synecdoche [renchanting]

[waveridden]

Title: synecdoche

Fandom: Life Series SMP

Prompt: sleeplessness/insomnia

Rating: G

Summary: Martyn works. His king knows, always. [Renchanting, 364 words]

“Hand.”

“Milord,” Martyn says, not quite looking up. There’s plenty to worry about, battle plans to be drawn, villagers to be protected. Most of this is under the king’s purview, but that just means that it’s under Martyn’s, and the king has enough to do.

“What are you doing?”

”I’m, ah…” What is he doing? He frowns, shuffling through some of the papers. “Something to do with farms?”

“If you can’t answer,” says his king, voice rumbling low with amusement, “then you probably aren’t doing your best work.”

There’s a point there, but Martyn isn’t inclined to acknowledge it. “It needs to get done.”

“By the king.”

“I’m the Hand of the King, you know.” Martyn lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers, and finally turns to face the king. “Part of you, right?”

“Yes,” allows the king, because he would never deny Martyn that simple truth. He’s watching, small smile, brows furrowed. “You need rest, Hand.”

It’s late. Martyn is well aware that it’s late. “Is it late?” he says, letting surprise color his voice. “Gosh, I couldn’t tell, just me and the—” his eyes flick back to the papers. “Farmland planning.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I’ve slept recently enough.”

“Not for the phantoms, Hand,” says the king, which… doesn’t make sense. Martyn doesn’t need to sleep, the king needs to. “For your…”

He trails off. Martyn’s mind leaps to finish the sentence: for yourself, for your king, for your peace of mind. He cares about one of those things. Well, one and a half.

“I’ll sleep,” Martyn says, an easy lie. He can get away with sleeping every other night to keep the kingdom running.

His king looks at him, pinning him in place. Martyn doesn’t sleep because he’ll dream. Imagine. Hope. Because his eyes will be closed and his king will be in that much more danger because of it.

“See to it that you do,” says the king — says Ren at last, and turns away. “A king with one hand is a sorry king indeed.”

Martyn watches him leave, then turns back to the farm papers in the flickering torchlight. He’ll rest. It might not be tonight, but he will.