He Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way

Scott's Last Breath

There was no time. He was swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming for salvation, swimming to get away, swimming to live. Jimmy and Martyn were both there. He remembered Jimmy had given him time to hide. To hide before Jimmy set out to kill him and gain an extra hour. Scott was a target now. People were getting desperate.

Water began to fill his lungs. Scott was grateful he was a small part fish so that water would let him live, but now that he was approaching Yellow Life, even his fish anatomy was letting up and the water would kill him soon. Each panicked inhalation of water sent him closer to death.

"Martyn!" Scott cried out. His voice was muffled, but the look on Martyn's face spoke volumes. His friend nodded. He needed Martyn to kill him instead of Jimmy. Martyn was his ally. If Scott was going to die, then he wanted Martyn to be the one to take the extra hour. Not Jimmy.

"Scott, come to me!" Jimmy yelled through the water. Scott wouldn't. He couldn't.

His mind brought back memories filled with his husband in the flower fields, the flower crowns they wore and the small rings of twine as their wedding rings. He remembered standing in front of a grave with a poppy dropped at its base. He remembered dying and seeing his flower husband again.

Scott felt the searing pain of two blades piercing his body. Blood flowed out and into the water, staining it red in a gruesome pool of blood and pain.

He wanted it to end. He wished he could just die and avoid being constantly hunted down as the one on the server with the most lives.

Scott saw the wounds. He saw the wide gaping injuries littering his sides, chest, arms and legs. Locking eyes with Martyn, a final unspoken message was sent.

He was about to die. He was so low on health. Scott prayed in his mind that Martyn would deliver the blow. He hoped that, when he respawned, he'd be held by his fellow member of the Mean Gills, his ally, the only person he could really trust.

Scott's vision went black.

He felt his heart stop.

His body went cold.

The final damning message in the world, horrific words spelled out in the minds of every single player.

Smajor was slain by InTheLittleWood

At least his ally would get to live a little longer.

Gold Is Appealing

The crown weighs heavy upon its wearer's brow. Each passing day makes the crown grow heavier, and the wearer grows wearier with each day. Some say that a curse had been placed upon this crown during the first brawl to take place over its ownership. That, in the bloodshed of the rulers, the crown had been cursed to bring death and misfortune in its wake, and that any who wear it face cruel and startling punishments. For some, this means betrayal from one whom they'd loved, being poisoned in their own domain. For others, the crown brought magical powers beyond their own control, causing a harsh and gruelling winter to befall their lands.

It is needless to say that the crown had been swamped with misery and famine since the first few days of its creation. And that it had been buried long ago for good measure.

Pix had failed to read that in his books. But to be fair, there hadn't been many accounts detailing this crown, and those that did contain information were...vague, at best. So he'd seen no issue with donning the crown and wearing it with pride. He'd made his rule, as the books had mentioned within his newfound capabilities, and for the short time of having it, Pix had almost enjoyed it. Not the power itself, no. In other circumstances Pix wouldn't dare do such a thing. But in the name of history, he simply had to, if only to keeep the crown's rich tradition alive.

Perhaps it had been this that caused his untimely demise.

During that tea party at Glimmergrove, Pix hadn't initially thought much when he started withering. He'd assumed that Katherine had found him. After all, he had seen that Katherine did kill those that she managed to find. All in good sport, of course. The respawn ability every ruler shared was used not in life-or-death situations, but mostly as a measure of strength; a way to test how long one may survive against a terrible foe, or when they're on the brink of death from poisoning.

But when he did die, he came back...different. A ghost. A spectral figure that startled the other rulers upon seeing him. Pix had, quite literally, become as dead as history. He'd merged with it. Was that meant to be his fate all along? Condemned to live as a ghost after a light-hearted discovery and some innocent tradition-upkeeping? That didn't seem fair to him.

Scott had the crown now. At first he hadn't meant to acquire it. He'd simply stood nearby and accidentally retrieved the fallen things of the late Pix. And that meant he had to put out his own decree for the other rulers to follow. There wasn't anything he really wanted. Scott was a collector at heart; an adventurer. He'd spent a large part of his life travelling, permanently borrowing artefacts and living freely. It hadn't really been his intention to become King of Chromia, but he took it in his stride. In fact, he had been planning to continue his streak of permanently borrowing other people's possessions. So for now, he administered a simple task: build a statue, building or other form of structure for Chromia. He'd laid out the borders, and left it at that.

