“And I'll use you as a warning sign, that if you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mind.”

by Amethystfairy1

Summary:

A street rat and an orphan, Martyn had been taken in by a coven of witches in the royal capital. They raised him, and he could probably make himself a wealthy man within the span of a few years if he stayed here, but even still, all he wanted was to get out of the city.

Then he could finally be alone. No longer having to dial his social skills up to 11 day in and day out as he frantically ran the crowded front for his teachers famous apothecary. He's finally proven himself worthy of being a full-fledged witch, earned his emblem, and now it's time for the journey to a remote village that's been seeking a witch of their own for a long time. Open his own apothecary and pass the days peacefully without the stress of the city's roar all around. Unfortunately, the roads are treacherous, and a young beautiful witch traveling alone was a coveted prize. Martyn has a plan, though.
Shame plans never turn out how they're supposed to.

{In which Martyn wants to be left alone, Ren can't decide which mask he needs to wear, they're no strangers to the cruelty of the world, and this is the first day of something neither could have dared to hope for.}

Chapter 1

The gurgle of the cauldrons, fire crackling, and mana moved in wisps through the air, and Martyn was pretty sure he’d been holding his breath for the last five minutes straight.

The witch he’d apprenticed under was an old woman with crow lines beneath her eyes and piercing dark eyes, silver hair tied neatly back into a bun. Her apothecary was usually slammed at this time, and Martyn would be covering the counter, cranking his social skills dial up to 11 as he managed the ridiculous number of people coming in and out, yelling for orders, trying to keep them from messing with any merchandise, it was a battle every day.

This morning, however, she’d kept the shop closed.

Because this morning was Martyn’s fourth try at graduating.

Or, well, graduating was a strong word. The whole system of becoming a full-fledged witch was managed by a branch of the adventurers guild, perhaps calling them the witches association wouldn’t be far off, but honestly, it was all pretty complicated.

Martyn would know, he’d been trying his best to keep trudging through for the past ten years. He’d been born with an aptitude for magic. He had strong appraisal skills, which were a must for anyone who wanted to become a high-level witch, especially to the level that they’d receive clearance through the guild to open their own apothecary.

A street rat and an orphan, Martyn had been taken in by a coven of witches in the royal capital. Respected folks, they were the healers and educators of the magic-wielding members of high society, which was certainly one route.

Martyn sure as hell wasn’t taking that.

Clearance to open his own apothecary was what he wanted.

So he could leave this city he’d lived his entire life in, ditch this place, find somewhere beautiful and wild, some small village that didn’t have a witch yet. He could set up shop there, something small. With his magic and skills, he could take care of himself even if his shop did little more than support the sparse locals.

And he could finally have some peace and quiet.

Alone. Martyn wanted more than anything after living his entire life somewhere too loud, too crowded, too much, where he’d constantly have to be switched on, playing charisma and excess for whoever he saw, too just…be alone for a while.

Yeah.

That sounded perfect.

Martyn had made a yearly attempt for the past three years, and this was his fourth. Producing a series of complicated potions from saplings and roots, obscure material to the final product. If it wasn’t perfect, well, he’d just have to start the process all over again. Considering the length of time it took to carefully grow, find, manufacture, and cure many of the items required for the potions, it wouldn’t be till the next harvest season that he’d be able to try again. That meant another year in the city, another year running the front of the shop for his teacher, sleeping in the cramped loft above the shop, where it was so loud even at the latest hours of the night that sometimes he’d open the window and fire a flare spell out just to scare the drunk adventurers wandering home from their favorite bar on the corner into shutting up for ten minutes. Martyn was so tired of the city, he was so tired of putting up a face, and while he wasn’t going to claim he had no fond memories of this place, that was far from the truth, he was ready to move on.

It was a place he would miss once he’d left it, he was sure.

But that could happen once he’d finally left.

His teacher poured several drops of the seventh potion and final potion he’d produced out into the palm of her hand. A high healing potion, one of such quality it took pricey, time-consuming, finicky ingredients and almost a year's worth of prep time just to brew. Her eyes sparked as her appraisal skills activated, and layered into the simple skill was a series of spells Martyn had a fundamental grasp of. He knew he had decades to go before he’d be able to match her, and perform the tasks she was doing in checking his work so easily without an enormous strain.

He fidgeted, trying not to shift on his feet too much. The entire time she hadn’t said a word, nor had her expression shifted in any way that would’ve given him his answer.

The droplets of the last potion she’d poured out absorbed into the whorls of her wrinkled palm. She raised her dark eyes to fix on his face. If it were even possible, he tried to stand up straighter.

“You’ve done a lot of work this year.”

Martyn blinked.

That was different from his previous three failures. She wasn’t the type to mince words, so she’d usually flatly tell him he’d fallen short.

“I-I…yes, I suppose I did.” The blonde wasn’t sure what to say, and his teacher leaned back in her chair, it creaked, and she set the final potion back onto her desk. The golden liquid in the glass bottle gleamed.

“It’s a shame.”

A stab of panic struck his heart. Then her impassive expression eased as her lips pulled toward a smile.

“I’ll have a hard time finding someone even half as good as you.”

Blink. Blink.

Martyn threw his hands out from where he’d had them clasped behind his back, almost like he was bracing himself.

“I passed!?”

She nodded. “You passed.”

A dizzying rush of emotions erupted, Martyn felt tears of joy stinging in his eyes as he stomped a boot against the wooden floor.

“Yeah-haha! Finally! Yes, yes, yes!”  He spun around once, fingers flying out, then fisted, giddiness bouncing him up and down a few times, and his teacher let out a croaking chuckle. She stood up, coming around the desk, and Martyn promptly snatched her off the ground into a hug.

“Thank you! Thank you thank you!” He exclaimed, spinning around a few more times. She was far shorter than him. Short and stocky, whereas he was tall and willowy. She laughed a bit louder and clapped him on the back a few times.

“Alright, alright! You’ve got yourself to thank, you did all the hard work.”

Martyn set her down, backing up a few steps as he continued bouncing, unable to contain his joy.

Years of hard work.

All the work he’d put in over his entire life.

It was finally culminating. Today was the last day he’d have to introduce himself as only an apprentice.

“Well, yeah, but still you…you taught me how to do it! And I did it! I did it!”

He crowed a few more times, and his teacher shook her head at him, but the motion was fond. She was one of the members of the largest coven in the old continent.

That is, she was one of the witches who’d taken him in as a child. The tiny loft above her apothecary had been a safe haven since he’d come to this shop so long ago, mana sparking uncontrollably from his fingertips, information scuttling half-understood in his brain, struggling to comprehend all the gifts he’d been born with, make them useful instead of allowing them to be the death of him, flood his lungs and try to drown him upon powers he couldn't manipulate without someone to show him the way.

She wasn’t the only one. Martyn certainly intended to make a lap of the various apothecaries and clinics scattered around the city that had juggled him back and forth, each of them teaching him so much. He’d need to thank all of them for their help, for getting him this far.

And then, finally, he’d be leaving this city.

“You did. And so, it is my duty and privilege to bestow upon you as your teacher…” She waggled an eyebrow as she said the words with a dramatic tilt, and Martyn straightened back, watching as she moved back behind her desk, opening the drawer.

She produced a silver necklace with a smokey red pendant, clasped in silver as well. In the center of it was a stylized symbol of a wolfs head. Martyn recognized it as the symbol of his teachers particular branch of witchcraft, passed from mentor to apprentice. When Martyn eventually took in his own apprentice, as was his responsibility decades from how once he was well-established and a master of his craft himself, he’d pass the symbol on to them. An unbroken chain, and furthermore, a sign that Martyn could show across the continent in order to prove he was a full-fledged witch with the backing of the royal capital coven.

“…my emblem. Wear it well, may it protect you, and when the time comes may you pass a newly forged one down to a witch who has proven themself just as worthy.” She opened the clasp, and Martyn bowed his head so she could reach to fasten it around his neck.

When he straightened back up, the pendant landed against his collarbone, exposed from the V of his shirt over which he wore a black laced corset belt with green laces. The collar of the shirt was turned up against the back of his neck, and he reached back to free his long blonde hair from being caught beneath the silver chain.

He caught the pendant in one hand and raised it to look at the symbol, one he’d seen so proudly displayed on the sign for his teachers apothecary, and on the large ring she wore on fingers gnarled and callused from a lifetime of work.

“Thank you.” He found himself murmuring again.

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

 

Later.

 

After a dinner with quite the celebratory mood, his teacher had him sat in the chair across from her desk. His pendant, which marked him as a full-fledged witch, still felt heavy around his neck and cold against his skin beneath his shirt. He knew he’d soon grow used to it, considering he never planned on taking it off, after all the work he’d done to earn it.

“So I know we’ve discussed where you’d like to end up, you’ve said over and over you don’t want to stay here in the capital.” She looked up a him, quirking an eyebrow to ensure he was set in his decision.

“Please no.” Martyn insisted.

He knew he’d be able to get a cushy job almost immediately in the capital. He’d known pretty much every prominent witch of the community for years by this point, most of them had served a part in teaching him when the coven had taken him in as a child. If he stayed here, he could probably make himself a wealthy man within only a few years.

Martyn didn’t want that, though.

Wealth wasn’t a huge deal to him, considering his prowess with magic allowed him to maintain himself pretty much on his own, and more than anything he wanted to escape the noise of the city.

He certainly did want to see more of the world, too. That was, of course, a big part of it. Yet it wasn’t like he wanted to turn himself into some sort of traveller. He wanted to set down roots, establish his own apothecary and support a community, but he just wanted to do it somewhere without the crowds, the crush, the intensity of the city…it wasn’t for him. He’d lived all his life here, he didn’t want to have that continue to be fact.

“Fair enough…I’ve got a few other options…”

She unfurled a map of the old continent and pointed. “There’s a coven in Lord Heath’s domain, I’m acquainted with the head witch and could send you with a letter of introduction. They’d certainly be able to find a place for you out there, it’s mostly farming villages and the countryside, occasional city, but nothing that could even compare to the capital.”

Martyn made a hesitant noise in the back of his throat. “That sounds…fine…”

“Fine?” She prodded, and he sighed.

“I don’t…not that I don’t love our coven and what you’ve all done for me but…I really feel like being a coven witch as a career isn’t my calling.”

His teacher pressed her lips together a moment, considering.

“Well…there is Silversvale.”

“Silversvale?” Martyn parroted, and she pointed once more to the map, drawing his attention away from the domain of Lord Heath. Along the narrow mountain pass, the only one safely passable, was a singular dot with the name in swooping letters.

“A former mining town that ran dry almost a century ago…from what I’ve heard they make their living primarily off trading and resupplying with travelers moving along the mountain pass. It’s also got another nickname.”

“And what’s that?”

“Runners Roost.” She replied.

“It’s a safe haven for folks who don’t want to bother with the rest of the old continent, but also have no desire to get involved with the elves further north or the free hybrid cities beyond there. Rugged mountains, forests, but a good bit of arable farmland in the valley and along the ridge line…they’ve been looking for a witch to set up shop in their town for a long time. They’ve never been able to find one who’d stay longer than a few months.”

Martyn furrowed his brow. “And why’s that?”

She chuckled. “Because most young upstarts want to set out for the big city and prove themselves…you’re running the opposite direction…an old soul, through and through. Honestly, if I weren’t already so set in my ways, I’d have half a mind to join you…a retirement to the mountains sounds awfully nice.”
Martyn looked down at the map again, at the tiny speck on the map, a town in the mountains that saw all manner of travelers, and yet kept to itself and preferred things that way.

“…well, you’ll have to come and visit me, then. I’ll put you up in my loft.”

This got a laugh, his teacher chuckling at him, before she reached for her stationery.

“I’ll write you a letter of introduction for the Baron, but I doubt you’ll find much trouble. They’ll be thrilled to have a witch who wants to set up full-time in their town, I’m sure.”

Martyn nodded. “In that case, I’d best start getting my things in order. I plan to go around the next day or two and see everyone before I go.”

She smiled. “That would be good of you. We’ll miss you.”

The blonde hesitated, for a moment his throat tried to grow tight. For as badly as he’d always wanted to leave, that didn’t mean he hated this place. There would always be parts of this city that held pieces of his heart.

All the same, this was a moment to celebrate.

“I’ll come back from time to time. And I’ll be sure to write.”

“I’d be furious if you didn’t.” She replied, looking down at the map again.

“And…hm.”

The way her expression clouded from the cheer of earlier gave him pause. Martyn leaned forward in his chair. “Something wrong?”

“The route is quite long. Silversvale is nearly on the opposite side of the old continent…I’d guess it’ll probably take you well over a month, and that’s if you travel fast and don’t run into any issues.”

“Which is optimistic, isn’t it?”

“More like delusional.” She shot him down, and Martyn sighed.

“Also…” She chewed her lip a moment. “…yes…you can’t travel alone.”

The blonde quirked an eyebrow. “Well, why not?”

“The roads aren’t safe. A young witch on his own, you’ll be a target without even trying.”

Martyn groaned. “But I don’t want to deal with mercenaries…I’ve been saving my coin, but even still, they’ll bleed me dry.”

“You went straight for mercenaries?” His teacher asked, looking amused again, and Martyn huffed. “Well, maybe they aren’t exactly legal, but they’re a hell of a lot easier to deal with than the adventurers! Those people wouldn’t know quiet if it launched a fireball into their face!”

“I think you just hold a grudge because one of their favorite watering holes is on our corner.” She mused, and Martyn shook his head.

“No adventurers. No way, no how.”

For a few seconds it was quiet, then his teacher shrugged. “There is one other option.”

“Oh?”

“Buy a hybrid to take along with you.”

Martyn stiffened in his seat.

He was no stranger to the practice of enslaving hybrids.

It was a common sight around the city, those who weren’t considered people, and the prejudice of it all was concerning at the absolute least.

Now, Martyn couldn’t sit here and claim he was somehow incredibly against the system. Obviously he wasn’t a fan of it either. It wasn’t something he ever thought about very hard, it was a fact of life, and he moved on with it. He’d been an orphan starving and begging for scraps till his mana had started literally leaking out of him, and he’d dragged himself to his teachers apothecary seeking help for the pain, unsure of if he’d even receive it. He knew he’d been lucky to choose her doorstep to fling himself upon at twelve years old, for while the witches of the coven were all quite generous, especially to those who shared their gifts, the royal capital was a massive place, and Martyn knew of others who’d have kicked him back to the streets without a second thought. Writhing and struggling to breathe as his mana seemed like it filled his lungs, trying to drown him upon the air.

He was no stranger to suffering.

Even still, he had no desire to be the one holding a leash.

“I’ll pass.”

“Then it’s adventurers or mercenaries.” His teacher replied flatly, and Martyn grumbled. “I can’t just go alone?”

“I won’t allow it.” She said, and Martyn groaned.

“I’m a grown man, I can…”

“It’s not about that. You’re well aware of how easy it is to be swallowed up by the dark if you take one wrong step…it’s kill or be killed, steal or get stolen from, and maybe every once in a while you might just get lucky.”

She drummed her fingers atop the map a few times, fixing him with a narrow stare. This drew Martyn’s eyes down onto the map again.

He saw Silversvale, and his bright green eyes followed the mountain pass, through the northern elven territory and arrived at the northern coast. Speckled along there, both along the coastline as well as several upon the various islands that hugged the shore.

Free hybrid cities…

Maybe he could make this work.

“Fine. I’ll buy a hybrid. Where would I go for one that’d suit what I need, though?”

“There are a few places I know of…” She trailed off as she leaned back in her chair, worrying her lip as she considered.

“…but, I’d say the best place that wouldn’t try to rip you off would be the arena.”

Martyn scrunched up his face. “The arena?”

The gladiatorial games put on by the wealthy moguls who owned the arena were popular. Betting on the fights was a common pastime, and Martyn knew the drinks flowed at those events to get the prices even higher.

