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The king's breaths were sharp and desperate, feeling like the ice crystals were crawling down his throat and sticking to the frostbitten skin... Each one brought a disgusting taste of iron up to his tongue.

Ren was never really bothered by the cold, he wasn't sure if it was because of the very warm costume or if he was just naturally more resistant, but now, laying in the painted snow with his clothes torn and his throat sliced open... He hated how freezing it was.

A manic laugh was blurred by the blood in his ears. Scott and Joel were proud of their successful hunt... Did they know that he was still alive? Ren has observed the behaviour of the winners, they're observant, scarily observant... They would hear his pained grunts and heaving body... So why were they walking away?

Then it hit him, letting the snowflakes sting his face, he's too weak to be an issue for them, so instead of wasting time by landing thr killing blow, they leave him to bleed out in the snow.

That is no way for a king to die... Such an undignified and pathetic way... At least he died fighting. At least it was by the side of his-

...Martyn!

Ren's tired eyes shot open, he let in another painful breath as he turned to his side. Not so far away from him was a small mound of red and black, he barely recognised the crimson hand on his hand as his cloak was stained with both his and the blood of the enemy team.

He opened his mouth, hoping to call out to his hand, but uttering a word that felt like sweet nectar and honey never seemed so difficult. Copper flooded his mouth and weighted his tongue down, allowing barely a noise out of the pathetic ruler.

He didn't have much time, Ren knew how death felt like... Believe it or not, the worst part wasn't the scorching Molten lava, melting his skin away... Or the pointed drip stone, skewering his skull and punching a hole through his brain... Or even the deafening explosion that blistered his skin...

No, it was the feeling of failure... Every single time there was a nagging voice, his own, that told him he could have done better, that he could have gotten further, that he could have helped his teammates more... Nothing ever felt perfect for him. He hated it.

And now, staring at his hand laying in the snow, once again failing his most trusted follower by dying before fulfilling the true meaning of the red winter... He wished to already be dead and in the void, so he doesn't have to feel this disgusting feeling again.

His head spun, he wasn't sure if the blood loss was playing tricks on him or if he just saw Martyn shiver.

A memory played back into his mind. Tall spruce walls and valleys of carrot, a place he will never see again... He remembers a calm before the storm, Martyn muttering a swear when a needle accidently stung his finger.

Over the couple of weeks in Dogwarts, Ren learned that Martyn was flexible, he could be anyone and do almost anything.. but one of the things he didn't really do well with was snow. He remembered Martyn's runny nose everytime he came back from his patrols, he remembered his shivering fingers when the first bits of snow came.

Martyn wasn't a winter person, he much rather liked the beauty of a blooming spring than the serenity of crystal white snow... Which is why Ren didnt understand why his cloak was much thinner than his own.

Every time he asked, there would always be a different excuse:

"There wasn't enough wool for both of us."

"I forgot."

"It's easier for me to move with less layers."

It wasn't until his death, when in the last moments he heard Martyn cry his name out for the final time that he realised.

He didn't want him to get cold...

Haha... That's so sweet...

...

Ren's claws dug into the snow, a rush of adrenaline pushed itself outward, forcing the king to try and crawl through the red frost.

It hurt, his hands shook even through the numbness of the frostbite, the open wounds created a path of blood the closer he got to Martyn. A part of him didn't understand what the point was, they're both good as dead anyway, but the rest wanted to do this last thing, a little thing to soften the acidic taste of disappointment in his heart.

He took a grasp of Martyn's shoulder, he used what leftover strength he had to throw a bit of his cape over the corpse.

A wave of nausea hit the weakened king, his bloodied hand left limp over the hand's waist, he couldn't even cover him fully, his legs were left half-buried in the snow and his neck and head were fully exposed to the freezing air.

With his arms and legs frozen, he pushed his head and chest forward to press against Martyn's back. Ren's head pressed against the back Martyn's neck, seeing his golden strands of hair as he closed his eyes.

Ren let out a shallow breath, the warm blood flowing out of his breath gave a calming feeling, like a warm cup of milk on a cold winter night.

There was a yell, a celebration from the winner of this death game, but Ren didn't pay it any mind, all he cared about was keeping Martyn calm... He ignored the thoughts that told him the unnaturally cold body was already dead, he just forced his teary eyes shut and curled up deeper against his back, letting his blood mix with the one of his trusted hand.

Ren let out his final breath, a weightlessness welcoming him to the void while the body of a body and king and his hand laid in the snow.

The snowflakes would bury the unlucky soulmates until land and sky starts warming up again. When spring comes, they'll still be there, keeping eachother warm and safe... Only then can the earth start to forget the red and white flag that those two waved with pride.

But the people will never forget the story of the Red king and his hand.