But upon his return home, he'd encountered a most peculiar note left for him. It requested that he create a Brown Mooshroom and take it to a place called the Hollow. Scott knew something bad or risky when he saw it. And this note definitely had sinister connotations. Would this lead to his death the same way Pix had perished? There was no real way to tell for sure.

The crown was laced in malice. None would know this. Perhaps a demon from the days of the past had cursed it. A demon that had cursed it as a last resort in case he was sentenced to death.

Who knows? All we know for sure was one thing.

That gold, the very gold within the crown, was appealing to all rulers.

Beach Day

The sun in Tumble Town was scorching. The air was hot and heavy as tumbleweeds rolled through the streets. The tavern teemed with life, many coming to hear stories or play games or just to relax with a drink and forget about their troubles. Children ran about playing games within their imagination; some took on the roles of mighty dragons or fearless warriors, powerful witches and royalty. No tiny corner of stories was free from the whimsical nature of each fickle child running amok.

And away from it all, down at the lagoon, two rulers were finally starting to relax.

Sausage wasted no time in gleefully diving into the water. With a comically large grin on his face, he plunged into the lagoon and let out a mighty laugh as the cool water collided with his skin. He resurfaced, shaking his head. His hair, now wet, fell over his eyes, some parts sticking to his forehead.

Scott followed soon after. A peculiar mix of reckless elegance, he leapt into the water with a ginormous splash. The water felt natural around his skin. Familiar and inviting. For a second he could feel the phantom feeling of scales on his skin and gills. But just as quick as it came, the feeling dispersed like a school of fish approached by a predator. He, too, resurfaced with a calm grin. His eyes sparkled with delight.

The two rulers laughed. They could forget their duties to their homes for now. Because they weren't rulers at the moment. They were just two friends enjoying themselves on a hot day.

Neither had paid much attention to the cod statue. It set off an untouched part of their minds, scratching at an itch they didn't even know existed. Seeing the statue felt satisfying, in some way. They couldn't explain the feeling that washed over them, but chose to blame it on the heat and the water.

And as Scott had pointed out, their tattoos did form a heart. A heart of colour and vibrancy, and of a floral beauty rooted to the earth. The whimsy of magic and all of its bizarre and wondrous reaches, and the nature of existence in sentience and material.

It didn't take long for Jimmy to spot them both. Seeing two shirtless men at a lagoon wasn't exactly common in Tumble Town. Nor were the tattoos that either man possessed. No resident in Tumble Town had a tattoo so bright and colourful, nor one so floral and rooted. He was able to identify both of these men almost immediately.

They welcomed Jimmy with open arms and a bright smile. And after a bit Jimmy joined them in the water with the (mandatory) adopted goblin child with him.

Soon afterwards fWhip joined them. And whilst the goblin ruler did not really go in the water that much, he was still pleasant company.

And even though the sun was setting, it had no effect on the quartet. No sunset would dampen their joy because their joy reached further than the farthest horizons.

Alas, they had to depart. They did have their own homes to rule after all.

But they wouldn't forget their beach day, no matter how distant and foggy that memory would become.

All Reigns Come To An End

It's over now.

Joey disappeared into the sunset. The sea churning below, wind in his hair. The rhythmic action of rowing the boat calmed him. No matter what, the sea would always call to him like the sirens that lived in its majestic waters. He was glad to not be alone. With others by his side, traversing the sea was even better.

Joel had ascended. He'd always known Jimmy was a toy; that reassurance wasn't exactly needed, but was satisfying. And even if Hermes...didn't seem to like him, at least his son was grown up now. And everyone left him. So he made his goodbyes and joined the other Lore Gods.

Scott and Owen were adventuring together. Scott delighted in the thrill of the risk; the dangers that came with raiding tombs and collecting things. Even if that skull came to mind, Owen was always there to comfort him. He was rarely afforded privacy with Owen, but he didn't mind. They both did things for Chromia, even though Scott definitely did more. Adventure called to them both, and they were kindred spirits bonded together with it.

Shelby eventually chose her track of magic. Lightning coursed through her veins, and the storms bent to her will. She grinned as the rain poured outside her home. That date with Katherine had been wonderful. Perhaps she could go on one with her later. But that letter in her letterbox wouldn't read itself.