The slaves who’d fight in those matches didn’t see any of that coin.

His stomach twisted with discomfort. His teacher didn’t look particularly thrilled either, but her investment in ensuring Martyn would be safe on his travels outweighed the discontentment in her gaze.

“If you go in the morning before any matches are put on, and speak to one of the receptionists, you should be able to see the hybrids who are being sold by the arena owner. Maybe due to an injury they can’t fight anymore, maybe they just weren’t pulling crowds…but at the very least all of them will be trained fighters. Someone like that would be more than able to protect you.”

Martyn tightened his fingers against his knees. The whole idea still rubbed him wrong, and yet, with the inklings of a plan in mind for how to proceed, he thought maybe it could turn out to be a good thing.

“Got it. I’ll go before I leave.”

Notes:

Martyn finished his apprenticeship! He's a big boy grown up witch! And now he needs to find someone to protect him during his travels...I wonder who that'll be? O-O Anywhos, this is gonna be a really fun one, even though this is only the debut fic so it's not gonna have a ton in it yet, there's lots left to see with these guys, and I hope you'll look forward to it! If you have any predictions or thoughts, please drop a comment! They help Martyn endure his last few days in the city, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr (@amethystfairy1)
Thanks for reading!

P.S The title is a lyric from "I Found" by Amber Run!

Chapter 2

Notes:

Sorry, this chapter is a bit of a shortie, but this was the best place to cut to make sure everything still flowed nicely!

Please enjoy~

The Arena

 

“Right this way. If the esteemed Madame Witch sent you, I’ll be sure to show you our best options for your journey.”

Martyn hadn’t been expecting the arena owner himself to come down when he’d shown up at the receptionist. But the witch's coven of the royal capital had deep roots, and the man had insisted he’d relied on his teacher for potions and other forms of magical assistance in the past.

Martyn knew his teacher was the type who’d take coin as coin and wasn’t picky about her jobs, but he wasn’t about to tell that to this guy.

“I’m only here to look for today, I’m not even sure if I’ll end up going this route…to be honest, I’d prefer to travel alone.”

The arena master gave a weary sigh. “Wouldn’t that be nice? But unfortunately, that isn’t the sort of world we live in, my young Sir Witch.”

Martyn had been hearing that sentiment a lot, as if he wasn’t already intimately familiar with the concept.

The arena master showed him down a flight of stairs into what must’ve been the functional working area for the arena. Through a set of doors, Martyn saw they were on some sort of viewing platform above a large, long room down below. A wooden railing separated them from the fall into the room, and down below on the swept stone bricks were several dozen hybrids. Some of them were sitting against the wall in groups, talking amongst each other. Others were pacing, some were even sparring with one another, perhaps in preparation for the fights later that day.

When the door clicked shut, Martyn saw several of them glance up to see the two of them entering, but just as quickly, they turned their attention away again. None of them seemed eager to catch the eye of the arena master. The blonde's stomach knotted once again.

He tightened his grip on the railing as the arena master began to speak.

“We have several avians, who are known to be the most impressive fighters and also are incredibly protective of their masters…however, they are rather high maintenance, with wing preening and such. There is only one of them I’d be willing to part ways with right now, and she’s nursing a broken wing, so I doubt she’d be much help to you while traveling.”

Martyn tried to ignore the sloppy bandages on the winged woman pointed out to him, instead turning his eyes swiftly along the wall.

They caught, inescapably, on another figure.

Sitting in the far corner, one knee pulled up, the other leg kicked out ahead of him, was a dog hybrid.

Even sitting down with his shoulders hunched forward, it was obvious he was quite tall, with broad shoulders into a narrow waist. He had tall furry dark brown ears atop his head that blended into incredibly long dark brown hair. It looked greasy, matted, and poorly cared for, pooling on the stone brick from where it fell past his hips. His eyes were a startling pale blue. He was shirtless, only wearing old trousers that seemed to have the knees torn through. Muscular and toned, his skin was streaked with scars. Some of them looked like they’d have resulted from fighting, and yet Martyn spotted a few others that sparked within him a different worry.

As a witch, he was well-versed in all things magic-based, but considering he wanted to open an apothecary and also that he'd primarily been educated by his teacher, she'd obviously given him her own specialty. Thus, he’d focused his studies on the healing and medicinal arts. Both magic and potion-based.

It was expensive work, but it was a witch's job to manage with whatever a patient might be able to afford, and so he knew all manner of folk remedies in addition to the pricey potions, balms, salves, and the sorts of things that took a full year to brew. He was familiar with all sorts of illnesses and injuries, and he knew those scars didn’t result from combat. Small stubby scars along his shoulders and collarbone, shining in the half-light. Martyn had thought he’d already felt sick enough just coming here, but now he was even worse. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man. He had a dark brown furry tail that was weakly beating back against the wall every once in a while, barely even swishing. The calf of his kicked-out right leg was wrapped by bandages that were already tinged pink, the rolled cuff of that pant leg was half undone and threadbare with a torn edge.

“Now that one is a real shame.” The arena master noticed who Martyn was looking at a piped in again.

“I bought him off a private master who’d gotten bored of him last year…he was one of our top performers within a couple months. Ridiculously strong, not to mention a quick learner, always put on a hell of a good show…but last week, he got badly slashed during a bout with a cat hybrid that got out of hand…that leg is healing…slowly. But our doctor says he’ll be stuck with a terrible limp, will never fight again. I’ve been trying to figure out what to even do with him.”

Martyn vaguely wanted to snap back at how flippant he was behaving over the terrible injury the dog hybrid had suffered while under his care, more concerned about it hurting his bottom line, but he held his tongue.

He’d known what this place was when he’d walked in here.

“Mind if I have a look at him?” He found himself saying before he even truly thought about it.

The arena master looked surprised and quickly waved a hand. “No, no, it’s not worth spending a witch's time on, please don’t trouble yourself.”

Martyn set his jaw firmly. “I want to see him. I won’t charge you for anything.”

Another few seconds ticked by, and the man shrugged. “If you insist. I’ll have him brought to one of our sitting rooms. Can I interest you in a drink while I send for him?”

“I’ll pass, I’ve got lots left to do today after I’m through here.”

He was leading them away off the viewing platform, back toward the door through which they’d come. Martyn’s eyes struggled to tear from the dog hybrid, and he noticed just as they were passing through the doorway.

His shoulders had wound slightly tighter, his hand had fisted against the stone brick, and the entire time, his ears had been swiveled in their direction.

Notes:

There we go! We've met Ren! There he is! There's our boy!
Anywhos, like I said, this chapter is a bit short by my usual standard, but I try my best to cut the stories into chapters in ways that make sense and flow, and consider I update daily once I start posting, I think it's ok to settle with this. I really wanted to cut it here with our outside introduction to Ren before we move into his and Martyn's first meeting! ^-^ I'm so glad to see everyone was excited for Treebark here in Traveling Thieves! I'm really excited for them as well, I love writing these two drama nerds, but as we've all learned, the Ren we're gonna meet next chapter might not be quite what we're used too, at least, not at first. :P welcome to the angsty AU, everyone ;-;
If you enjoyed it and have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them! Please drop a comment down below, they help Ren make it to that sitting room with a slashed up leg, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr! @amethystfairy1
Thanks for reading!

Chapter 3

Notes:

Time to meet Ren!

Please enjoy~

Ren

 

It had been horrible luck.

Honestly, compared to the masters he’d had before, the arena was much better. They weren’t constantly under the strain of their master's eye, so long as they performed decently in fights, they got two meals a day and a cot to sleep in. The roar of the crowd hurt his ears, the excess of people made him want to curl up in a corner and pretend he didn’t exist, but that wasn’t what would please his master.

The people wanted a show, so he’d give them one.

Ren had learned a long time ago how to put on faces to please people.

His previous master had picked up on that habit of his, which had been rather a tortuous guessing game. Every day trying to figure out what sort of face to put on, what sort of attitude he needed to take to get through with minimal punishment.

Minimal considering it was never zero, or at least, Ren couldn’t recall there ever being a zero punishment day during those years, but maybe he was just forgetting them amidst the smaller agonies? How many years had it been? He couldn’t quite remember. The punctuating marks of that time were all seared in his mind, though, impossible to fully forget. Bright spots were visible, sure, but then again, hadn’t he been gotten rid of over one of them? A moment of heated bravado that had felt oddly well-suited, even if every rule and order of his entire life had been dedicated to stamping it out. His previous master had told the arena that he’d just finally grown bored of Ren, which wasn’t right. Ren knew that. Not like he was bringing it up, though. There was no reason for him to. Regardless of the hows and whys, he was here now. And Ren had been balancing on a blade's edge for so long that the arena was liberating in its own twisted ways.

He could’ve stood to live in the arena a few years longer.

It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever been, not by a long shot.

So when he’d gotten slashed by that cat hybrids claws, felt them tearing skin, cutting him nearly to the bone, the white-hot pain and the dizzying rush of scarlet leaving his body hadn’t even quite clicked with him.

His very first thought had been.

I won’t be able to fight anymore.

Useless.

Ah, what a strange way to return to embodying that phrase.

Horrible luck. Such horrible luck.

Now here he was, limping down the corridor toward one of the sitting rooms he knew was down here, where the master would meet with any hybrids who needed some correcting, and he had a sickening sensation pooling in his stomach, coiling amidst a knot of dread.

He’d heard every word the two of them had exchanged.

A witch.

The beautiful blonde man was a witch.

He’d offered to see Ren, and his master had brushed him aside, and the witch had replied that he wanted to see him. He’d do it for free.

That didn’t give Ren much hope for what sort of ‘treatment’ he’d receive.

Maybe I’d be good for some magical experiment?

He considered vaguely. Pain laced up his leg, and nearly buckled his knees several times as he made his way along, but the attendant who’d come to fetch him from the hybrids common area didn’t so much as bat an eye or offer an arm to help him. Not like Ren would expect them to. That wasn’t how this worked. If he wanted to walk, he ought not to have been so useless in that fight. And here he was, thinking maybe he’d finally found something he could excel at after so many years of struggling to wear roles that never fit. Surely he ought to have kicked any optimistic habits by now, it wasn’t like he could recall a life before the collar that bound him to his master's will.

Not like it mattered.

The attendant opened the door and stepped aside. Ren hobbled his way in and saw the arena master sitting next to the witch.

Bright green eyes matched Ren, and for a moment, he felt pinned in place. It wasn’t with that same sense of unbearable pressure he’d felt from masters before, though. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been present in anyone else.

Empathy. In sparks and flickers, Ren saw he was concerned.

That was…new.

And odd.

And wrong.

Because Ren wasn’t anything to be particularly concerned over, not for someone like a full-fledged witch, who could have any city, any noble, any place in on the old continent eating out of the palm of his hand whenever he chose it.

Witches were coveted for their skills.

Why was one of them looking at Ren like this?

The witch stood up. “Leave us a moment, could you?” He directed this to Ren’s master, who made a nervous noise in the back of his throat.

“You really needn’t go to this length…”

“It’s not that. I want to take a look at his injury. So if you want to stick around and have a nice close look at an open wound I’m sure is infected by this point, be my guest.” His tone was almost snippy, and he half-lidded his eyes with a silent threat.

The arena master huffed. “You forget what sort of place I run for a living.”

His eyes briefly flitted to Ren, then back to the witch again. “But…I’d prefer not to deal with that before my lunch.”

He stood, taking a few strides toward the door. Ren awkwardly half-hopped on his good leg to get out of his way, trying to keep as much pressure off the agony his right leg had transformed into this past week.

He bent his head and kept his eyes on the floor as his master passed, and the man paused briefly.

“Do not harm him.”

Ren bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to avoid letting out a whimper when he felt the warning sparks circling his collar from the order. The worn leather clasped tight around his throat had a series of runes inscribed, which glowed slightly brighter red for a moment before dulling again as the sparks faded out.

“Yes, sir.” He managed to level off his voice, and with that, the arena master stepped out, closing the door behind him.

The witch moved briskly toward him. Ren had to coach himself into not flinching away from the outreaching hands.

Instead of rough seizing, yanking, forcing…he was met with something unexpected indeed.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet. Here, sit down.”

Ren blinked at him owlishly. “S-Sit?”

The blonde looked up at him from where he stood about half a head shorter.

“A’course…how else am I gonna see where you’ve hurt yourself?”

Right. Right. Duh.

Ren let himself be guided across the room to sit down by shockingly careful hands, and the witch took a knee in front of him. Panic spiked in his chest.

“No, I’m…” He swallowed, trying to school down his tone. An outburst like that would’ve brought hell onto him had he been with his previous master.

“Sorry…I’m fine, sir, you shouldn’t…”

“Sir? Jeez, that’s awful formal…” The blonde commented it with a breath of amusement. Ren was even more confused.

“I’m Martyn. You?” He asked as he carefully rolled back Ren’s right pant leg.

The dog hybrid hesitated. “…Ren.” He gave after a moment.

He wasn’t exactly sure why the witch was asking his name, but he wasn’t in the business of questioning. That was a fast track to more hurt, and Ren was already in enough pain considering the level of screwed his leg was at the moment, thank you.

“Ren. Is it alright if I take these bandages off and have a little looksy? My specialty is medicinal and healing magic, so I promise I know what I’m doing.”

Again, Ren was confused. The whole reason he’d been brought back here was for this, and obviously, he couldn’t refuse. Wouldn’t have done so anyway, considering he wanted to ensure he kept the witch happy, what with how heavily his master seemed to value his word, but even still.

Strange.

“Of course. Whatever suits you.”

So Martyn began very carefully peeling the bandages back, and Ren gripped hard onto the wooden arms of the stiff-backed chairs that were here in the sitting room. Pain needled through regardless, and he forced a few sharp exhales to get through it.

“I’m sorry…hang in there…you’re doing great, I’ve almost got it…”

The words of encouragement were bizarre, but in the moment, Ren didn’t want to worry too heavily over them. So he just tried to enjoy this odd moment of gentleness, even though he was still in pain.

“Got it….yikes…” The second word came more under Martyn’s breath, but Ren was able to hear it, even with his dog ears pressing back flat from the tension riddling his frame.

He watched in awe as Martyn’s eyes lit up, and wisps of scarlet mana began to swirl from his fingertips. A pulse of mana ran through him, Ren knew that meant he was activating some sort of skill. His eyes, the brilliant green Ren had been so pinned by, turned red.

Yet they weren’t in any way frightening.

They were red, yes, but not red like blood or red in a threat of violence.

They were red like the last moment of the sunset. Red like those hues that would dye the clouds just before cool nighttime fanned itself out over the sky.

Shifting and dancing, they flickered with that color and light a moment before they faded back into green. He looked up with a tense smile. “Lucky you, it’s not infected, which is a small miracle considering the state of these bandages.”

Ren certainly didn’t feel lucky, but he wasn’t about to argue.

Martyn turned his attention back onto the gashes, the deepest of which was still struggling to even properly skin over.

His expression was tense with consideration. He leaned an elbow down onto his knee and spoke without looking up at Ren again. His eyes still tracing the injury without even a hint of squeamishness, but then, he was a witch, surely he’d seen worse than this. Then again, it wasn’t like Ren knew much about witches to start with, and that curiosity lit.

Strange.

When was the last time he’d felt like asking after anything?

Not like he would, he was enjoying these few minutes of gentleness, he didn’t want to interrupt them. Still, though, the inkling was there, blots spreading over the page, and it surprised him.

He wasn’t sure how long Martyn sat there looking over his leg, before he nodded almost to himself.

“Hey, Ren? Do you have anyone here you care about, in particular?”

The dog hybrid blinked. “Any…? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Martyn looked up at him again, green eyes bright and shining. “I mean, like…friends, family, stuff like that?”

Ren tried to keep confusion from showing on his face. Maybe all witches were just this strange? He’d attribute it to that for now, then.

“No, sir. No one.”

“And have you got anywhere you’d particularly like to go?”

