must have been the Red King, who did have a striking resemblance to himself. At the King’s side stood another version of the Hand, the ghost stood beside it. There is chatter of battle strategies among the group, and the king is rubbing his temple. With a grunt, he stands, and commands everyone but the Hand to leave for the time being. People leave at different paces, some scared, some concerned. Once alone, the king sits back down, with a sigh. ‘Martyn…how much longer can we last? We won the battle at the desert’s edge, but it took a heavy blow on our soldiers, and the desert kings roped another group into their alliance! I fear we may be overpowered at this rate.’ His elbows rest on his knees, and his face is set into his hands. ‘You should flee, you should not have to face the consequences of my failures as king to win a war that should have been a breeze…’

‘My lord-‘ ‘Martyn…’ ‘Ren…’ the hand gets on his knees before the king, reaching up and pulling the hands from his face, staring into his eyes. ‘Ren…I could never, ever leave you. Command me as king to his hand to go all you’d like, but I’ll defy it every time as Martyn, as a friend, as something more…’ He pulls their two faces close to give the king a soft kiss, slowly pulling back. ‘You asked me an important question, and I intend for us to see it through. Soon as the war is over and we’ve won, we can get everything in motion.’ He smiles comfortingly, a look full of love in his eyes as he gazes up at the king. The king sighs, before returning the look back. ‘Very well, Martyn. Anything you wish for, as I am quite aware you will end up having your way regardless if it’s given freely or not.’ The king stands, helping the hand up to his feet. Their lips meet again, and the illusion falls away, leaving them now stood in a large room. Ren looks to the Hand, who now has his hand gripped around something at the end of a cord around his neck, which must have been tucked below his shirt before. “…you don’t know any of that, huh…” he looks over, and Ren shakes his head. “…move your scarf…?” And Ren does so, exposing his neck, not a scar or mark in sight. “…I’m sorry…I just…I was hopeful and eager, I suppose…” The Hand sighs, tucking the cord away. “Let’s go find our real partners, shall we?”

Ren doesn’t bother to correct the Hand at the fact he and Martyn weren’t actually partners. Even if he’d like to be, but it seemed as if Martyn would prefer the two of them to be more friendly-professional. He could never stand to court any one person too much, he didn’t wish to get their hopes too high or for them to be stuck in a one-sided love. He insisted Martyn join along, claiming it would be wise a guard were there in case anything happens. In truth, it just made him feel more at ease, and like he could sometimes pretend the outings were with him. On a couple occasions, he’d been pulled aside by whoever he was supposed to be courting and they confronted him about the apparent attraction between him and his guard. Ren would admit he had feelings for Martyn, and beg they tell nobody. To their credit, they never did, whether they were upset by the truth or not. And well…now seeing the king and his hand, which seem so alike to himself and Martyn in so many ways, it gives him a small sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could fall in love together, too. They exit out the doorway at the opposite end of the room, finding themselves in an even larger one, which contains a pond in the center, and an open view of two floors, walls lined in various tombs.

“Ren!”

“My Hand!”

———

Martyn peered down from the second floor railing just in time to see Ren, followed by what must be the ghost of the Hand, emerge from a doorway that was not there previously. He motions the king over, and they both race to the stairs, Martyn running down them as he calls out to Ren, the momentum causing him to not really slow or stop in time. He crashes into Ren, the two toppling over, Ren turning them so he doesn’t fall flat on his back. They hold each other, clinging tight and laughing at just how ridiculous that was that they fell. “Ren, thank the gods you’re okay! I was so worried the longer we went without finding you…I had to keep telling myself there was no way you’d have gotten crushed by falling rocks, you just couldn’t have…” He buries his face into Ren’s chest, taking deep breaths to catch up on them. “I uh…I got some help from the Red King…he looks very similar to you and has your same name…but I guess you might have learned that, seeing as it looks like the Hand was with you.”

Ren nods, holding Martyn closer. “Yes, I did. I almost got hit, I will say, but the Hand saved me, and joined me as we searched for you two. …Oh Martyn, I was so scared I was going to lose you to this place. I don’t know what I would have done if I never found you…or worse, if I’d found you and you…you were…” A sniffle, an exhale, and Ren sets his face into Martyn’s hair. “You know what I mean…” He hears and feels Ren take a deep breath. “Martyn, I…when we get out of this place there’s something I feel I need to discuss with you…please…”

Martyn pulls his face back, looking right into Ren’s eyes. There’s something in there, something just like he saw in the Red King’s eyes. First when he thought Martyn was his Hand, and again when he saw the actual Hand. And from context clues of what the king said, and what he saw in the memory… He grabs Ren’s face, hovering their lips close to one another’s. They both breathe for a moment, and finally Martyn feels Ren’s lips press into his. He kisses back, of course. It may not exactly be how he’d dreamt of this moment, never in the many years since he developed these feelings, but it is still just as perfect as he knew it would be. They both chuckle and laugh again as they pull back, foreheads touching. They could feel it, there was something there in that kiss, something that said they’d both been waiting for this, that they’ve both been unknowingly mutually in love for a long time. Ren sits up first, getting to his feet and pulling Martyn up with him as well. The first thing Martyn notices, after he manages to look away from Ren, of course, is the king and the hand floating together, wrapped in each other’s arms. He leans against Ren as they both watch them, warm feelings in their chests. The King takes notice of the eyes on them and smiles softly. “Thank you…both of you.”