Katherine's curse was gone now. Even though her parents weren't too keen on her monster-hunting, the monsters would always exist. Who else would get rid of them? She delighted in protecting her kingdom. And visiting Shelby didn't sound too bad. She did promise a date after all.

FWhip smiled as the racket of the tavern filled his ears. Downing another goblet of mead, he wiped his mouth with his hand and joined the drunkards in their joyful melody. Ecstasy rode through his veins and he did nothing to stop it. Surrounded by friends, he eased into his own comfort.

Pix was satisfied. He'd done everything he'd wanted. Pride flowed through him as he looked upon everything he had accomplished and he couldn't resist the relieved grin that curled at his lips.

Jimmy protected Tumble Town as best he could. The Old Sheriff was brilliant to be around, if not a little odd from time to time. He was content. Sure, there'd be bandits one way or another. The law would always need upholding. But for now? Rest sounded good. And being with the Old Sheriff? Seemed like a nice ending to him.

Oli's Olipeligo was beautiful. His own refuge. His home. Old memories of old faces still popped in from time to time, but he didn't need them. Memories of the Orb, of vampires and angels, of thornlings and dragons, had all but gone now. Replaced by collectors and princesses, by sheriffs and gods and goblins.

Everyone's reign was over. Would new ones begin, or were the history books finally complete?

For now, their reigns had come to an end.

It was over now.

A Dead Canary In The Garden

Scott stared out of his window in a trance. The shimmering water of the lake was illuminated by the golden rays of light from the sun dipping below the horizon. Trees surrounded this lake in a protective circle in a desperate effort to hide the lake from Scott's clutches. That's what it felt like. But in all fairness, he wasn't exactly the best person to have around. Death and decay clung to him, shackles that he could never remove no matter how hard he tried. Maybe once he could have done it, but not anymore. Not since the one person Scott loved more than life had been taken from him.

Now he was resigned to watching the lake from a distance. He didn't trust himself to go near it. Maybe later. For now, it felt like attempting such a feat would end badly. Particularly with the lake evaporating or bubbling to the point where it would burn anyone who even tried to come near it. Almost like how Scott had tried to hide himself from the other witches. After all, wouldn't he always be the bad guy in their stories? The Necromantic Witch, who brought the undead with him wherever he went, who cursed those he deigned worthy of such burdens, who would actively seek out trouble by attacking his fellow witches or simply messing with them. Thinking back on it, he didn't even know if he was the good guy in his own story. How could he be?

Sighing to himself, Scott left the confines of his house. The walls sought to suffocate him, and that wasn't something Scott could deal with right now. But what if he let it happen? If he let the walls suck the air out of his lungs and finally allow Scott to die? Would he be happy? Would Scott finally see him again? He chuckled to himself. If the Necromantic Witch had died, he had no doubt in his mind that the others would find it amusing. The irony of it pulled another laugh out of his lungs.

Wandering slowly outside, he allowed his feet to carry him. He didn't have a particular destination in mind. As long as he was moving, he'd be fine. Movement meant he was alive. Or maybe he'd been reanimated by a different necromancer. Either way, it meant he was walking, which was good. Most of the time, death meant nothingness for eternity. Or so that's what all those books had taught him.

To his surprise, he found himself in a familiar part of the forest. One he hadn't been to since he received the letter stating he'd be partaking in a competition to become Supreme Witch. Since he had built the home they had dreamt of before-....

He shook his head.

Scott approached the back of the cabin. A small patch of grass lay behind it, distinctly out of place. It was a far brighter patch of grass than the decayed grass surrounding it. A single flower was left there along with a small headstone with lovingly carved words on its surface. Scott remembered carving it. The grief that had wracked his body almost made him mess up. Luckily, he'd managed to carve it correctly without any huge mistakes.

"Hello again Petal," Scott said quietly. He stared down at the flower on the ground. A poppy. Symbolising death and remembrance. "Do you like the flower? I'm sorry I couldn't get you more. Flowers don't seem to like me much anymore." He paused. No answer came from the grave. Only silence. "I love you. And I will get you back. I promise." He knelt down and picked up the poppy. He kissed each one of its many petals and carefully placed it back on the grave.

One way or another, he would bring him back.

Curse of Victory

Scott sat in his house, perched on his bed, with a book in his lap and a pencil in his hands. He turned to a blank page, then gazed pensively out his window and at the view.

He tapped his pencil against the corner of his lip.

In the past, he'd written about his allies and the chaos of the server. He'd documented the advancements made to the base. He recorded silly, useless details that had potential to become useful in the future.