What?

Ren tilted his head slightly to one side, his dog ears stood up taller from how they’d been pressed back from the pain in his leg.

Go?

Go where?

Ren hadn’t ever given that any sort of thought.

He’d been collared his entire life, and had no memory of any family. Friends…well, maybe he could claim he’d had a few of those. That bright spot from his time with his previous master flickered in snapshot memory. They’d endured a shared suffering, and he still hoped that he didn’t feel the guilt of all that had happened. Like Ren had considered, it might’ve been better for him to end up in the arena, anyway. Not like he was anything but nearly useless to his previous masters' needs. There was also one guy in particular who’d been here at the arena, but he’d been sold just a few weeks before Ren’s injury. There wasn’t anything else to reach for or cling to, and that made things simpler. Easier to put up a facade when he didn’t have to struggle with taking it off at the end of the day. He was keeping things neutral for now because he wasn’t sure what face Martyn would prefer, and besides, he was in a bit too much pain to manage to put on a show right now.

Maybe later. Maybe not. Maybe he’d just be stuck with a painful limp forever and lose that last skill of his, truly be reduced to uselessness.

Then what good would he be for?

Ren could feel a panicky tightness lacing his throat and forced a deep breath. This was nothing new.

Nothing new.

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

Martyn’s expression fluttered briefly, discontented, and Ren had to put in a tremendous effort to keep his breathing level.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand, I…”

Martyn shook his head, putting a hand up in a gesture of ease. “No, no, you’re fine. You answered my question.”

He planted his hand against his knee and stood up. Ren quickly went to brace himself on the chair’s arms to attempt to stand as well, even if without the bandages, it would likely be even more painful than before, but there was no way he was about to ask the witch to replace them.

He was surprised when a firm hand landed on his shoulder and held him down.

“Stay. Don’t try to get up on that leg. I’ll be right back.” Martyn instructed, and Ren really wished someone would just tell him what was going on.

He could ask.

Yeah, not doing that. Outrageous. 

He let the tension release from his arms to show he wasn’t going to try getting up, and Martyn smiled, a cheer forced that didn’t reach his eyes.

The eyes, instead, seemed resolved on something. Ren wasn’t sure if that was good or bad for him.

He watched the blonde stride across the room toward the door. He wore a black vest with a long back that reached nearly to his knees, open in the front to show the white shirt, V-necked with a turned-up collar, and a black corset belt with green laces. Black fitted pants tucked into brown boots. From his waist hung a belt with various multi-colored pendants and charms, with symbols and shining properties Ren couldn’t place. He wore dangling earrings, silver chains connected to swinging charms, more strange designs. Witchcraft was a deep and complicated art, from what very, very little Ren understood of it. He’d never even met a witch, only seen folks he suspected to be such in the streets or occasionally visiting one of his masters.

Martyn also had long wavy blonde hair that fell in lovely coils, tucked behind his ears and spilling over his shoulders. 

Are all witches that pretty?

It wasn’t a welcome thought, but it barreled its way through regardless.

Notes:

That was Ren! He's got a whole barrel of issues as well, but this is Traveling Thieves, so what else is new? O-O
I hope you enjoyed it! I tried my best to still make Ren sound like REN despite how out of all our various traumatized hybrids I feel like Ren's usual dialogue is a tricky fit for the character we're meeting here, but I guess time will tell if I pull it off, right? I had a lot of fun trying to get it all right though, a good challenge, lots of fun! Anywho, if you have any thoughts, please drop a comment, they help Ren keep his weight of that leg, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr! @amethystfairy1

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4

Notes:

Back with Ren!

Please enjoy~

Ren

 

Martyn stepped out, shutting the door behind him and leaving Ren alone in the sitting room. The dog hybrid sucked down a breath and pricked up his ears. Footsteps echoed a few times and then paused.

“What did you think, Sir Witch?” That was his master's voice. They must’ve been talking at the end of the hallway. Ren could hear them easily.

“I’ve had a look.” He could hear Martyn’s voice, laid-back and easy.

“Quite terrible, isn’t it?”

“Oh, certainly. If it’s allowed to heal as is, he’ll have a bad limp the rest of his life.”

Ren gripped tighter at the armrests and slouched, feeling the wooden slats dig into his bare back.

Well. He’d already known that. Even still, he’d been clinging to a narrow hope that maybe Martyn would have a different diagnosis given his specialties.

“I see…well, I appreciate your time, should we get back too…”

“What would you sell him for?”

Ren’s shoulders shot up, his heart skipped, and from what he could hear, his master was equally as surprised.

“You want to buy him?”

“Sure do.”

“But you…you said you needed…”

“I know what I said, I’m the one who said it, right? I’ve made up my mind. All that’s left is going through with it.”

Ren could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Why? Why would he want me?

Ren remembered from what he’d overheard of their talk on the viewing platform that Martyn was buying a hybrid to accompany him on some sort of journey that he would be traveling. A week ago, Ren would’ve made a perfect companion. Freakishly strong, with good stamina, capable of protecting his master from any sort of threat that might come along during the trip…if this had happened a week ago, Ren wouldn’t have been surprised at all. He’d have been eager to apply himself, perhaps this could be something he was good for, unlike all the other tasks he’d been put to before that didn’t involve cracking skulls. Besides, so long as his master was pleased with him, then that was good enough.

A week ago, it would’ve been lucky.

Today?

Ren could barely even walk.

He’d be useless for a journey, he wouldn’t be able to fight or protect his master no matter how hard he tried, not like this.

Frustration boiled in his stomach as he listened to them haggling back and forth. Martyn was savvy, he could tell that much. He was also exceptionally pointed with his words, and Ren could never have imagined his master taking such talk from anyone else.

Then again, this was a witch.

Witches were coveted creatures, their inborn skills and high levels of mana meant they were capable of incredible feats, so pissing one off was a terrible idea.

Ren heard them reaching an agreement.

“I’ll go to my office and pull his contract to sign over to you, do you have the coin on you?”

“Of course. I’ll be getting him ready to go, I’m departing as soon as this is done.”

“Ah, is that so? Then I won’t keep you much longer.”

Their footsteps separated, Ren heard Martyn coming back toward the sitting room door. It opened, and he popped his head through with that same cheerful smile. This time, his eyes were easier. Less steely.

“I suppose you heard all that?” He guessed, and Ren tried to avoid looking guilty. His heart stuttered nervously. He was already set up to fail, considering his injury, but nonetheless he knew what words were expected.

“Ah, yes, sir. I, well…I hope I can be useful to you, Master.”

Martyn’s expression fluttered discontentment again, Ren felt that same sharp spark of panic, but then the witch planted his hands on his hips.

“You can quit with the ‘sir’ and the ‘Master’ stuff, ok? My name is Martyn. Use it, won’t you?”

Ren blinked.

Outrageous.

He thought, and the word felt like it had slapped him in the face, and his tail flicked back and forth, tip curling nervously.

“U-Um…I couldn’t…”

“A’course you could, you’re supposed to do what I tell you, right?”

“I…yes.”

“And I’m telling you to call me my name. So that’s what you’ll do. Sound fair?”

Fair was not the word Ren would use, but it wasn’t like he could argue with that logic.

“Right…I…as you say, then.”

His new master quirked an eyebrow at him, and Ren diverted his eyes toward the side.

“…Martyn.”

Martyn grinned. “Perfect! Now then, let’s take care of this before that old geezer gets back here.”

The blonde dropped back to a knee next to Ren’s chair, where he still had his badly injured leg kicked out, and opened his palm. Scarlet mana swirled from his elbow up his forearm in beautiful flickering streaks of color, again reminding Ren of the sunset in how it’s hue shifted and glowed.

It coalesced in his palm and took form, and with a sound like wind chimes, the mana shattered away to reveal a potion bottle.

The liquid was beautiful, it looked like shining gold, and Martyn swirled it a few times, and squeezed an eye shut to look through the substance. Ren saw a smile tugging at his lips, but it seemed almost resigned.

“I was gonna save this sucker for a serious emergency…it’ll be awhile till I’ll be able to get all the resources to make another one.” He commented, before he lowered the bottle to look past it at Ren. He was grinning again now, and that resignation evaporated toward ease.

“But hey! This is an emergency, I think!”

Ren wasn’t even sure if he was meant to respond to any of that, and he wasn’t given the chance before Martyn pulled the cork from the potion and emptied half it’s content out over Ren’s wounded leg.

The dog hybrid sucked a sharp breath down, fully prepared for a stinging pain from having something poured over mangled flesh. It did sting, only for a split instant, as the liquid struck, and then, it seemed to evaporate and absorb into him. It didn’t even feel wet, and an oozing, tingling warmth rushed up his leg and washed over his entire body.

Martyn’s eyes turned red again. “Lemme give you a little help.” He extended a palm out over Ren’s calf and more mana spiraled it’s sunset patterns down his arms and made the leap into Ren’s leg. The oozing warmth got hotter, but not to a point of discomfort. Like a hot bath…which, well, Ren couldn’t claim he had any experience with that, but he would guess this was how it felt. He stared, and if he’d been awed by Martyn’s changing eye color earlier, he was barely able to keep his mouth from hanging open at this spectacle.

The gashes from the cat hybrids claws were zipping shut. The ugly red of an early healing process faded away to healthy skin, only a few small thin scars to show where the wounds had previously marred his flesh, and Martyn let out a huff of contentment, leaning back. His eyes still glowed red as he gently prodded his thumb a few times over the freshly healed skin.

“Does that hurt at all?” He asked.

Ren took a few seconds to respond, mainly out of shock. His voice stuck in his throat and he had to wring it free. “N-No, si-“ He caught the term and swallowed it, remembering what Martyn had said earlier.

“No. It feels…fine.”

Martyn bobbed his head with a self-satisfied grin, puffing his chest as he stood up. “I am good! Finally put one of these stupid things to use!” 

He corked the potion bottle once more and then surrounded it with mana. With another echo of a sound like wind chimes, it disappeared back into whatever magical storage Martyn had pulled it out from. Ren thought maybe he’d ask about that later.

Maybe. After all, he still wasn’t quite sure what face his new master would prefer on him, if that mask would be the type that’d ask any questions.

The blonde then offered him a hand. “Try putting some weight on it.”

Ren hurried to pop to his feet, not daring to take the offered hand, and nearly pitched over as his head spun and his vision swam. Martyn quickly caught him by the shoulders. “Easy there!”

His right leg still felt weak, and he wobbled a moment as he tried to settle his weight on it. He blinked a few times, ears pressing down flat once more as he bit back a whine.

Martyn’s hands never left his shoulders, keeping him carefully balanced. “You’re healed, yeah, but the more powerful the potion, the more energy they drain. I helped you out with some of my mana so it didn’t completely lay you out, but it’ll still probably be a few hours before you’re moving at one hundred percent”

Ren matched eyes with him, pale blue impossibly wide.

“One hundred…you mean…it’ll be fully healed?”

Martyn nodded. “Yup.”

“No limp? Nothing?”

“Nothing but a scar.”

Ren was pretty sure he was imagining things.

No, scratch that, he definitely had to be imagining this.

Maybe the wound had gotten infected. Was this a fever dream?

“You alright?” Martyn’s voice called him back from going down that rabbit hole, and he looked down into his face a few moments before he forced himself to nod. Fill his lungs deeply, try to pick out a face from the many masks he’d crafted to wear in his mind to try and shield himself from the hurt. Block it all out by never being himself, letting some semblance or counterpart take the beating instead.

Did he want to give that mask the gentleness and comfort Martyn was showing him, though?

He swallowed, throat tightening, and bobbed his head in a nod. “I’m good, I…thank you.”

Martyn tilted his head, his earrings swayed and wavy blonde hair shifted. At last, his eyes faded from scarlet back to bright green.

“Don’t mention it.”

He glanced back over his shoulder toward the door. “Now, sit back down, yeah?”

Ren hesitated. “I…I can stand now, though.”
“I know, I know, but I may have saved myself some coin because you couldn’t walk…no offense, but we’re about to go on a big trip across the continent and we really need to save some money.”

Martyn released Ren’s shoulders finally and pressed his palms together in a mock begging gesture, his grin turning sheepish. “So play along a bit longer?”

The dog hybrid stared at him a moment, then he found a weak huff of laughter punching up from his chest. “Ah…the coinage, is it? Aren’t you a witch?”

“As of two days ago, yeah! I’m just starting out!”

Ren felt his shoulders unwinding barely, and sure, he still wasn’t ready to take all of this at face value. There was bound to be some sort of twist, Martyn probably had some vices that were going to hurt, but then…he’d healed Ren, and was already speaking of them as ‘we’. For as ridiculous as it was, Ren felt a spark of something long laying dormant at a word so simple.

So he leaned back and carefully settled himself back onto the edge of the chair, kicking his right leg out as it had been when he’d still been hurt. It wasn’t as though he was playing along out of amusement or a genuine understanding of what was going on thought.

It was much simpler than that.

“It’s as you said…I do what you tell me.”

Martyn folded his arms, skepticism flashing in his gaze. “I…hm, alright. For now, anyway.”
What does that mean?

Ren wanted to ask, but that was when he heard the approach of footsteps along the hallway. “He’s coming.” He reported, and Martyn dropped to a knee beside him again, quickly unrolling the cuff of his pants to conceal his perfectly healed calf.

He’d just finished this task when the door swung inward.

Ren had watched this display countless times in his life, so he barely batted an eye as coins were exchanged, a fraction of what he knew he’d be worth if he was healthy.

He almost wanted to laugh about it again. He was sure if the arena master had seen that Martyn healed him he’d be insisting on raising the price. But Ren was sitting here silently as he’d been told to do, and the arena master was none the wiser. Ren could see Martyn’s lips twitching, struggling too withhold a smile at his little ruse as he handed over payment.

A clever, savvy witch.

But he was good at keeping his emotions concealed and his thoughts unreadable. The entire time his contract was being signed over, he stayed still and quiet, with a neutral expression.

He watched Martyn’s signature over the scroll, and the moment it was completed he felt the warmth circling his collar, different from the prickle of an order taking root. It came and went like a summer breeze. The contract secured, Martyn picked up the scroll and rolled it up.

“So what will you do now?” The arena master sent a glance over to Ren. “Surely you won’t be able to depart straight away.”

“Why not?” Martyn asked him, a mirthful grin rising on his features.

He stood up from the chair pulled to the sitting room table and turned his palm over. Mana encircled the contract scroll, and with another series of chiming sounds and a shattering glow, it disappeared. The arena master saw this display with wide eyes as the blonde turned his eyes onto Ren.

“You ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pressed his lips together, realizing too late he’d let the term slip out of habit, but perhaps Martyn had thought that was just Ren doing as he’d been told and playing along? This time in particular he didn’t show that he was put off by it.

Ren pushed up from the arms of the chair and took a moment to set his balance. His right leg still felt weak, he was still limping off it slightly, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was sore, but not painful.

Martyn strode toward the door and Ren tailed him, taking up a post just behind his left shoulder, and the arena master watched with his mouth flapping wordlessly a moment.

“H-How…you…?”

“I’m a witch, remember? Oh…did I forget to mention my specialty is medicinal and healing magics? Sorry about that!”

Martyn put a hand up as if in a gesture of apology before he pulled the door open. “Thanks for the business! Bye!”

Then the blonde was speed walking away up the hall toward the exit, and Ren worried he might struggle to keep up.

He didn’t.

His leg was still sore, yes, but it didn’t hurt, and he was gaining confidence in his stride with every step. His heart was trying to race with the relief at being able to move as he pleased once again.

As they walked, Martyn looked back over his shoulder at him with another wily grin.

“How’s the leg holding up?”

Brilliant green eyes seemed to shine in the dark of the tunnel, and the exit was coming into view with the morning sun beaming through.

“Feeling good.”

“Lovely!”

They carried on their way.