Martyn waves his hand semi-dismissively. “Ah, don’t be doing that, I think we should be the ones thanking you guys. Who knows what would have happened to us had neither of you stepped in. Any way you put it, and the crypt might have had two additions to be made…” he squeezes Ren’s hand. “And also a thank you for something you’d…unintentionally helped us with.” He faces Ren again. “Ren…I don’t know how long you’ve felt it for, but…I have had my feelings for you for a very, very long time…so long, I can’t even remember exactly when at this point. I was just…scared you didn’t or wouldn’t feel the same…I mean, look at us, I’m not exactly at even odds with you. I’m your guard, a knight your parents paid to be trained, because you asked them to, and mine couldn’t pay that sort of money. Everyone you’d courted was of a more similar status to you, and I thought that showed to me that you had interest in people like that. That’s why I was there, to protect two high-class members on a courtship outing. It was torture, I…” he looks down “That was partly why I ran away…I couldn’t take it anymore, seeing you with someone else, thinking how it could never be me. I didn’t know if I was ever really going to return or not.”

Ren’s hand tilts his chin back up to look at him. “A year or two after your squireship. I was reading in the library window when I glanced out to get a view of your training session that day. I found myself mesmerized by you, and next I knew the session was over, it had been hours and I not once looked away. I couldn’t stop thinking about you for weeks, I’d never thought of anybody like that before. When we were near, I felt warm and fuzzy, and I’d find myself wondering why we’d stopped holding hands as we grew older, what they would feel like now. I wondered what it would be like if we cuddled or kissed, and just…Martyn, I couldn’t have enough of you. The banquet we held to celebrate your knighthood, when I pulled you aside, I wanted to ask you something different to what I had. But I was a coward. I…I wanted to kiss you, out on that moonlit balcony. When I was courting, I had you come so I could selfishly pretend I was with you instead. And when I saw your note…I didn’t really think, following after you. All I knew was that I would not be able to bear a life without you, no matter what we were.” Martyn pulls him into another kiss, which gets cut short by the sound of snickering from the Hand.

They both glare over, which only makes him laugh harder. “Sorry, sorry, I just…hahaha, you two sound like the most oblivious lovebirds I’ve ever heard of!” He wipes away some ghostly tears as he begins to settle, smiling down at the pair. “But really…I have to say, I’m really, really glad for the both of you. You two look around the age we lived to be ourselves, and you’re only now beginning your lives together. Please, for our sakes…go live it. Be happy, and love each other, don’t have any regrets. Do the things you want to do together, and for the sake of the gods, do not get involved in any wars!” He winks at the end, finishing off his advice with a tinge of dark humor. They all laugh a bit at that, with a promise they will do as instructed. The Hand focuses back onto the King. “With that out of the way…what’s next for us?”

The King thinks, looking at their surroundings. “I say…we see what happens if we leave here. See what’s become of the world…or, if I’m right, our world, at least.” He smiles. “If those desert hippies are still alive, I’d love to haunt them with you.” The Hand grins, nodding enthusiastically. They look back to Martyn and Ren. “This is it, then. From here, we go our own ways. We cannot ever thank you enough for reuniting us…” The King draws his sword, grabbing the blade and holding the hilt out to Martyn. The Hand follows suit, extending the hilt of an axe to Ren. They each take what is offered, shocked at the solidity of the weapons. “We have no use for these any longer. Please, take them, and wield them with the honor we’ve given.” Once more he faces his Hand. “Farewell, to you both. It is time my love and I departed from this crypt.” As they fade away, they lean in for a kiss, disappearing into little orbs of light that float up and disappear.

Martyn looks to Ren, whose eyes are watery as he still stares at where the last lights faded off. “Aw, come on you big sap, let’s get out of here too, huh? As much as I’m enjoying my time with you, I’d rather we spend it not surrounded by dead people.” He pats Ren’s arm, and makes his way back upstairs. Thankfully, he’d already managed to find the strange lever the blond guy from Orchidea mentioned, and pulled it, meaning all they had left to do was exit out the large set of wooden doors and follow the dark path out. Once there was enough light to see, they found they were walking up the very same set of stairs they had descended earlier, though now the land was under the darkness of night, the moon dimly illuminating their surroundings.

As they make way to the tavern, they finally walk hand in hand for the first time in many years. They pay for a room, sharing a bed and cuddle close, exhausted from their adventure.

“Martyn?”

“Yeah?”

“...I love you.”

Martyn smiles and hums, content. “I love you too.”

#misadventureshipping

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