Mostly though, he tried articulating his memories.

Other players - specifically the ones who hadn't been cursed blessed with victory - had poor recollection of past games. The memories were still there, they would still reappear from time to time, but mostly they lurked in the dark recesses of their minds until called upon. Those memories were old. They had no purpose to them other than to have them keep playing; the reward for victory, after all, was to remember.

Grian remembered everything. Scott knew that he remembered throwing himself off a cliff, cheating on Scar, his slow yet steady loss of his fellow Bad Boys until he had been left alone.

Pearl remembered everything, too. She knew about the trio he, her and Cleo had been in the past; how she had been abandoned by her soulmate yet still came out on top, and Scott took his life so she wouldn't have to suffer in that world longer; how she had at first been in a duo in the Nosy Neighbours, which soon became a trio.

Martyn remembered. He had been the Red King's Hand, his loyal soldier and servant who'd had the burden honour of taking his king's life. He, too, was left by his soulmate and had spent weeks trying to undo his wrongs and get back in her good books. He had been Scott's only ally in the last life game, loyal and devoted, and had taken the mantle of victor.

Scott knew what they remembered, because they had told him. In the cold, empty Void, awaiting the next game as they sat alone with no company but each other, they didn't have much else to do except share what they remembered.

He remembered flower fields with Jimmy, a poppy tucked behind his ear and a wedding ring of twine around his finger. He remembered his allyship with Pearl and Cleo, which split into a duo in the life game afterwards. He remembered the fish tail that had swished behind him and still half-expected it to be there at night.

Most of all, they all remembered the pain.

Scott had tried articulating his thoughts, writing them on paper to go over later. It didn't work, predictably. But the sentiment had been there.

Martyn and Jimmy were Red Lives now.

It was an odd thought. Jimmy had never had the best luck in the games, always being the first one to be eliminated from the game. He had been a terrible ally - always so accident-prone and clumsy - but he'd also been joyful and kind. He had been as vibrant as the colour of his canary wings, and burned as bright as the sun.

It seemed sensible that Jimmy would go down so quickly.

Martyn, on the other hand...

Martyn was vicious. He was ruthless and cunning and quick. In the heat of battle, his sword always struck true. He was a fighter, from birth to death. He did not die easily.

But, like all of them, he was mortal. And he was human. He was subject to such things as mortality.

Scott scribbled this down as best he could. His handwriting, normally pristine and fancy, was erratic and scruffy. The others would probably think someone else wrote this, but the winners would know.

They always did.

He set down his pencil and lay down, staring up at the ceiling.

His bed felt cold.

He sat up again and rose to his feet. He shuffled to his door, opened it, stepped outside into the cool night air and began to walk. Where, he couldn't say. His feet were carrying him in whichever direction they saw fit.

Scott left behind the plateau on the mountain and approached the open field at Spawn.

He spotted Martyn standing there awkwardly, yawning and dragging his feet along the ground.

"Martyn? What are you doing up this late?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," Martyn replied. His eyes glimmered red, sparkling rubies or flowing blood. Either way, they were beautiful. "Besides, a little Green Life out here, with no protection, and with a Red Life no less."

"You wouldn't try anything."

"Wouldn't I?"

"No." He spoke with conviction. He slowly drew nearer to the Red Life and paused a few centimetres from him. Scott cupped Martyn's cheek, and the Red Life leaned into the touch ever so slightly. There was hesitation in his eyes.

Martyn sighed, taking a step back. "I want this to end."

"You want to go back to the Void that much?"

"No? Yes? I don't know! It's... it's frustrating." He folded his arms and stared at the floor. "I just want things to be clear again. I want to talk to you without feeling the urge to rip your arms off. Hell, I want to talk to people in general!"

Scott grabbed Martyn gently by the arm. Without a word, they both travelled up to Pearl's base. He knocked on the door and was met with the image of Pearl - bushy hair, bags under her eyes - grumbling to herself.

"What?"

Scott, with Martyn in tow, pushed past and into the room. "Wait here," he commanded. "I'll be back soon."

He quickly ran up to the plateau, silently sneaking into his house and taking the bed. He legged it all the way back, using the diving board for assistance. He placed it down up against a free spot on the wall.

Pulling the covers back, he hopped in and patted the space next to him. Martyn nervously crawled in.