Notes:

And they're off! Another journey starts! I hope you enjoyed it, I had a lot of fun writing from Ren's POV here! He's got a lot going on, some of it we've seen before, some of it is his own unique coping mechanisms. As several of you have pointed out, Ren is the only hybrid we've met so far that's been enslaved his entire life, though I suppose you could make the argument that the avians aren't much better, but even still! I hope you liked it! If you have any thoughts, please drop a comment down below, they help Ren make a full recovery, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr! @amethystfairy1
Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5

Notes:

Please enjoy~

Martyn

 

He’d been able to get them a ride with an acquaintance via redstone wagon to the first town outside the royal capital they’d be stopping at. It had been strange to leave the city that had served as the stage for his entire life. Sadness, relief, excitement, nervousness.

He also had a figure at his side that was brand new.

He and Ren were sitting on the floor in the back of the redstone wagon. His acquaintance was one of the delivery drivers for the royal capital coven, transporting some of the mass-producible potions to the towns close to the royal capital. He could hear the gentle clinking of the bottles in the boxes, such a familiar sound considering all the years he’d spent packing and moving said boxes around at his teacher's apothecary.

Soon he’d be opening his own.

Or well, not like, ‘soon’ soon but…we’ll get there.

He concluded.

We.

Right. He needed to bring up to Ren what his plan was for this. He hadn’t wanted to talk to him about it in the city because he wanted to ensure they had time and privacy to actually lay out the details. So he turned his attention toward his new companion, drawing a breath, which immediately died back out again.

Ren’s head was lolled forward against his chest, and striking pale blue eyes had fallen closed.

He’s asleep.

Well, Martyn had figured the exhaustion would hit him sooner or later. It was pretty obvious he didn’t get good rest in the arena, and using a high healing potion on him, even with Martyn assisting as best he could with his own mana, would’ve been incredibly draining. It was pretty impressive he’d managed to stay awake this entire time. Martyn had gotten some fresh clothes for him before they’d left the city. They would be walking large portions of their journey, and pretty soon, it would start getting colder. It was already autumn, and depending on how long their trip took, they might even be pushing into winter before they made it to Silversvale.

Ren was wearing a black shirt beneath a heavy red coat with a white fur lining for warmth that cut short above his hips. Martyn had figured it’d work better considering his tail emerging from the waistband of dark navy pants, tucked into black boots.

He already looks so much better.

He considered. Ren had certainly looked rather bedraggled when they’d first met, and still his incredibly long dark brown hair was greasy and tangled. The fur on his tail also seemed matted and unkempt. Martyn was already paging through his mental catalogue, trying to remember any haircare remedies he knew how to make. That sort of thing sold well in the stratified society of the royal capital. He doubted he’d need to make it in Silversvale, but he could probably dig around in his inventory and find enough spare ingredients he’d packed to put together something for Ren to use. It couldn’t be comfortable for his hair and fur like that.

Would he prefer to cut it?
He briefly considered.

The wagon hit a bump in the road, and Ren shifted slightly, his eyes squeezed and fluttered, and Martyn felt bad that even having been essentially knocked out by the exhausting day and the side effects of the high healing potion, he was still sleeping restlessly.

Count him surprised when the dog hybrid slouched a bit further down where they were both leaning against the wall of the wagon, and his head dropped to the side to land on Martyn’s shoulder.

The witch’s eyes widened as he went completely rigid, pressing his lips together to keep from making any noise. In a sweep, a large portion of Ren’s long dark brown hair fell from where it had been pulled forward over his shoulder, and brushed by the exposed skin of Martyn’s forearm.

The blondes eyebrows shot up. He glanced to the side as best he could without moving to much and disturbing Ren. His weight had settled firmly on Martyn’s shoulder, and after a few seconds, he thought he was safe. So Martyn reached his other arm over and gently carded his fingers against the length of hair.

It’s still so soft…is that a dog hybrid thing?

He considered. It didn’t feel nearly as greasy as it looked, even though it was still obvious Ren needed a long bath, a couple bottles of conditioner, and about forty-five uninterrupted minutes of combing for this much hair to look healthy again.

I wonder if he’d let me help him with that…?

Martyn considered, eyes trailing up the length of hair still gently worried between his fingertips. Ren’s expression hadn’t eased. It was clear that he was being held down by his own exhaustion from waking up, the weariness was edging his face even in sleep. Martyn felt another pang of guilt.

His eyes had landed on the collar.

Ren was slouching against the wall with his head resting on Martyn’s shoulder, this was the only way it could be with how much taller the dog hybrid was than him. Like this, head lolled to the side, his throat was exposed, and so too was that strap of leather that made Martyn feel sick again. The emotions were cluttered and difficult to parse through.

At the least, at the very least, now he was the one in control of those runes.

That didn’t made him feel much better, to be fair, but at least it meant that no one would be hurting Ren, and for as much as he’d bought the dog hybrid to protect him during this journey, there was a sudden budding feeling in his own chest. Welling up and spilling over.

The resignation on Ren’s face, the way he’d been so clearly in pain and the arena master had barely batted an eye, and how he must’ve suffered the entire week like that with little hope of relief…not to mention the other scars Martyn recognized.

Belt strikes, cigarette stubs…and that was only Ren’s chest and arms. Martyn hadn’t even gotten a decent look at his back considering his hair had kept that concealed up until they’d gotten him a new shirt.

It made him feel distinctly frustrated.

Angry with nowhere to turn to vent, because Ren had suffered all those cruelties in a sick system Martyn had always known was there. Not like he could change it, even as a witch, even as someone with an ounce of sway in the old continent, it was all he could do to heal Ren’s leg and take him away from the arena.

Here.

Asleep on his shoulder.

I’m sure he’ll freak once he wakes up.

Martyn concluded. Ren was difficult to read. He seemed to have grown decently comfortable with Martyn fairly quickly, but then, with the tension in his shoulders and the occasional slips of the tongue, it was clear he was trying his best to put it on. That was probably what had always been expected of him.

Right?

But what did he know?

I’ll need to talk to him about it.

The blonde concluded, and he felt the gentle flick of the tip of Ren’s ear against his neck, and had to withhold the instinct to jump from surprise.

This was the best he could do.

It was all planned out in his mind already.

Ren would help him travel safely to Silversvale, and once they arrived, Martyn would set him free. Give him as much as he could spare, some potions and perhaps a charm or two to protect him if he had the time to make some while on the road, and then Ren could set off toward the free hybrid cities. Along the narrow mountain pass, it was less than a days travel to the northern elven territories, where the enslavement of hybrids was legal, sure, but not perpetrated. Elves mainly kept to themselves, anyway, so once Ren was there he’d be under no threat of being recaptured and forced back under a collar. A straight shot from there to the free hybrid cities, and Ren would be able to live as he pleased.

And then Martyn could finally be alone.

Yes.

That was the plan.

A shame plans never work out like expected. Then again, with a month or mores journey, Martyn should’ve really accounted for things going off-script, because why wouldn’t they?

Horrible luck?

It was left to be seen.

There was always hope for a blessing in disguise.

Notes:

This fic has expanded a little further than I initially planned, this was actually supposed to be the last chapter, but now we've got some bonus content! I just had another really neat idea and wanted to keep going along these early couple of days for a BIT longer, so you've got more to look forward too! I think mayyyyybe 2 or 3 more chapters should see us through, depending on where I end up cutting. If you have any thoughts, please drop a comment! They help Ren get some well-deserved sleep, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr! @amethystfairy1 Thanks for reading!

Also would like to say I try my best to always respond to every comment, I think it's only right because you guys are taking the time to leave such kind words on my stories that I reply and at least say thank you! But things have been hectic lately, and I haven't had enough time to really sit down and go through them...I will still do so! Promise! Just might take me awhile. But I always read everything, every comment several times over because they genuinely make me so incredibly happy! Working on this series and Sky-Blue Cracks have been very important to my mental health over these past months, and the support and kindness I've been getting in all the comments, knowing people are enjoying and excited about my work, is really really amazing! So, thank you for all the comments! I will get around to replying to them all as soon as I can!

Chapter 6

Notes:

I've got a CHONKY chapter here for you!

Please enjoy~

Ren

 

If he had to choose one word to describe his new master, Ren would’ve picked out ‘confusing’.

Because he was.

Firstly, he spoke to Ren in such a befuddling manner, like he was trying to make casual conversation, and he didn’t quite get that. He’d tried his best to watch his tone, choose the right answers, the correct words, but he was getting the sense that there was no correct answer.

It was merely whatever he wanted to say.

And wasn’t that terrifying?

As soon as they’d left the arena, Martyn’s first priority was getting Ren fresh clothes and boots, which…ok. Odd. Certainly odd. But then again, they were going to be traveling a lot, and Ren wouldn’t be very useful if he was shivering or managed to cut his foot open on something, especially not after his master had needed to go to the trouble healing his leg before purchasing him. Ren couldn’t help but find it amusing how he’d swindled the arena master down to such a low price on him considering his injury, only to immediately reveal that with his expertise, healing such a terrible wound was no big issue. Ren had no idea what sort of potion he’d used, but he was a witch. Witches probably just carried those sorts of things as a matter of course, right? Martyn had said that it would take him awhile to get the ingredients to make another one, but maybe that was just because they were due to be traveling? Surely it took a set-up of some sort to brew potions? Ren didn’t know. He was curious. Some small inkling of him wondered if it would be ok to ask, but he held his tongue.

Martyn was nice.

He was gentle and kind, and Ren didn’t want to upset him. Surely there was something he’d do at some point that would trigger his vices, obviously it would happen sooner or later.

But in the meantime, Ren had picked out his mask. He’d spent a while thinking about it while they were wrapping up Martyn’s business in the royal capital and getting ready to leave. It had been tricky, he’d tried a few different ones on, thrown sentences here and there to see what Martyn’s reactions were. Taking a minor punishment now was worth it for establishing the lines that worked best. A small downpayment of suffering to avoid later prolonged agonies if he managed to screw up at some point when it actually mattered. The thing is, Ren had been through this a lot. He’d been bought and sold multiple times since he was a child. When he’d been very young, he was owned by a market that had a sizable amount of dog hybrids.

He wasn’t quite sure if any of them had been family to him, if they had, they hadn’t mentioned.

Back then, he’d learned the main beats of what dog hybrids valued and believed. There were bits and pieces, but then, considering hybrids as a species had been enslaved for as long as anyone was capable of recalling, there weren’t any big things. At least, nothing huge from Ren’s perspective. Little traditions and ideas stuck with him, though. Dog hybrids kept their hair long, for example. Cutting your hair severed you from your kin. Ren could remember some of his previous masters dangling that above him or others of his subspecies if they knew about it. Ren wasn’t quite sure how invested he was in it, because what sort of kin was he even connected to through his incredibly long hair? No family he could recall, anyway. But it was a small pinprick of comfort, just the thought. Maybe through his long hair, there was still some inkling of a connection to something he’d never truly know. Besides, he was lucky enough that his most recent masters either hadn’t known about that little concept or they’d just never bothered to use it as leverage.

Why did they need to? Ren had never resisted before…well…mostly. Then again, that time, it hadn’t even been for himself. And wasn’t that ridiculous, too? All he’d kept his head down and endured without a breath of complaint his entire life, and yet it had been when that bright spot was threatened that he’d snapped. It wasn’t a memory to treasure, either. It was better left abandoned. Thus it was. Ren could box it up and leave it in the back of his mind to collect dust forever.

Back to the mask he’d chosen.

Quiet, obedient, respectfully curious…seemed a good fit.

After all, Martyn had twisted his arm to get him to call him by name with the jab that Ren was meant to do as he was told.

That was what he expected, then?

Ren had had masters in the past who enjoyed the concept of breaking him as if he wasn’t broken already. He’d play that role if it pleased them.

He’d play any role to please. That was how he’d survived this long.

If Martyn’s only expectation was that he did as told, well, that was easy. Especially considering the things he’d been told to do thus far were hardly worthy of any pressure. The most disconcerting of them had been Martyn insisting Ren call him by name instead of by title, and his master also seemed allergic to formal speech. He batted it aside whenever Ren tested it, even as he’d gone through several different tones.

Casual, then.

Respectful, of course, but casual.

Ok. Ren could do that. He could make that work.

He was jostled awake by the redstone wagon coming to a halt, and pale blue eyes fluttered a moment before creaking open. He blinked, struggling to place where he even was till he realized he was resting his head on something comfy and warm.

Martyn’s shoulder.

Immediately, he jerked upward, ears pressing back flat as panic spiked into his chest. Surprise filled green eyes in the moment he let his gaze match to his masters, but he quickly snapped it down to the redstone wagon floor beneath them.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” He managed out, and Martyn hurried to put his palms up.

“It’s fine, no worries! That healing potion took a lot outta ya, I was surprised you’d stayed up as long as you did.”

Ren felt his chest squeezing tight like the walls were closing in against his lungs. He tried to track the logic there. None. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t understand it. His master had bought him to protect him while traveling, yet Ren had taken a nap on his shoulder instead. Sure, they weren’t anywhere that would strictly require Ren to be on high alert yet, but no matter, it was still a mistake. Mistakes deserved punishment.

His tail weakly flicked back against the wall behind him a few times as he tried to convince his stuttering breath to cooperate long enough for words.

“S-Still, and you were…nice enough to let me sleep on you I…it was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Ren couldn’t see Martyn’s face. The witch was standing up, and Ren stayed down. He briefly considered repositioning to kneel but decided not to; he didn’t want to make it look like he was trying to escape punishment or anything. That usually only increased the severity, which he’d really rather not put up with. Besides, any more time wasted on this might impede Martyn’s journey, and Ren wouldn’t be able to bear that.

So color him surprised when the cheerful voice carried down to him.

“Like I said, it’s no worries at all! Come on, get up! We’re here, first stop! Gotta find an inn for the night.”

Martyn’s boots passed by his left side and then dropped out of the back of the wagon. Ren was on a split-second delay before he scrambled to get up and gave chase. They thanked the delivery driver who’d given them a lift and then were wandering into town.

“I’ve been out here once or twice, with my teacher.” Martyn commented as he looked around. Green eyes twinkled in the lantern light as flickering fire lit the streets, the sun having nearly set. Ren was still feeling jittery from his disrespect earlier.

Surely that wasn’t as easy as ‘no worries,’ right?

Couldn’t be. Impossible. He was already being treated so differently than ever before, no master of his had ever bothered taking such care of him. Ren had been trying to rationalize it all in order to keep his head on straight, stay focused on finding the role he’d need to play, spin that into his identity from here on out, keep his true self boarded up safely, buried deep within his chest. Somewhere behind bars at the back of his mind, away from the hurt, away from the punishment and the pain of his every day.

If the masks got hurt, Ren didn’t.

It wasn’t strictly true, and Ren understood that. It was enough to help him manage day-by-day, though. Rationalize, select the correct role, and play it to perfection. That way, minimal punishment was incurred, his master would be pleased, and he might be allowed enough hours of sleep to function the following morning. Rinse and repeat, put that on a cycle for years and years and years…and that had been Ren’s life.

Walking here now, listening to Martyn tell a story about the first time he’d come here, still young enough that he’d been practically on his teacher's hand the entire time, it was hard.

It was so hard.

Rationalize.

Martyn had bought him at the arena because he was able to negotiate for a low price thanks to Ren’s injured leg. Made sense.

Martyn had healed him with magic, at what cost Ren wasn’t sure, but it probably hadn’t been that expensive considering his new master seemed savvy and clever and certainly wouldn’t waste anything too terribly precious on a slave. Checked out.

Martyn had gotten him fresh clothes and new boots, because they were set to be traveling a long way, and Ren would be of no use if he were shivering or unable to move quickly. Understandable.

Ren had fallen sleep in the back of the redstone wagon, exhaustion dragging him irresistibly down, and he’d ended up resting against Martyn, sleeping for several hours at the least considering the sun had since gone down.

