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“My liege!” Martyn calls from the throne room, loud enough for Ren in the war room to hear, “I’ve got a gift for you!”
Ren doesn’t bother even closing the strategy book before he’s out to the throne room. Martyn sounds happy, victorious, and that is something that’s gotten rarer and rarer since the war broke out between Dogwarts and what feels like the rest of the world. Ren’s been beside himself with worry ever since Martyn proposed a raid on desert territory this morning, and he can feel the relief in his bones at hearing his hand’s voice again.
Part of him was sure that their argument that morning would have been the last Ren had ever heard from him. The people of the desert are ruthless, and the desert itself is full of traps and dangers. Ren’s first life had been lost to the desert folk, and their danger had been the catalyst that caused him to forfeit his second and rise as the Red King.
So when Martyn decided to take an expedition out to the desert to destroy their supplies, Ren had vehemently opposed it. His bannermen, however, were all for it, wanting revenge for the desert folk’s attacks against them and a victory in a war that had seen few. Ren could not stop them, and he had been sure they would never return, or at the very least come home missing lives and nursing injuries.
And yet, here they were! Sounding joyous and celebratory, something Ren forgot how much he cherishes. An energy that he hasn’t felt in a while fills his steps as he comes out to meet his men.
Martyn greets him first, taking his hand and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it, a grin splitting his face the entire time. The first thing Ren notices is the scratches on Martyn’s face and the scuffs on his armor that weren’t there before, and he’s filled with worry once more. But Martyn’s unharmed other than the thin scratches, and he’s practically glowing with pride.
“You did well.” Ren praises, even though he doesn’t know what his bannermen have accomplished. It is enough for him to see them whole and mostly unharmed after a trip to the treacherous desert.
Martyn still calls him out on it, though, his voice teasing. “You haven’t even seen what we’ve done, you sap.” He drops Ren’s hand to rejoin the others, beckoning Ren along with him. His smile is infectious, and Ren cannot help but follow.
The others are unharmed as well, save for a few minor injuries here and there, and for a stretch of Etho’s arm that’s been bandaged heavily. Skizz did not go with them, with only one life remaining Ren’s ordered him to stick to maintaining the farms, so it’s just Martyn, Etho, BigB, and Impulse. BigB’s as excited as Martyn, and while Etho’s hard to read as always, Ren can tell he’s happy. The only one not looking pleased with himself is Impulse, but he smiles when Ren glances over at him and Ren chalks it up to the exhaustion of whatever battle they seem to have faced.
Ren cannot figure out what they’ve brought back for the life of him. Supplies, of some sort? A prized possession of one of the desert folk that they’ve stolen as revenge for the stolen enchanter? It’s outside, apparently, with Skizz to guard it, and Martyn leads Ren out to it with enthusiasm.
Ren does not know what he was expecting, but it was certainly not this.
There is a person tied to the castle fence. Ren recognizes him; he’s Grian, one of the desert folk, the right hand man of Scar who is Dogwarts’s worst enemy. He’s the one who took Ren’s first life on Scar’s orders with a trap that should have been defective. He’s a formidable fighter, too, one Ren’s had his men back down from in a battle. He is also, Ren realizes now as he looks down at him, smaller than any of the people of Dogwarts.
“Didn't we do well?” Martyn asks, filling the silence with his cheerful voice. “Found him collecting water at the edge of their territory, completely unarmed. Put up a big fuss but he wasn’t any match for all of us.”
Grian is still conscious, probably why they left him out here with Skizz to guard, but he seems dazed. His wings have been bound like his hands. It looks uncomfortable. The feathers along his face flare every now and then, though, and his eyes are wide open, observing his surroundings. Even as dazed as he is, he’s still looking for an escape.
“We figured he’d be a useful bargaining chip, if we want to blackmail or trap Scar in some way,” Martyn continues, his voice still so happy, something that would usually make Ren smile but now makes him feel off. “Or! He wasn’t with Scar willingly, you know. Maybe we can undo whatever manipulation Scar’s done to him, get him on our side. It’d be hard to trust him, yeah, but he’d be a valuable asset. And imagine Scar’s face when his own partner faces him in battle, on our side!”
Grian’s seemed to have realized he’s being talked about. He’s shifted, a bit, taken in the fact that a group of people is surrounding him now. He must feel Ren looking at him, because he looks up and they meet eyes. Ren freezes, and Grian—
He spits at Ren. None of it gets on him, though, really backfiring for Grian, seeing as Grian’s been muzzled. There’s a hastily crafted cage of sticks and twine tied to his face. It’s undoubtedly a muzzle. They’ve muzzled him, and Ren— Ren doesn’t—
Martyn takes Ren’s silence for anger. “Or, I mean, you can kill him I guess. None of use are red, so like, it’s against the rules and all, but if you want to kill him, then, well—“
“He’s muzzled,” Ren hears himself say, though he sounds far away to his own ears. He feels far away, too, feels himself thinking of a time long, long past. He can see where the sticks are rubbing raw against Grian’s face. Can feel how they’d feel against his own. How they had felt.
“Well, yeah, he—“ Martyn sounds unsure, now, all of the victory gone from his voice. “He bites, you know? Bit the heck out of Etho’s arm.”
Etho speaks up, then, he and others having been silent until now. “I can show it to you if you want. Real nasty thing.” Ren can hear him, he can hear Martyn, he can see the worried looks his bannermen cast each other, but he’s not really. All he sees is Grian’s eyes, locked on his.
Grian knows. He must know, for there’s no other reason why he’d be looking at Ren with such acute hatred. He knows Ren has been in his shoes, he knows Ren has felt the same pain he’s feeling, and he hates Ren for it.
Part of Ren hates himself for it. The part of him that he’s buried down, the small, helpless pup that was muzzled and mistreated and had to claw his way into being king, into making this world a safe place for those who are other, like himself. And yet. Here he is, with a being so other his bannermen have decided to muzzle and restrain it. Him. Grian is not an it, Ren will not stoop to that, no.
He has fallen too far already.
“Take him to one of the guest chambers.” Ren orders. There isn’t a dungeon in Dogwarts, and Ren is grateful for that. “I— I will decide what to do with him later. For now, just— make sure he’s secure. And remove the muzzle.”
It’s too much. He leaves them then, leaves his bannermen bewildered and staring after him, and he cannot find it himself to care. Not when he can feel the memories he has tried so hard to suppress ramming against the walls he’s built to keep them out. Not when he can feel the muzzle that haunted his childhood weighing against his mouth.
He shuts himself in his own quarters and doesn’t come out until the memories are safely locked away once more. He can still feel the weight, though, even after he places a smile on his face and rejoins his men. The weight of the muzzle, of the trauma he has tried so hard to escape.
And the weight of Grian’s stare.