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Anharion comes back to himself in stages. His mind is nothing but static, a hollowness in his chest telling him it’s hard to breathe but that it’s alright, he doesn’t need air to survive anyway.
The battle has long since ended. That much he is sure of; survivors - if even there were any - have gone to regroup and recharge.
Survivors survivors survivors
As Anharion stands with his back to Sarcean (who’s still knelt behind him, eyes clear yet unseeing as they stare at the S forever burned into the ground in front of them), protecting him (always protecting because if not Anharion than who else), he can’t help but begin to tremble.
Because what’s in front of him….
He’s called from his numb state at the sound of Sarcean moving, becoming aware, standing. Shoulder to shoulder they become one, an immovable force in the wake of everything unholy.
“I’m sorry,”Sarcean says, “That you had to witness.”
When he turns to look, Anharion is horrified to find that there’s a shine to Sarcean’s eyes that’s usually not there. He steps forward swiftly, soundly, and raises his hands to cup his beloved’s cheeks. Sarcean’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into the contact, and Anharion feels his heart break into pieces when Sarcean’s face crumbles. This is the man Anharion loves; beautiful and gentle and oh, so breakable, and Anharion does not swipe away the first tear to fall. There are more quick to follow, each of them silent, and Anharion does nothing but bring their foreheads together. More often than not, Sarcean needs this: a quiet reassurance that he’s in the right, a reminder that he isn’t alone, a promise that he won’t ever have to do this alone. But little to never does he cry.
Anharion thinks the change has to do with the carnage in the valley below them; never before have this many lions and unicorns alike been lost at once - least of all because of Sarcean.
Anharion knows this is war. Horrendous things were bound to happen. But this…. white and gold manes, long tails and luscious coats now drowned in a deep, tangy red- Anharion wonders how many Sarcean knew by name.
Minutes, perhaps hours, pass in silence, and when Sarcean finally has gathered enough strength to pull away - to look in Anharion’s eyes - he is no longer drowning in sorrow, but anger. Hatred fills his eyes, deep and endless.
“I will burn them.” He says, and it’s a promise.