That…wasn’t rational. That didn’t made sense. What purpose did that serve? If Martyn intended to let Ren rest at all, couldn’t he have done it when they arrived here for the night? What was with this strange beautiful witch who’d ended up picking him out of the dozens of hybrids who’d been in that room only this morning?

Ren didn’t understand.

His mask felt like it was slipping, and he forced an inhale, lining up the corners properly in his mind.

Quiet, obedient, respectfully curious.

“Did you enjoy your trips out here?” He asked, and he saw the way Martyn looked back and up at him, his eyes lit up, and he beamed, bringing the pads of his fingers together in front of himself.

“Oh, certainly! I spent so much time in the city, so any excuse I found to leave, even for just a few hours, I’d take it in a heartbeat!” 

Ren saw how delighted Martyn was that he’d engaged in his conversation, and that cemented in him that he’d found the correct mask. This was the role. Time to play it, for so long as his master would have him.

They carried on down the street for a few more minutes, wandering through a more densely packed market area. Ren was quick to position himself at Martyn’s shoulder, keeping close enough that if anything were to occur he would be primed to put a stop to it.

As they walked, Ren’s ears pricked up to the murmurs.

“A witch? You think he’s from the royal capital coven?”

“Must be! So young…”

“His charms are shining like gemstones, what do you think they do?”

“A traveling witch? What good luck to see him, then!”

Ren had known that witches were coveted, but the effect was immediate. The crowd opened up, parting respectfully around Martyn. Like no one wanted to risk accidentally getting in his way. A few people even tipped their hats or bowed their heads in his direction when he went by.

Ren saw the opportunity to continue his role, recalling how delighted Martyn had been by him asking a question earlier. His stomach twisted at the thought of speaking out of turn in public, but he quickly laced his fingers together behind himself, swallowing down the anxiety. If it turned out this was wrong, well, he hadn’t been punished yet today. Perhaps his new master preferred to keep count of mistakes and dole out whatever agonies were appropriate in compensation once behind closed doors? Ren had a master like that once before, the first private master he’d belonged too out of the market that contained his earliest memories. Back then he’d been tasked with running notes, delivers, other routes, since he was still quite young and couldn’t do any heavier lifting. That master had been rather taciturn, never the type to yell, but at the end of the day once the doors were closed and everything cleaned up and put away, he’d calmly count off all the minutes late Ren had been on any particular route, anytime he’d spoken out of turn, any questions that had been less than strictly necessary for him to do his job properly.

He’d trigger his collar to every single one of them. For every wasted minute and every unacceptable word.

Ren had learned his lesson very quickly. He wasn’t sure if he’d spoken beyond the smallest of squeaked phrases for the next several months he’d belonged to that man. Even still it was the minutes late that got him, even if he’d never been allowed to know what sort of times to expect, nor any way to keep the time himself, so going as fast as he could was the only option, and it was rare that he’d manage every route of the day fast enough to find himself spared the agonies of his collar being triggered at the end of the night. Runes lighting up, white hot pain tearing out from his bones, crumpling him to the floor where he’d be caught, a whimpering ball desperately trying to smother any wailing, till those minutes were up.

Ren might’ve never talked much again after that, if it weren’t for his next master, the owner of a large exotic lounge, being the type who expected gratuitous words from all his slaves and servants. Graceful movements while serving any guests, and Ren had been made to work in the front of house in full view, just like many others. Twists of the tongue were required to survive there, and Ren had found himself being punished for being too quiet. If he rushed or hurried his movements too much, as he’d been trained to do before, he was accused of trying to speed any guests out, which hurt business.

Too loud. Too quiet.

Too curious. Not interesting.

Too slow. Too fast.

Never perfect.

Ren figured that must’ve been when he’d come to the conclusion that playing roles was the only way to have even some small sliver of hope at winning. It wasn’t an easy process, nor was it like he’d been able to concretely put names such as masks, with easy labeling concepts, into storage within his own mind. That had taken years longer. Years more of being bought and sold, and running into a different set of expectations and circumstances every single time. The only way to succeed, the only way to spare himself some suffering, was the please his master. Whoever they were and whatever they might want for him, it was Ren’s responsibility to provide.

Choose the mask that best suited the role. Spend the first few days tweaking it, even if it earned him additional agonies, because again, he could view it as a downpayment.

Then, smooth off the corners to his performance, settle everything in place…and simply act. Act as was needed, and he minimized his own hurt. And when he did get hurt, well, that punishment was given to a mask that happened to share his name, his face, and his senses.

It wasn’t him.

He’d never let any master see him without a mask on.

Martyn was no different. No matter how gentle and kind he was now, there was surely a catch, and Ren would be prepared to meet those vices with whatever might soothe them the soonest and mean the least amount of discomfort for himself.

“You’re very popular, Master.” The words fell easily off his tongue as he tapped a bit of the persona he’d played back at that exotic lounge, and Martyn snapped his head over his shoulder to narrow a petulant glare at him.

Ice sank into his heart, he frantically skimmed the words for anything wrong, and in his surprise he realized he’d forgotten.

Right. Chalk down another thing he’d need to answer for once they were settled down somewhere, because Martyn had made it quite clear he didn’t wish to be referred to with that title.

“I’m sorry! Ah, Martyn, I meant.” He corrected anyway, hoping that might earn him a narrow fraction of mercy, and the witch’s eyes immediately softened from their glaring.

So he really was serious about me calling him by name?

Ren considered as Martyn turned to face forward again, a wide smile pulling up his features again.

“I’ve worked my whole life for this, so I’m not about to start complaining!” He puffed up his chest, and the dog hybrid couldn’t help but think he looked rather adorable, strutting along with his many charms jingling from his belt, and the silvery ones on his earrings catching in the firelight.

Martyn was perusing the market stalls, and gave a quiet ‘oh!’ when he spotted what he’d been apparently seeking.

Someone was selling hand pies in front of a bakery. The crusts were flaky golden brown, and Martyn eagerly approached.

“Hello there! What have you got?”

The baker saw Martyn approaching and let out a gasp of awe.

“Sir Witch, what good fortune to have you come by! I’m afraid our fair is rather simple, but we have beef, chicken, pork and vegetable pies, all of them are fresh from the oven.”

“Ooooh…hmm…” Martyn put a hand to his chin a moment as he surveyed the pies, then he looked over his shoulder.

“What looks good to you?”

Ren blinked.

Is he asking me?

That didn’t make any sense. Why was he asking? Ren looked out over the array of baked hand pies laid out in their various baskets, organized by filling, trying to puzzle it together in the split instant of time he had to reply before his hesitance would risk making him disrespectful.

Maybe because he was taller? He had a better vantage point? That was stupid, though.

…let’s just go with that…

Ren concluded, not seeing anything else to cling too. He briefly looked over the pies, trying to identify which ones seemed the best looking, then turned his attention down to Martyn.

“Perhaps the beef ones?” He tried, his voice trailing towards something small as the words progressed, worried maybe he’d misunderstood.

Luckily, it looked like he’d nailed it, as Martyn grinned, seeming to be extremely pleased with his answer.

“Alrighty! Um, two beef and two chicken, then, please!”

The baker wrapped the pies in napkin and placed them into a paper bag folding up the top to keep the heat in, considering the pies were still piping.

“Here you are, Sir Witch.”

“Thank you!” Martyn took the bag and then handed it off to Ren, who quickly took it as his master began reaching for his belt.

“How much?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of charging you. You’ve already brought good fortune with you, that is enough.” The baker replied, and Martyn’s expression softened.

“I really appreciate that, but I can’t just not pay you.” The blonde’s eyes trailed back and forth along the stall. He noticed the small wood fire oven the baker had behind him that should’ve been keeping him warm wasn’t fully burning hot yet, and the sun was already down. Gooseflesh was across the older mans skin, and Martyn’s lips twitched toward a smile.

“You can’t be out here like this without a good fire going, you’ll catch cold!” He insisted.

Ren watched his eyes shift from green to red, and mana spiraled along from his elbow into the palm of his hand. He spoke, a disconnected resonance of syllables that the dog hybrid had no hope of understanding, and a small fireball lit in the palm of his hand.

He tossed it across the stall, it zipped straight into the wood fire oven, and in a small poof of smoke, it caught the thing full force. It was crackling merrily now, burning hot, and the baker’s eyes lit up from behind wrinkly, baggy eyelids. “Oh, I never thought I’d see a witch’s magic with my own eyes…truly fortunate indeed…thank you very much, Sir Witch.”

“Thank you for the food! Stay warm, alright?”

“Please do the same.”

Martyn waved to him and they walked off. His eyes turned back to green again moments later. They continued up the street till they arrived at an inn. The tavern on the bottom floor was already getting rowdy, and when Martyn walked in the receptionist immediately sat up straighter from how she’d been slouching on her stool watching the merriment with a tired expression.

“W-Welcome!” She sputtered out, and Martyn gave her a charming smile.

“Hello, miss. I need a room, just for one night. Two beds, please, and a washroom.”

Ren kept his expression completely neutral, but within he found another question bubbling up.

Who else was joining them?

Perhaps one of his masters acquaintances from the city?

Ren had thought Martyn might mention that, but then, it wasn’t like he had any right to expect explanation. He was already grateful for what he’d been given so far, even if ‘going on a journey’ was about all he really knew for certain. He didn’t need more. He knew what was expected of him clearly, right off the bat, and that was huge.

Martyn paid for their room, took the key, and they headed up the rickety staircase to the second floor, then rounded the banister and carried on to the third. It was quieter up here, at least, which Ren’s sensitive hearing appreciated. They walked down to the room at the very end, and at the end of the hall there was also a dumbwaiter, perhaps for food delivery or getting supplies to various rooms. Their room was right next to the little slot for the dumbwaiter, and Martyn unlocked the door, letting them inside. It was cozy, with a desk pushed to the left corner, two narrow beds were against either wall, with dark green blankets and white pillows. Swept wooden floorboards, and the final corner had another door to the washroom as Martyn had requested. Running water was possible through a combination of redstone technology and magic. Runes were used to heat or cool the water, and the water itself was pumped using redstone mechanics similar to what ran the many redstone wagons making their way around the continent today.

“Alright! We’ve got plans to make but first, we eat!” Martyn declared, turning around and taking the paper bag, which Ren had proactively offered forward.

He carried it to the desk in the corner, setting it down and pulling out the hand pies.

“These two are mine…” He set the top two aside, then produced the second set, the beef hand pies.

“…and these are for you!” He said brightly, turning to offer one in Ren’s direction, still wrapped in the napkin.

The dog hybrid stared at the offered savory pastry for a moment.

“I-I…” He realized his words were trying to sputter, his role trying to break, and quickly schooled it in.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand…aren’t they for your acquaintance?”

Martyn’s brow furrowed. He lowered the offered hand pie slightly.

“What acquaintance?”

“Whoever will be using the second bed.”

“You’re using the second bed.”

What?

Rationalize.

Rationalize.

When was the last time he’d slept in an actual bed?

That’s not rationalizing. Try again.

Had he ever actually sleep in a proper bed?

Rationalize, dammit, now wasn’t the time to…

Why would Martyn bother to get him a bed? He could’ve slept on the floor, or sitting up against the wall like he’d done on the redstone wagon, he’d be perfectly fine with that. Why was Martyn giving him such nice food? He’d been expecting to be told to go down to the tavern kitchen and ask for whatever leftovers they might have, that was how it had worked the one and only other time he’d traveled to an inn such as this with a previous master.

What was going on?

Why was he doing this?

There had to be a reason. There had to be some rational explanation that would help him slot another piece into what his role needed to be. How he should behave for this kind smile, those gentle green eyes, to stay just as they were even a few moments longer.

Ren was taking to long to respond.

Martyn’s eyes clouded, and the playful smile he’d been wearing fell flat.

Disrespectful, making him wait.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. Didn’t realize you…I…never mind, I’m…”

Ren forced his chin down nearly to his chest, his shoulders climbing rapidly, and sucked down a breath.

“I didn’t understand. I’ve made a mistake.”

He kept his eyes fixated on his boots, his brand new boots, and he heard Martyn’s footsteps coming closer, crossing the room to him.

The click of his heels made Ren nearly flinch with every echo in the silence, backdropped by the humming din of the tavern still partying on below.

Here it was.

They were alone. Ren could tally up at least two major mistakes he’d made today, and a smattering of smaller offenses. This was the part he hated the most when it came to a new master. It was always hard to tell what sort of punishment they’d prefer. Some masters only used the collar. It was easy, simple, didn’t make a mess or leave any marks, didn’t impede his ability to work the next day. Some of them wanted to leave marks. Ren had endured time with plenty of masters who preferred to be more…hands-on with their torment. His previous master, the one he’d been with before coming to the arena, had been rather sadistic in that sense. It was why Ren had cigarette stub burn marks littering his shoulders, arms, and chest. Whatever pretty playthings that man got to mess up put aside, though, Martyn arrived in front of him.

Ren found the hand pie placed within his view where he was staring down.

“Eat. Before it gets cold. Then we’ll talk.” The voice was careful, gentle, and it held not the slightest hint of disappointment, anger, or hurtful intent.

He was so stunned he took the hand pie without even thinking, raising his hands to accept, and looked up hesitantly.

Martyn had walked over to the opposite bed, turning around and sitting down on the edge of it, kicking his feet out and leaning back onto one arm, taking a large bite out of his hand pie. His eyes lit up again.

“Mhm! These are really tasty! Go on Ren, try it!” 

It didn’t make sense.

This didn’t make any sense.

Ren raised the pie to his face and took a small bite. So small he didn’t even get any of the filling, only a small mouthful of the buttery, flaky crust, and already he could place it up there with one of the best things he’d ever tasted. Not like he had much to choose from in that regard, but even still. He took another bite, larger, and his stomach growled. Like it was waking up, belatedly reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the sparse breakfast given out at the arena in the mornings. Another bite. Another. Before he’d even realized, he’d polished off the entire hand pie, and he felt a flush of embarrassment warming his cheeks when he realized how ridiculous he must’ve looked, shoving it into his face. And he hadn’t even given any sort of word or sign of his gratitude for such a thing.

That spiked the panic, and Ren forced his eyes to focus on Martyn again, drawing a breath.

“You liked it?” Martyn cut him off.

Ren tried to coach himself into stopping with the hesitation. “Yes, sir.”

Martyn clicked his tongue. “Hey, I let you off the last couple times…I know it’s a habit…but you don’t need to call me that.”

Ren winced. “Right! I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. I know it’s probably harder than I make it sound.” Martyn seemed to say this second part to himself, before he pointed toward the desk.

“Still hungry, are you? Eat the other one, I got us both two for a reason.” He accentuated this sentence by taking another large bite from his own hand pie. Ren considered insisting he was fine, mortified at the idea of accepting more food, and such nice food at that, but perhaps his gnawing hunger won him over. Either that, or he’d convinced himself that he shouldn’t shrink from his masters generosity, not when they still needed to ‘talk’ which Ren assumed was code for him getting torn apart for whatever else he’d screwed up today. Perhaps the new orders would finally come? Martyn hadn’t given any orders today, nothing to prevent Ren from running away, from hurting him, from stepping out of line. That had been rather bizarre, but again, Ren hadn’t been in the headspace of questioning this morning. Now he’d settled into his role, or at least, he was trying too, but Martyn kept knocking him off balance.

This might be a bit tricker than he’d initially assumed.

Notes:

That was a big one, huh? We got a closer look at Ren's coping mechanism, and how Martyn is already trying to tear it to shreds, much to Ren's terror...they had some dinner, Martyn got some fanfare, and now it's on to the *conversation*
What about? You'll have to stop by again next time and see!