Pearl watched them awkwardly. Then she sent out a message via her comm.

"We're having a winners' sleepover." she stated.

Scott nodded.

Grian appeared a few minutes later, with two other beds. He placed them near to Scott's and the other two victors got under the covers.

"To victory, and shitty memories." Scott said, and the others repeated it.

Scott and Martyn tangled in each other's limbs with a small smile on their faces. It felt good, to be like this again. He'd missed it.

As slumber overcame him, Scott had one final thought.

He was home.

Bertha's Lament

Forever aside, Left to abide By the rules that she set Not allowed to forget

Watching them thrive Barely alive They took my prize In front of my eyes

But I'm not done yet They've not passed the test I'm waiting for my chance For my powers to enhance

I'll reclaim what's mine All in due time And none of them have a clue What they're helping me do

I'll undo my curse Then put her back in the hearse My power I'll enrich And become the Supreme Witch

The Colony

Scott could feel the mushrooms.

Every tiny nook and cranny that he could place them in wasn't safe to the eyes of his brethren. Through them he could see. Through them he could hear. Through them he could feel.

There was no privacy in the colony. Everything was shared. That way no one had to deal with things alone.

But that also meant that Scott's pain was shared with the entire colony. His anguish, his agony, his sorrow. Every mushroom in his colony felt it and resonated with it.

He hated it. Hated how miserable he made his colony feel.

But as quickly as it'd come, the hatred would dissipate as the mushrooms soothed him with gentle words. His mind would be lulled into silence with their tender tune of love and adoration; because why wouldn't they adore him? Not many fungal mages roamed the lands anymore. They were few; a tiny sub-populace, a dying minority that would fade away.

The colony couldn't let him be destroyed by his sadness. He was the one spreading their power across the world. So they treated him like the blessing he was.

Scott sat on the mycellium outside his house, one hand tenderly stroking the ground and humming a small melody.

"How are you settling in? Hmm. That's good. I was worried that Martyn's Dollop would be a bit hard to adjust to. It's nice to know you're doing well. Oh? Don't tell me you just learned about the Coliny. They're nice, I promise. Yes, I know, you'll be fine! They aren't competition. They are just... frozen creepers? Yeti creepers? Something like that."

The mycellium around him spoke in a mixture of tones and voices.

"Oh no, I doubt Martyn will find you too quickly. He'll take a while at least. Probably a couple weeks. Maybe some months. He isn't as dense as I'd like him to be, but he's dumb enough."

He felt their worry. Their fear of discovery. And at that he shook his head and tutted.

"Don't fret, my babies. If he does try to uproot you or hurt you..." He trailed off and glared at the sinking sun. "I'll show the fury of the colony. Every single one of his colins shall fall."

It was a promise. The sun, the moon and the blinking stars were his witnesses.

"What's this about killing my colins?"

"Oh. Martyn." Scott stood up and greeted the chillager. "How are you? Is there something you need?"

"Nah, just passing through," Martyn waved him off. "Although, what happened to your last origin?"

"I died."

"I know that! What are you now? How'd you die?"

He shrugged. "Fell. But now I'm even better! I'm a fungal mage!"

Martyn tilted his head like a puzzled puppy. "What's that?"

Scott didn't give him an answer. "I'm not alone now. I have my colony! No matter where I go, as long as I have mycellium, they are with me as well. It's wonderful! Nothing is private anymore! I don't need to worry about secrets! Or going through things alone!"

"I-"

"You'd love it Martyn. It's like never losing your inner child. Like always being able to cling to the parts of you that you love most. I have help for every problem!"

"This doesn't seem healthy." Martyn stepped forward and placed his hand on Scott's cheek. "Are you sure you're alright?" His touch was cold, but it didn't bother him. Scott leaned into it.

"Perfectly fine!"

Martyn's lips tugged down for a second, but returned to a thin line of indifference.

"I'd best be off."

"See you later!" Scott smiled, waving as his friend went away.

---

"He's not okay."

"What do you think it is?"

"He kept mentioning a colony. Acted as if he had a psychic connection with them as long as he had mycellium."

"Hmm. Check everyone's bases. There might be stuff there."

"You sure? What if we're just, y'know, overestimating this? It might just be harmless."

"I doubt it."

"Fine. I'll start looking."

I'm not gonna lie, I was terrified Pentious was gonna die permanently. Knowing that he's in heaven had me SO happy. This man deserves the world, and I can rest happy knowing that he got probably one of the best outcomes of the situation.