I wanna say thank you so so so much to everyone who has been so kindly commenting and supporting this fic! Also, to everyone who has come to say hi on Tumblr and even done such amazing things as drawn fanart and written pieces inspired by the AU! I absolutely love it! It gives me so much joy and inspiration to keep writing more of these stories and developing these characters as we carry on in the dark fantasy world!
(And TTSBC, too, of course. We'll be headed back over there after this story concludes, I promise ^-^)

For now, please do drop a comment if you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them! And they help that sweet baker stay warm! Also, please come say hi if you're on Tumblr! Send me asks! I'm still open to prompts as I am currently working on the most recent Amethyts Scribbling Corner, which is taking a little longer than intended on account of how Traveling Thieves currently has me in a strangle hold, but I'll get back to it! XD
Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 7

Notes:

I'm back with more Treebark for ya!

Please enjoy~

Ren

 

“Thank you very much.”

He bowed his head a moment before moving to take the second hand pie, and after he did he let his eyes momentarily slide onto Martyn’s expression. Analyzing.

He didn’t look pleased.

In fact, the bow seemed to have made him deeply uncomfortable judging by the furrow in his brow and his pursed lips. Ren supposed it was either too much or not enough, but it wasn’t exactly like he could prostrate himself with food in his hands. Besides, his hunger already winning over any care he had to deeply pick apart that one reaction.

As he started eating the second hand pie, Martyn gestured across the room. “Sit down. There’s lots of stuff to go over.”

Ren briefly considered sitting on the floor. Thats what would’ve been expected before, but he was trying, trying, trying to piece things together.

And as terrifying as it was, he was pretty sure it would displease his master if he sat on the floor. Ren wanted to please. Martyn had said the second bed was for him, and this role he was playing ought to be quiet, obedient, and respectfully curious. For this point, the emphasis landed on obedient, and it wouldn’t be good of him to make Martyn repeat himself.

School down the hesitation. Act the part. If he was wrong, well, he’d dodged punishment so often today that he figured if it came down now that was just his luck. Horrible luck, as always. He turned and gingerly sat back on the very edge of the other bed, letting his weight settle onto it bit by bit, carefully watching Martyn’s expression for any signs that this wasn’t what had been expected. The blonde continued smiling at him.

Good.

Huh. Well, this was new.

Ren’s tail beat a bit quicker back and forth behind him.

“I’m headed to Silversvale, a town along the mountain pass toward the Northern Elven territory. I’m planning to open my apothecary out there.”

Martyn said, making a few lackadaisical gestures with one hand as he spoke.

He paused a moment, Ren took that as invitation for him to speak, and tapped once more the ‘respectfully curious’ trait of this role, which seemed to please Martyn. He’d brightened up each time Ren asked him a question.

“Do you not like the city?”

The witch shrugged. “It’s not that I hated it…but I lived my whole life there. It’s too loud, too crowded…I just wanna be alone for awhile. Silversvale seems like the perfect place, plus they’ve been desperate for a witch to set up shop in their town, so I shouldn’t have any issues.”

Ren’s eyebrows raised slightly, otherwise he kept his expression impassive.

He wants to be alone?

What did that mean for Ren, when this journey was over?

Well, one of two things.

Ren was obviously being quite presumptuous even within his own mind to believe that Martyn viewed him as his own person. Even if he’d gotten him nice food, fresh clothes, treated his injury and cared for him with a smile on his face. Martyn could very well mean ‘alone’ in the sense of the two of them, and might keep Ren to help around his apothecary. The dog hybrid briefly imagined that. Sounded pretty nice. Thus far, he hadn’t seen any of Martyn’s vices, though he knew they were coming. Had to be. Surely he’d show his fangs sooner or later, but maybe Ren had gotten good enough at this to pick out the correct behaviors from the start, and Martyn just hadn’t seen anything he deemed worthy of correction yet. The second option was that he intended to sell Ren once they made it to Silversvale. If Ren were being honest with himself, this seemed the more likely choice. Martyn had said before that he’d only needed Ren to protect him along the route. Ren had seen Martyn’s magic first hand and wasn’t quite sure exactly how much he’d need that protection, but then again, he didn’t understand much about witches. Either way, that meant this likely had a time limit. Ren would be saying goodbye to Martyn at the end of this journey. Or at least, that seemed the most probable. He wasn’t about to ask one way or another. There was another question he wanted to ask that seemed relevant, something necessary that had just occurred to him.

“You said you needed me to protect you…sorry, I might not understand but…your magic is very powerful. Isn’t it?”

Martyn sighed, slouching his head to one side. Wavy blonde hair spilled past his shoulder, green eyes took on a shade of weariness.

“That’s what I said. But my teacher insisted, said she wouldn’t let me leave unless I had some sort of companion…I think I would’ve been fine on my own….” He trailed off, before his eyes sparked and he straightened up again.

“Not to say I’m not happy to have you along! Traveling is always better with company, isn’t it?”

That right there.

Ren had finished the second hand pie, and he tried to ensure his hands remained relaxed at his sides, not tightening up. Ignore the flutter of panic, the twist of disappointment.

That confirmed it.

Martyn said he wanted to be alone once he reached Silversvale.

He considered having Ren along as having company.

Two and two together said that Martyn wouldn’t view himself as being alone if he were with Ren, and therefore once they reached Silversvale, Ren would have to go. Fair enough. He’d have served his purpose by then, and Martyn would be safely established in a community that would adore him, no doubt. Ren had no clue where he’d end up after that, probably sold to some market coming through, headed back into the old continent. The idea of returning to market life wasn’t a happy one, but he didn’t get a choice.

He hesitated on the next question, but the flutter of disappointment had him speaking out of turn.

“How far is this journey, do you think?”

Martyn hummed. “If we make good time, I’m hoping about a month…but nothing ever goes as planned, so it’s probably safer to say like a month and a half.”

“Ah. I see.”

A month and a half, maybe less. A handful of weeks to enjoy this strangeness, kindness, gentleness that Martyn had been expressing to him. Even if it were a facade, and Ren had plenty of experience with those.

A few seconds ticked by in silence, and Ren let his gaze drop naturally to the floor. It was more comfortable then watching Martyn’s face as he popped the last of his hand pie into his mouth. Ren slouched forward slightly, leaning an elbow on one knee, and in a sweep, a cascade of dark brown hair fell past his shoulder. He thoughtlessly batted it back, fingers carding easily through it. His eyes were still trained onto the floor when Martyn spoke.

“Oh, by the way…what do you want to do about your hair?”

Ice stabbed him through the chest, freezing cold, and Ren tried to remind himself to stay calm, not let his shoulders tense too much, not curl his free hand into a fist. His fingers which had been carding back his hair stilled halfway beneath one of his tall dog ears. He forced a deep breath into his lungs, even if his body tried to reject it for a short intake. Had to keep things to a role, a mask, something he knew would keep his master happy for as little as he understood thus far. He left his eyes on the spot on the floor as he replied.

“I’m sorry…I don’t think I understand.”

“Well, would it be easier to just cut it?”

Ah, Ren really should’ve been kicking himself for wondering about Martyn’s vice. Of course that callousness would show itself at some point. Then again, it wasn’t like he knew for certain that Martyn knew what his hair meant to him. Dog hybrids were notably tight-lipped about it, for understandable reasons. No need to give up some of the last few whispers of connection, even if Ren had run into masters before who’d known the significance.

Ren’s chest felt tight, ice cold, even if this room was cozy and warm, even if his stomach was full and content, even if his new clothes were comfy and soft, he felt cold. His eyes started to dart, moving around trying to find somewhere to land, fearful of seeking out Martyn’s face. What if he saw an apathetic gaze returned to him, what if there was already a resolution there?

After all, it wasn’t like Ren would refuse him. He couldn’t. His shoulders were winding up tighter, his eyes were trying to sting but that certainly wouldn’t be acceptable. What was acceptable, again? What role had he chosen? His thoughts felt like they were assaulting him, the different concepts all clashing into each other, and he drew his lower lip in between his teeth and bit down hard, felt his fangs nearly breaking the skin.

“Ren?”

He didn’t mean to flinch when Martyn said his name, but he did.

What was it? Who had it been that he’d selected to be this time?

Right.

Right.

Quiet, obedient, respectfully curious.

Obedient.

Well, wasn’t he failing at that right now? If he were going to align those corners and wear that mask, he’d agree pliantly to whatever Martyn deemed easiest, and from his intonation, his phrasing, Ren was forced to conclude his master saw it as easiest to cut his hair. So long it fell past his hips and coiled in dark brown piles on the bed, greasy and knotted and matted from a lack of care during his year in the arena.

That was what his role right now would do. Agree. He knew those words ought to fall from his tongue without any hesitation. There was no way he was showing Martyn anyone aside from a mask, in order to protect himself.

Ren had never been able to protect himself from any sort of physical hurt. The collar he’d worn for as long as he could remember made sure of that, and he’d grown up constantly kept aware of how he was walking a blades edge. There was nowhere to turn, nothing to do about it but understand and carry on. When he’d bounced between his first few masters, he’d quickly realized that he still had one defense. He could control who they hurt, so long as he was never himself. So long as he chose his role and wore that mask, performed like a consummate professional, well, it seemed a win-win situation. Usually, those performances were met with a decent amount of satisfaction from his masters. By now, he’d arrived at a place where he was capable of switching them effortlessly, and he always separated those faces from himself.

His own personality. His own quirks, habits, fears, anxiety, trauma, all of it was packaged up neatly, tied with a bow, and sunk to the depths of his heart to remain hidden. Or at least, that’s how it usually was.

Yet, as the day had gone by, he’d struggled to allow only a mask to enjoy the gentleness, the kindness that Martyn had been presenting to him. The walls were thinning, things Ren had spent his entire life figuring out how to manage were already starting to fray under brilliant green eyes.

His role. The role he’d selected seemed to make Martyn happy. That person would agree with his master, do whatever was easiest for him.

But Ren didn’t want to cut his hair.

Notes:

Ooooo is Ren developing...a concept of choice? What a thought, huh? :P I hope you enjoyed this one!

I mentioned it over on my tumblr, but my update speed will probably grow a bit slower for the next two weeks while I work up my fics for Febuwhump! I'm trying not to repeat the mistakes of my whumptober and have most if not all of the fics completed before Feb 1st so when the times comes I can just let it roll every day for the entire month...we'll see how well that goes, we all know I'm not the best at writing short ;-; but I will TRY. So yeah, that doesn't mean this fic is getting left behind or anything, I will more certainly finish it within the next two weeks! But just don't expect my typical daily updates for a little while, and please look forward to the explosion of content due to arrive Feb 1st if I either enter a writing frenzy OR manage to figure out how to write short...somehow I feel like it'll be the former ;=;

Anywho! Please drop a comment if you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them, and they help Ren work up the courage break character, and please come say hi if you're only tumblr!

Thanks as always for reading!

Chapter 8

Notes:

Wow, this is the longest I've gone without updating in months...BUT GOOD NEWS! I've got six, COUNT'EM SIX fics completed for Febuwhump! I'm doing it, guys! I'm being proactive about a fandom challenge! They're taking place in Sky-Blue Cracks and Traveling Thieves as well as other fun things! I'm so excited to share some of them with you, so please look forward to it!
But for now, I owe you a chapter after leaving it on a cliffhanger all this time!
Please enjoy~

Martyn

 

Ren seemed to be warming up to him, little by little.

At first, he’d seemed jittery and jumpy, which was perfectly fair. He wasn’t about to expect him to completely believe that Martyn was rather harmless, when it came to their relationship anyway. The dog hybrid in a fresh set of clothes with a few hours of sleep behind him was already settling down. He was a bit quiet, which Martyn found quite a dichotomy considering Ren’s height and rather intimidating physique. His incredibly long dark brown hair drifted and caught on various shifts of the breeze as they’d walked around town. He’d chosen which sort of hand pies he wanted, even if Martyn had been a little confused that he’d struggled to accept them when they’d gotten back to the room. Again, though, Martyn didn’t know what sort of life Ren had lived prior to them meeting.

He wasn’t naive.

It probably wasn’t a very happy story.

He’d seen some of the scars now hidden beneath Ren’s black shirt, he understood it in every moment of hesitation when Ren would catch himself on a term of respect and bite it back, because Martyn had told him not to use them. It was only the first day, though. It would take a bit longer for Ren to be convinced that Martyn had no plans to hurt him. That was fair. Martyn was growing surer by the second he’d made the right decision in choosing Ren out of that room full of hybrids back at the arena.

Right now, though, he was stumbling over something else.

They’d eaten, and Ren had seemed like he was relaxing at least a little bit…but then Martyn had noticed him fidgeting with his hair. Itching at the base of his dog-like ears, which stood tall and fluffed at the top with fur that also met with his hair in shaggy, matted clumps.

That had brought back up to him something he’d been meaning to ask.

So, he’d asked it.

“Well, would it be easier to just cut it?”

Ren, at first, hadn’t even said anything. He’d started worrying at his lip and the small bit of tension that had unwound from his frame coiled right back into place. He took a deep breath that Martyn could see was slow and deliberate. Concern fluttered in the blonde's chest, and he furrowed his brow. He’d been sure Ren was settling, which meant something Martyn had said had upset him somehow. He wasn’t sure what though, perhaps he just wasn’t expecting Martyn to notice his discomfort or that he wouldn’t bother to bring it up?

“Ren?”

His eyes widened when he recognized a flinch jerk through his body. Ren was avoiding looking at him, pale blue eyes seemed to search along the floor for something better to settle his attention on. He saw the way his lip trembled a moment on his next exhale, and then he spoke.

“Whatever suits you.”

He deferred the question, the decision, to Martyn. The witch squirmed slightly where he sat, lips twisted as he considered his reply to this.

“That’s not…it’s just…can’t be comfortable, can it?”

In response to that, Ren just shrugged weakly. Martyn leaned forward enough to get a better angle on his face, without being obvious. He saw the striking blue of Ren’s eyes had gone almost glassy. Yet a strange sense of calm had seemed to settle over him. He hadn’t lowered his hand from where it was half-carding back through the length of hair that had fallen over his shoulder, which had caught Martyn’s attention to bring up this topic in the first place.

“Ren?” At a loss of what else to do, he found himself repeating the name again. The brunette didn’t flinch this time, but he still refused to look Martyn in the face.

“I’m sorry.”

Why is he apologizing?

Martyn was lost. He didn’t get this, there was clearly something he wasn’t grasping, and as he traced his eyes over his new companion, he could trace lines of ratcheting tension in each muscle and limb, even as Ren forced upon himself some sort of false calm. There was only one thing Martyn was able to catch, a momentary crack in the facade. Ren’s hand, the one still carding into his hair, had tangled into the matted dark brown locks, and just barely…was shaking.

He’s terrified.

Of what?

I dunno, but…

Martyn resolved and took another breath. “Do you not want to cut your hair?”

Pale blue eyes snapped up from the floor to match his, the glassy haze of them flickered, trying to clear but failing. Like something had been trying to break to the surface but was hurriedly forced back under again.

The narrowest spark of desperate hope.

Martyn’s stomach twisted, and he spoke again. “Ren, do you not want to cut your hair?” He repeated, and Ren raised his other hand, raking it back into his hair beneath his other dog ear, both of which were drawing back at the points further and further as his distress rose.

The tiniest whimper broke from the back of his throat, and Martyn thought his heart could break alongside the sound.

“Please.”

It was all he said, the word raspy and pleading.

Martyn planted his hands to his knees and stood up. “Then we’re not cutting it. That’s that.”

Ren flinched again when he stood, but then it seemed like he’d caught up to what Martyn had said. He looked up at him, glassy eyes struggling to follow him as he moved around to the desk. Shoving aside the empty paper bag from dinner, he cleared himself some space and opened up his palm. Mana flickered up and down from his elbow to his palm as he began producing some of his potion-making tools and ingredients from his pocket dimension. Witches were gifted with the skill known as ‘Inventory’, and it was one of those that defined a witch, with a far larger storage capacity than similar skills that were specific to other classes.

Once he had everything he’d need laid out, he looked back over his shoulder and smiled. Concern was still burrowing deep through his chest, he knew that he’d been underestimating just what he was up for, and yet when he spoke he saw something that strengthened his resolve.

“Could you please go downstairs and ask them to send up a washtub?”

Ren blinked. The glassiness that had overtaken his eyes faded.

And there it was again.

That incredible spark seemed to bring a breadth of energy to Ren’s face,  the way his lip wobbled before he pushed to his feet.

“Yes, si—”

He winced and caught himself.

“Yes. Right away.”

It sounded awkward and stilted in a way that his words hadn’t all day, and yet, somehow, it sounded more genuine. Martyn was daring to pick up on some cues, and wondered to himself as he turned back to his mortar and pestle. As he started his work, his mind wandered.

He was trying to act a certain way, wasn’t he?

It was a simple conclusion. Martyn nodded to himself slightly as the consideration came and went. Well, that had to be expected. Ren’s entire life had likely been defined by how best to keep his various masters happy. Martyn didn’t know how to feel about that. He hoped that aspects of the way Ren had started to unwind had been true, but he also recognized how unlikely that was. He’d been naive to think it was all genuine, that Ren had been settled as quickly as that. In hindsight, he should’ve figured the vast majority of it had to be an act.

It had been difficult to place because…well, Ren was a very good actor.

This was a long road.

Martyn had initially been planning to tell Ren about his plans to set him free once they reached Silversvale, tonight. Now that he was getting a closer look at Ren’s headspace, the smallest peek behind the curtain, he was quickly realizing that might be a mistake. He wasn’t sure to what extent Ren would understand that, nor how he might take it. He also clearly wasn’t in any state to have a candid conversation about what it would look like. There was a very real chance he might think Martyn was lying. Perhaps that it was some sort of cruel joke, or a vague reward to dangle over his head that would never actually come to fruition.

Martyn had a sickening sense that Ren might even take it as dismissal.

Failure.

It could break him before they even properly started this trip.

So, for as much as it pained him, Martyn concluded he’d keep that information in his back pocket for a while longer. At least until Ren trusted him enough that Martyn felt certain he’d take him at his word. It wasn’t like Martyn wanted to conceal such a huge piece of his plan, but he also didn’t want to deal any more damage to Ren’s precarious thought process than he already had with what he’d thought was a harmless question about haircare.

Complicated.

Yeah.

This might be more complicated than Martyn thought.

It wasn’t long before Martyn was standing with rolled-back sleeves over the wooden washtub on the tiled floor of the narrow washroom. The washtub Ren had brought up as he’d asked was filled with hot water that was frothy with bubbles. Martyn had brought a lot of different stock ingredients with him, thanks to the use of his ‘Inventory’ skill. He carried products for his own hair and skin, but considering how thick Ren’s hair was, how neglected it had been, and how much of it there was, he’d figured he’d need something stronger. Ren was in the doorway, watching him work with wide eyes. Pale blue. They were striking, beautiful in contrast with tanned skin and dark hair.

The witch glanced up toward Ren now that things were all prepared, and the dog hybrid matched his gaze with a clear moment of wariness.

He probably wasn’t used to this amount of attention. Martyn was hoping he could show him that it was all out of care, a genuine concern. After tonight, he wasn’t sure what nights they’d be spending at inns, when they’d have to camp out…Martyn even had plans to hopefully lean on some other covens with the letters his teacher had sent along with him, for a free night with a roof over their heads once in a while, in bigger cities they’d have to travel through.

The point was, after tonight, Martyn wasn’t sure when the next time they’d have time to take care of Ren’s hair would be. He was sure Ren wouldn’t have complained about it, considering he seemed, unfortunately, rather used to it…but seeing the matted tangles made Martyn’s heart ache. He was sure it had to be itchy and uncomfortable, and he didn’t want Ren to be so used to constant discomfort anymore. Not while he was with him.

“Can you take your shirt off?”

He saw Ren’s eyebrows raise just slightly, but he didn’t hesitate to reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it over his head. It took Martyn two ticks to realize what he’d just said thoughtlessly, and he sputtered. “I-I mean! We, uh, wouldn’t want it to get wet and like, I, uh…I didn’t, sorry, that was…”

Martyn was cut off from his flustered sputtered by a quiet chuckle.

He looked at Ren again to see him carefully folding his black shirt, incredibly long dark hair falling down his back and past one shoulder. His pale blue eyes were sparked with amusement, and his lips had wobbled into a smile.

Martyn stared an instant too long, and Ren seemed to realize what he’d been doing. Allowing the amusement he’d usually keep concealed bubble over. Immediately he averted his gaze to the left, worrying the fabric of his shirt in his fingers. “I…understand what you meant.” He managed after a moment, stilted and awkward.

The blonde had to withhold a sigh of relief. “Good. Um, see, I…do you wanna deal with it yourself? I’m not trying to overstep, but like…it’s just…” He trailed, and Ren surprised him again by matching eyes with him once more.

“…a lot.” He said, almost in a mumble.

“Yeah. That.” Martyn agreed.

Another couple of ticks of silence. Martyn saw Ren’s grip on his folded shirt turning tighter.

“You…won’t cut it?” His voice turned painfully small.

For a split second, the blondes eyes flicked down to Ren’s chest and shoulders. The scars peppered there so casually, numerous and varied, a sickening selection. All those times he must’ve been hurt without even an inkling of control over the situation.

There was a lot, in Ren actually asking him this. The witch didn’t want to imagine what sorts of reactions any of his previous masters might’ve had to being questioned like this. Yet here they were, and Ren was already placing even a fraction of faith in the concept that Martyn wasn’t like all of them.

Was it a test? A trial? Fingertips brushing the surface, wondering when claws would rupture the veil, pierce through, bring an end to a quiet, peaceful evening.

They never would. Martyn wouldn’t allow that. Besides, he had no claws to show, especially not to Ren. He’d felt foolish moments ago when he’d spoken thoughtlessly, but now he was revisiting it in the two heartbeats of time he spent with his eyes parsing over the visible scars.

Maybe naivety had been the wrong word?

Martyn couldn’t fault himself for daring to be an optimist, now could he? 

Martyn shook his head firmly, loose blonde hair whipping back and forth. “Absolutely not. You don’t want it cut, so it’s not getting cut. I just…would hate for you to keep going around with it so tangled and messy…it can’t be comfortable.”

Ren again spoke on a split-second delay as he stared into Martyn’s eyes. Like he was trying incredibly hard to parse out some sort of underlying meaning in what was going on, but he wasn’t finding anything.

There was nothing to find, after all. Martyn had no ulterior motive.

“It’s not.” Ren again admitted this almost in a whisper beneath his breath, and Martyn barely caught it.

“Then how about we take care of that? Is it ok with you if I help?”

Ren nodded, this time it was a surprise how quickly he did so, and he turned and disappeared from the doorway to set down his folded shirt, then came back. Martyn had him sit on the floor in front of the washtub and lean his head back. There was tension painfully obvious in his frame, and Martyn focused all his energy on keeping his expression easy. He couldn’t show his anxiety, or Ren might take it the wrong way. Martyn was already learning how perceptive the dog hybrid was to the flickers of his mood, even if he wasn’t accurately interpreting them.

Ren’s tail stretched on the tile beside him, the tip barely curling. Fluffy brown fur was also matted and poorly cared for, though it seemed in slightly better shape than his hair.

Martyn gently guided Ren back to rest his head on the edge of the wooden tub. His hair now soaked in the soapy water, Martyn could see it already starting to turn dark with dirt and debris being shaken loose from the coiling strands.

“Ren, you might want to close your eyes. I don’t want to get any soap in them.” Martyn suggested.

“Right.” It was a simple one-syllable reply, and Ren let his eyes fall shut. Martyn was surprised again by the ease with which he complied, but then, with another stomach-twisting thought, Ren was probably used to just doing as told. He drove his tongue up into the roof of his mouth, thinking for a moment about how to right that assumption.

The tension in Ren’s shoulders was still visible, as was a tick in his jaw. His fingers were laced together in his lap and squeezed tightly.

He doesn’t believe it, does he? And words won’t do a thing.

Martyn found himself suddenly receiving a rush of determination. If Ren didn’t believe him now, fine, but by the end of this, he would because Martyn was going to do exactly as he’d promised. Pushing his rolled back sleeves up once more, he plunged his hands into the soapy water and got to work.

 

Ren

 

He was grateful.

Really, he was!

He’d been certain his luck with managing to keep his hair long for so many years was about to run out when Martyn had brought up the concept of cutting it, but then his new master had surprised him yet again. Ren wasn’t sure what had gotten into him when he’d let the breaths of amusement leave his lips at Martyn’s incredibly flustered expression. The witch had sputtered and turned bright red when he’d realized how dismissively he’d told Ren to remove his shirt. That hadn’t been of any major concern to Ren, anyway, but it had been…what was the word?

…cute.

Yeah, that was it.

Martyn was cute.

Outrageous, wasn’t it?

Even still, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He was already grateful. The fact that Martyn was letting him keep his hair long was already enough. He would’ve gladly put up with the itch, the tangles, the discomfort for the entire journey if it meant it didn’t have to be cut. Yet Martyn wasn’t stopping there, which left Ren tripping straight back into his confusion from earlier.

Trying to rationalize.

Well…maybe Martyn didn’t want his companion looking disheveled?

That was always possible. Ren’s previous master before the arena had been like that, he’d despised when any of the hybrids he owned looked to be in any state of disarray…well, unless he was the one who’d caused it, but that was an aside. That man had been a high-ranking noble with the wealth and capability to allow all of his ‘pets’ the supplies necessary to keep themselves properly in order for whatever services he might require.

Ren had mainly alternated between being a servant, an attendant at parties, and winding up a punching bag littered with other chores, but that wasn’t the point. Point was, when he’d lived there, his hair had been sleek, perfectly combed, and beautifully taken care of. Had to be. He’d been given the supplies and time to ensure that was the case, else he’d have been in even worse trouble than he was on the daily, without even doing anything.

That is…till he had done something.

But again.

That wasn’t worth remembering.

The arena didn’t care about the appearance of their fighters, in fact the rough-and-tumble look probably suited a slave gladiator better, so Ren’s hair had quickly grown hopelessly matted, tangled, and messy.

But right now, he was sitting on the washroom floor, leaning back with his head resting on the wooden edge of the washtub. The slosh and fizz of water and bubbles hummed in his ears, just kept above the surface while the majority of his hair…and yes, Ren recognized he had a lot of it, was submerged in the tub.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, ok, that was a lie. He expected to have the job handled as quickly as possible. Knots yanked out, quickly, painfully scrubbed, a dunk that would submerge his ears and leave them stuck and ringing…something like that.

But was that really the truth?

He tightened his fingers harder in his lap, squeezing them together and trying to convince his breathing to level out. His stomach was clenching despite being full and content.

“Ren, you might want to close your eyes. I don’t want to get any soap in them.” Martyn’s voice came from behind him, where he had taken a knee, rolling back and sleeves, and Ren’s heart tried to climb his throat.

Yet it was a reaction more than a decision.

“Right.”

He closed his eyes.

Staring into the dark, he tried not to scrunch up his expression when he felt Martyn’s fingers starting to work into his hair.

Then, it was the strangest thing.

The roughness never came.

Martyn started with trying to work some of the worst matted portions out before emptying something else into the tub, Ren assumed it was whatever concoction he’d thrown together at the desk while he was fetching the washtub. Then he started scrubbing. Occasionally, as he worked, he would snag a tangle or accidentally tug too hard, send a prickle of pain up into Ren’s scalp that was mild in comparison to what he was used to, and his master's reaction would be immediate.

“Sorry!”

“Ah, sorry, sorry!”

“My bad, this part is tangled up well and good, sorry, sorry, almost got it…”

Every time.

Each and every time he felt he had accidentally been too forceful, he apologized.

Ren wasn’t sure if he ought to respond, he wasn’t sure if he could manage to, and so he decided he’d just stay silent.

This was nice.

Occasionally he sensed pulses of mana from Martyn, and wondered if he was using magic on top of all the other stuff…which, well, Ren didn’t know what sort of magic helped with washing hair, but he wasn’t about to claim he knew better than a witch when it came to this sort of thing. Slowly, he let his shoulders unwind and relaxed more. The force he’d been needing to put into keeping his eyes closed eased, no longer required. They just stayed shut comfortably, and even as he still worried his fingers in his lap, he was able to release from how he’d been constantly braced for a sharp yank.

It had to have been a solid ten minutes or more of scrubbing away before Martyn said something other than the litany of apologies for perhaps causing Ren any more discomfort.

“Ok, I think the worst of it is clean…here…I’ve got a towel, sit up a second.”

Ren cracked an eye open as he felt Martyn lifting the heavy lengths of sopping wet dark brown hair from the washtub. He sat up, and found a towel being swiftly wound around his hair as he did.

“There! Can you hold it up a second, please? I’m going to empty out and refill the tub so I can rinse out all the suds.”

“Yes…ah, right.” Ren was proud of himself for not letting half a slipped term of respect squeak out of him.

He unwound his clasped fingers to grasp the towel and lift it, half squishing his dog ears down, but he didn’t really mind it. It only just muffled his hearing, which was far better than a human's, anyway. He crossed his legs at the ankle as he sat forward, listening to Martyn emptying out the washtub into the bath and down the drain. Then the squeak of the faucet and the firing of redstone mechanics within the wall, the burble as water gushed out and started to fill the washtub once again.

Ren adjusted so he was supporting the weight of his wet hair, still wound up halfway atop his head, with one hand. Freeing the other one to catch a few of the stringy, soaking strands that had fallen free of the towel and brush over them. Clean, sleek…not greasy and frizzy. His shoulders slackened a little further, the posture he’d always needed to maintain as perfect slouched as he breathed out.

Ok.

Maybe Martyn didn’t carry a vice?

At the least, it might not be one directed toward Ren. That was a bold thought, a claim he dismissed as soon as it arose. The worst master he’d ever had had been the one prior to the arena, and he’d allowed Ren to keep his hair neat, clean, sleek, and shining…but then, it wasn’t like he concealed that it was all for his own narcissism. Everything in perfect order unless he felt like roughing it up.

Martyn was different.

He wasn’t doing this for himself…or at least, Ren was being led to believe that he wasn’t. If or not he completely bought that, accepted it at face value, Ren wasn’t sure. He couldn’t claim aloud he did, in reality it was far more complicated, but he didn’t think Martyn was the same.

He wanted to believe Martyn wasn’t the same.

 

Martyn

 

The water was brownish and murky by the time he was through, and Martyn felt awful for the thought that Ren had been carrying that much dirt and grime around in his hair for so long. At the very least, he had gotten the majority of it out, but he still suspected it would take another refill after this one to be completely clean. Then there was the matter of combing it out and trying to get all the knots and tangles out. Of which there were a lot. But Martyn was nothing if not stubborn and persistent, so he wasn’t deterred. It didn’t matter if it took all night, Ren’s hair wasn’t getting cut, so that meant it needed to be clean and combed out at least to the point that it wasn’t actively adding to Ren’s discomfort.

As he was waiting for the washtub to fill, though, Martyn’s eyes settled on Ren again, and for the first time, he saw his back.

And somehow, he felt like his concern over Ren being uncomfortable due to his mess of hair was pathetic.

Ren’s back was criss-crossed with scars. That was painful to see, sure, but it wasn’t distinctly surprising. More of the same, with several larger scars, considering the additional space his back provided, open to hurt.

There was one that featured prominently, that made Martyn’s blood boil. His eyes were burning, not only from a needling pinprick of tears but from the heat of his mana attempting to spill over, something he hadn’t lost control over since he’d been a kid.

On Ren’s lower back, a mark from a branding iron.

It looked like some sort of house crest, circular with the interior having the shield and design, and it stood out with its own sense of quiet agony. It didn’t hurt anymore. Martyn knew that. He could tell the scar was years old by now, slightly faded and completely healed over, but it was just so unbelievable to see.