HI!

Scott felt tremors in his body. Particles flitted around him like tiny fireflies at night, their tiny lights cast onto his body. The rings of energy on his arms emitted a low hum that filled the silence.

He took a deep breath.

The particles exploded around him, a swirling vortex of blue and orange. Scott's body slowly dissipated, breaking apart into a flurry of the particles that always clung to him. It was never a painful sensation, only slightly tingly. Sometimes there'd be an ache that spread through his limbs, but mostly it was okay. Probably would just take some...getting used to.

He reappeared back at home. From where he stood, Scott could faintly see some of the crops in his farm were nearly fully grown, and a content smile curled at his lips. Like the others, he was starting with nothing and building up from there.

Someone ran towards him. A familiar someone. Someone dressed in a thick and warm blue coat with a fur-lined hood. Someone with blond hair and bright cornflower blue eyes. A grin curled at their lips as they approached.

"Scott!"

"Hi Martyn," Scott replied. "How are you?"

"Good, good." A pregnant pause settled over the two of them.

"Wanna help me farm? I could do with an extra pair of hands." Scott gestured at the farm loosely, mostly focused on Martyn's expression.

"Sure! Happy to help."

The two of them jumped over the (admittedly quite low) fence surrounding the farm. Hefting a hoe over his shoulders, Scott strode towards the cabbages and started from there. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Martyn over near the tomatoes.

As crops were harvested and seeds were planted, Scott's eyes kept drifting over to Martyn. Something about him felt familiar.

Scott resurfaced, water beaded across his skin. His clothes were soaked, his hair too, but he couldn't bring it in himself to care. A man sat on the edge of an island, legs dangling over the edge and kicking rhythmically in the water. Scott swam over, his gills fanning out and tail swishing in mischievous mirth as he wrapped his hand around the man's ankle and yanked him into the water.

"Scott!" The man spluttered, coughing up water. Scott grinned in response and wrapped his arms around the man with an airy laugh.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," He looked up at the man's eyes. His reflection stared back. Scott's hand cupped the man's cheek. Both struggled to remain afloat; their legs kicked relentlessly, but got tangled together too often for both to continue to stay above the water's surface.

Scott swam over to the island and clambered back onto solid ground, the man in tow behind him. When both were on the island, Scott's arms were wrapped around his neck, the man's wrapped around his waist. The two let out a satisfied sigh. After a few moments, their lips pressed together for a second, and parted as soon as they'd come together.

Scott swung his hoe again. It swept the cabbages up quickly, and he scooped them up from the ground and into his inventory. Hastily replanting the seeds, he glanced over at Martyn. He seemed done with the tomatoes, and was already halfway through the potatoes. Scott went to join him.

"You okay? You seem tired." Martyn said, ever observant.

"I'm fine. Besides it's not nighttime yet."

"Did you sleep?" Scott nodded. "Okay. Good. Well, maybe we could take a break. I've not been inside your house yet. Maybe you can give me a tour?"

"Okay. Follow me." Scott put the hoe back in his inventory. The two of them jumped back over the fence and walked around to Scott's door.

Their footsteps came to a halt simultaneously. Scott's hand pushed the door open, and they both stepped inside.

"So...nice house," Martyn remarked within seconds. "It looks nice."

Scott hummed in response. "Thanks."

He took another look at Martyn. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't quite place it yet. It was like the feeling he often got with Jimmy, only he'd think about hobbit houses, flower crowns and a pufferfish with a misspelt name.

Martyn was like the sea air, coral and loyalty. Like warmth, protection and joy. But that couldn't be true. The Martyn Scott knew was cold, but jovial. He froze, not warmed. He didn't supply comfort on a lonely night riddled with nightmares of explosions, arrows piercing his body or lightning ripping through him. He was the mountains surrounding his kingdom, the ice he could control and rip through houses with. Martyn wasn't the kindness of a flower field or the brightness of a town bursting with cuddly llamas and colours. He was the snow you made snowmen with, the snowstorms you hid from in your home with a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.

Scott was shaken from his thoughts as Martyn handed him cooked pork and sat with him to eat. He smiled, taking a bite into the food and smiling at the warmth filling his mouth. Martyn, freezer, bringer of the cold and a being of ice, had been able to bring Scott warmth indirectly.

Martyn laughed at nothing in particular. Scott laughed with him.