Why?

The question jabbed at him distinctly. He had to consciously wrestle his mana back under control. Force it to fade from his eyes, attempting to blister out through his skin, fill his lungs, and cut off his breath. He was just that angry. Not angry at Ren, of course not, obviously not, he was angry at whoever had done this. Whoever had done this to someone like Ren, whom Martyn couldn’t claim he knew particularly well yet, but from what he did know, he would bet had never done anything deserving of such treatment.

He doesn’t deserve this.

Martyn was yanked from his thoughts when he realized the washtub was overflowing, and he heaved it back over the rim of the bath.

“Alright, let’s get all the suds out!”

“Ok.”

Ren was pliant while he worked. He didn’t make even a peep of complaint when Martyn accidentally snagged a tangle or mat still caught in his hair on occasion. Yet the blonde tried to pin his hopes on smaller things. The dog hybrid had visibly relaxed another fraction, and the previous white-knuckled grasp he’d had of his fingers laced together was loosened.

He believes I’m not gonna hurt him…at least not right now.

His stomach twisted again. Martyn had been feeling vaguely disassociated from this entire thing since the start, but right now, it was pounding down on his shoulders.

There was a contract floating somewhere in his ‘inventory’ that marked Ren as legally his. Whatever Ren suffered while that contract was still active, it was Martyn’s choice. None of it would be held against him.

Ren wasn’t a person, after all. Not in the eyes of so many passing on the streets outside the inn. The witch squeezed his eyes shut a moment, trying to refocus from the attempted spiral his brain was trying to enter.

Flip it.

Change the perspective.

Ren was going free at the end of this. Martyn only needed his help to make it to Silversvale in one piece. It was a win-win situation. Ren helped him make it to Silversvale, and Martyn would set him free with as many supplies as he could afford to offer, and off he’d go to the free hybrid cities. A life he’d choose would await there, and Martyn would wish him well.

And in the meantime, he’d take care of him. As best as he possibly could.

So long as Ren was with him, he wouldn’t suffer again.

Notes:

Well, wasn't that sweet? Martyn isn't exactly sure what's going on, but he's got the spirit, and Ren is just happy his hair isn't getting cut. Ren has a branding scar on his back, ain't that wacky? I'm sure we don't need to worry about that. At all. Ever. O_o
Anyway! Like I said, my Febuwhump preparations are going well! I have lots planned, lots already completed, and a ton of it will be in Traveling Thieves so when February hits buckle up and get ready for some fun (whumptastic) times!
For now though, please drop a comment if you have any thoughts, I'm gonna try to pick back up and start replying to everyone again, thank you for being patient with me not being able to reply as I've been so busy this week! On top of the Febuwhump stuff I have have *gags* higher academics to take care of...it's fiiiiiiine. At least I have my fanfic to mix things up! XD So yeah! The comments will also help Ren get all the tangles out of his hair, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr! You have no idea how happy the asks/art/comments have been making me, they really do make my entire day when I see them!
Thanks for reading!

Chapter 9

Notes:

We're finally wrapping this one up! Final chapter!

Please enjoy~

It took another refill before Martyn was confident Ren’s hair was fully clean, but that didn’t meant the job was done.

“I think that’s about good! Here, why don’t we move into the room again?”

“Right.”

Martyn wasn’t a fan of the one-syllable replies. He wondered if maybe it was because he’d aimed some jabs at Ren tripping over the formality of his speech. Hopefully it would blow over.

Walking back into the room, Martyn grabbed the chair from the desk and dragged it over next to his bed, facing Ren who was still holding a pile of his soaked hair wrapped in the towel against the back of his head, considering he had dog ears atop. He patted the back of the chair twice. “Do you mind if I help you get all the knots and tangles out? Or would you rather do that part yourself?” He asked.

Ren stared at him blankly a moment. Martyn felt like he was calculating some unfathomably complicated equation to decide what the answer should be. He tried his best to keep his smile easy and light.

“Ren. I promise it’s just whatever you’d prefer. I’m happy to help if you’re ok with it…but if you’re not, that’s fine too.”

Pale blue eyes blinked once. “I…” The single tone stretched a moment long. Ren averted his eyes to the left. “…p-perhaps it would…be…faster if you did it.”

Martyn hesitated. “Well…sure, maybe. But that’s not what I asked. What would you prefer?” When he lilted the word, he noticed Ren barely flinch, and he filed that information away. No strong intonations, then, those must carry a bad connotation.

This was going to be so much more complicated than he thought.

Martyn opened his hand out, eyes shifting scarlet and mana swirling from his elbow around his forearm and pooling in his palm. His comb and hairbrush appeared, followed by another potion bottle half full with some hair oil that he used himself when he was dealing with some tangling.

He set the items on the bed and glanced toward Ren again. The poor man looked like he was frozen, his tail was curled low and barely swaying, his eyes were trying to glass over again like they had earlier, and Martyn understood, or at least, he thought he did.

The conclusion made him feel frighteningly aware of the moment, yet again.

He’s not used to being given options.

It was sickening. It made him want to personally find each and every person who’d owned Ren in the past and send several fireballs down their throats. For each cigarette stub scar, and enough till his mana ran dry as even a sliver of payment for that branding iron on his back.

That wasn’t an option, though.

And Martyn couldn’t explain why he felt so strongly about it.

But in the moment, his chest was swelling with the complexities, and he made up his mind. “Ren….how about this? Let me start on it, and if at any point you’d rather me stop, or you want to finish up yourself, all you have to do is say so.”

Ren’s tail wagged slightly, and Martyn chose to read that as a positive reaction.

“Sound good?” He asked, and he received a hesitant nod. Pale blue eyes traced back onto his face, and he beamed when they landed there, trying to encourage him to keep making eye contact. A gentle nod bobbed Ren’s head up and down.

“That…does sound good, yes.”

More than one word! Progress!

Martyn would take the little victories.

Ren approached, turning to sit back in the chair. Martyn noted as he went to do so that the chair had a solid back.

“Wait, here!” He spun it, and glanced up at Ren again, checking for a reaction. “…so your tail doesn’t get squished. That wouldn’t be comfortable, and you’ll probably be here awhile with how much hair you’ve got.” He forced a chuckle.

A soft ‘huh’ emerged from Ren’s chest. It didn’t hold any sort of question in it’s tone. It was just…a noise. A quiet sound that accompanied his eyes flicked up again to see his master standing, still smiling. Carefully urging.

“…thank you.”

“Sure!”

Ren sat, straddling the back of the chair. Martyn guided him to let go of the towel holding his hair up, and so Ren wound up folding his arms atop the back. His incredible amount of dark brown hair tumbled down his back and fell just past his waist. Martyn teased it out, trying to identify where the worst knots and tangles were. He reached for his comb as he spoke again.

“Hey, Ren?”

“Yes?”

Well, at least he hadn’t tripped on trying to say ‘sir’ again.

“I’m gonna do my best here, but I might accidentally yank or tug to hard…scratch that, it’s definitely gonna happen…so if you get uncomfortable…you wanna take a break, would rather do it yourself, or even just need me to lay off, you gotta say so. Please. Can you promise me you’ll say so?”

Martyn watched Ren’s gaze, peering back over his shoulder through a stringy curtain of dark hair, wet and clumped from the washing.

“…I…I appreciate you doing this.”

Martyn had to force himself not to furrow his brow. “W-Well, you’re welcome. I don’t mind one bit. But that’s not…I just don’t want you to suck it up because you think you ought to. That’s not how it works with me. Do you understand?”

Understand?

That was asking a lot…and Martyn didn’t know it. But he’d find a way to make this work, see the eyes staring up at him in such heartbreaking confusion turn bright, try to coax a smile onto the lips drawn tight from anxiety.

Ren deserved so much better than this.

If Martyn could manage, he’d give him the world.

 

Ren

 

The whole situation didn’t exactly make sense.

And now his master was asking such a strange thing of him.

Asking him, looking at him with beautiful big green eyes, concern so obvious even as he tried to disguise it with a smile. Ren knew disguises, he lived in one, a constant cycle of masks to keep anyone and everyone pleased with him.

So what was Martyn’s disguise?

Whatever it was, Ren liked it. He wanted to think maybe it wasn’t a disguise in the first place. The witch had been nothing but kind and supportive this entire time, if maybe a bit clueless. It comforting Ren in a way he couldn’t figure out how to explain.

And it was strange.

Because Ren wasn’t used to receiving that kind of comfort. He was already so grateful for what Martyn was doing, helping him get his incredibly long hair into healthy form. Yet the witch kept insisting on asking him, on presenting with with options, and Ren wished he would stop.

Don’t I?

He tightened his grip against the back of the chair, where he was sitting backwards so Martyn could easily reach all of his long hair, wet dark brown strands spilling down his back and past his waist.

“I-I…” His breath hitched, and he forced an exhale.

He didn’t get it. He was lying. He was saying what the mask he’d chosen would say, and Ren wished it would stop.

He could feel the edges coming loose. His mask trying to pry itself off.

When was the last time he’d thought like this?

Understood that what he felt and what his role would feel were two separate things. And in such a distinct way?

“I understand.”

I don’t understand.

Martyn started combing out his hair. It was a repeat of the same thing. The witch was so gentle, and whenever he tugged or caught a tangle to hard, he’d start frantically murmuring apologies. Ren hardly felt the tugs he was apologizing for. His hair had been heavy and matted and itchy for almost a year now, and with every pull from the comb he could feel the weighty knot being teased out, straightened and removed.

He didn’t understand.

Ren truly didn’t. But he would pretend like he did. Because this felt nice, and he didn’t want it to end yet.

 

Martyn

 

He was so fixated on his task that he fell silent after awhile. It was oddly quiet and relaxing in the little inn, the tavern below was still rowdy but they were on the third floor to the sound was a distant din. At last, the blonde passed the comb all the way through Ren’s hair from just beneath his tall fluffy dog ears down to the ends, and it didn’t catch on any tangles. He ran the comb through a final few times, watching the dark brown strand card through the teeth, feeling like silk against his fingertips.

Wow…dog hybrids really have beautiful hair…no wonder he didn’t want to cut it.

Martyn considered as a smile tugged at his lips. It had taken a long time to get his hair clean and fully untangled, but now that the task was done the witch felt incredibly glad. Ren had clearly needed this badly, especially if his hair wasn’t getting cut. The entire time, the dog hybrid had slowly, slowly been unwinding in tension.

Martyn wouldn’t exactly describe Ren’s current disposition as comfortable, but it was certainly better than when they’d first gotten here and he’d been trying to suppress fearful trembling at the concept of having his hair cut.

Which is a pretty intense reaction…I mean his hair is gorgeous, but I don’t exactly get why he freaked out that badly. But I don’t care, of course I don’t. As long as he feels comfortable, that’s all that matters.

“Ok, Ren. I think I’m done.”

Martyn saw the dog ears atop his head flick and swivel back slightly toward him when he spoke, and he took a few steps back. He planted his hands on his hips and puffed his chest up proudly.

“So? What do you think?”

Ren glanced back at him, curtains of dark brown hair sweeping over his bare shoulders. In flashes, the scars that had so enraged Martyn upon first sight came and went. There weren't any spells or potions for something like that. If the wounds were still open, that would be one thing, but considering they were all healed over, it wasn’t within Martyn’s range of abilities to make them disappear.

Ren slowly stood up, his shoulders still curving forward as if to make his tall, broad shouldered physique smaller. He reached up and carded his fingers into his hair, beneath one dog ear and let the strands fall through his fingertips all the way down. Pale blue eyes raised to match Martyn’s bright green ones.

There was a flash of something Martyn wanted to ask after.

A blustering heat of emotive bravado that seemed to pass by like a shadow under the surface. As quickly as it came, it disappeared, and Ren’s eyes turned off toward the left.

“…thank you.”

“Of course! Everything feel ok?”

The corners of Ren’s lips twitched up, and Martyn’s heart swelled to see him offering a smile. It seemed slightly strained, but the witch didn’t care. He was just happy to see it.

“Yes. Feels much better.”

Martyn nodded. “Good. I’m so glad. Oh! Here.” He moved over to the small pile of his own hair care products that had ended up on the desk. Amongst the collection, some of the stuff had been in his inventory for years, he pulled out a thick black ribbon. He offered it toward Ren.

“Maybe you could use this to tie it back? Might help make sure it doesn’t get tangled so badly again.”

Martyn saw Ren’s tail sway a little faster. “That sounds like a good idea. Thank you.”

He took the ribbon, then raked his hands back through his hair several times to pull it all back into a ponytail, carefully holding the ribbon his mouth. He looped the ribbon once and then used it to tie up his hair, and Martyn found his eyes darting up and down Ren’s figure once.

Just once.

Once is all it took.

Oh…he’s hot.

It was a ridiculous sweep of a notion that Martyn frantically beat aside as he spun around. Mana rushed from his palms as he started to clean up all the various hair care items off the desk, placing them back into his inventory.

When he turned back, he saw Ren had lowered his arms from tying his hair back, and was watching Martyn. Pale blue eyes were seeming to absorb and analyze every detail, and the blonde felt his heart trying to speed up.

He felt like he was burning under Ren’s gaze. And the strangest thing was, he didn’t mind it.

He hurried to reach for the chair from the desk. “Let me put that back, and we can get ready for bed.”

Ren moved faster than him, picking up the desk chair with one arm and moving it back to it’s proper place. Martyn’s eyes widened slightly to see him completely lifting the large, heavy wooden chair with one arm when Martyn had needed to use both arms to just drag it over the floor.

“Thanks. Um…how is your leg?”

The dog hybrid blinked, then tested his weight onto the leg that, just this morning, had been badly maimed by the injury from his fight in the arena with a cat hybrid. Ren bobbed his head in a nod. “It feels all better. No soreness, even.”

Martyn was relieved. His high healing potion, which he’d used on Ren, was good enough, then. The pride he’d felt in graduating with that potion finally perfected hadn’t been misplaced.

“Good. I’m glad.”

The witch saw Ren’s lips pull into the small smile as he quickly redirected his gaze toward the floor. Martyn felt a swirl in his stomach, something disconcerting but also fluttery and brand new.

Who is he?

Martyn understood he didn’t know. He didn’t actually know.

Whoever Ren was, he hid that person. Tried to protect them from getting hurt. Hurt any more than he already had been, so many times that his skin showed the results like a patchwork monument to his agonies.

No more. He’ll never have to suffer another scar.

And who was he to promise something like that?

What he was promising Ren, even if it was only in his own mind for now, was his freedom. An opportunity to carry on to the free hybrid cities and live a life of his choosing. There was no need to cling so tightly to the need to know Ren before that eventually goodbye. See past all these layers that were concealing someone he got the smallest inklings of, like a bleed-through on paper.

“Why don’t we get some rest?”

“…yes.” Ren said the word stiltedly, and his eyes moved around the room awkwardly. He clearly didn’t know how to handle himself with how Martyn was treating him, but Martyn would care for every moment of that transition as best he could.

Why?

What did he care?

At the end of this journey, all he wanted was to be alone.

But as they got into their beds, turning in for their first night of many on this long journey across the continent, Martyn felt oddly grateful.

He didn’t know him, yet.

But he felt like if it were Ren, he was happy not to be alone.

Notes:

There we go! This one dragged out a bit longer than I intended, but it's finally all wrapped up! For now, my plan is not to upload anything until February 1st, at which point we will be launching into Febuwhump! I'm planning to spend my writing time for the next few days trying to pile up more of the prompts and try to get most if not all of them done before the month begins, but we'll see how that goes. I make no promises. So yeah, nothing for a little bit, but then you'll be in for a month-long treat of (hopefully) daily uploads! So please look forward to it! In the meantime, please drop a comment if you have any thoughts, they help Ren and Martyn sleep well, and please come say hi if you're on tumblr! @amethystfairy1
Thanks for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 11 of Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU}