resurrect the saint within the wretch
Warden’s ears turn towards the familiar voice befor his head and neck follow, the deep blue of his gemstone horns sparkling beneath the warm Tephran sunshine that falls through the jungle canopy in pockets of gold light. His white brows rise in surprise, turning the entirety of his overo frame towards his approaching nephew, the lithe bones of his stark white wings flexing somewhat with what could be deciphered as excitement for the stallion. His nose wrinkles at his title said aloud - not King, but Uncle. “You know I’ve always hated that,” he tells him, for the two had always been more like brothers than anything else - even moreso than Warden and Svedka. The age difference always posed difficulty for the now-King and he instead found an easier friendship in both Rhaegor and his sister, Warlight, when he was younger.
It is not often that Warden’s stoic expression is replaced with some other emotion besides neutrality (or deep, terrible sadness and sometimes that raging anger that accompanies his curse), but upon seeing the deep dapples of tawny gold and the ringlets of blue, the King’s sharp edges wear away and soften, revealing that a true smile is rather handsome on his face. There is even a chuckle that resounds deep in his chest at Rhaegor’s bow, feeling the gesture sincere but at the same time unneeded when it is someone he cares for so much doing so. “Thank you, Rhaegor.”
The Watcher steps forward when Rhaegor does, meeting chest to chest so that they may embrace each other in the same way they did years ago on the river. The memory is distant, but Warden’s unable to forget most things that come to his mind. They were both different than they are now, back at the river, and Warden wonders if it is for the better. The burden of his visions still weighs heavy on his heart, plaguing him in a way he knows affects the relationships of those around him. He is hardened by it, sometimes cold as stone, but there are some who are able to break through the tiny fissures and remind him he is more than a beacon for death.
When Warden steps back from the other stallion, the warmth on his face drains slightly. His visions had not stopped since he had seen his nephew last and if anything, they were more devastating. He even hesitates, not sure if Rhaegor wanted the details of each death he had witnessed, or even to know of the fires that plagued the North, or that the East only spared Tephra due to an alliance made before his succession - and that it was one he agreed to keep, for the safety of all their families.
“Too much,” he admits with a heavy sigh and a toss of his horned head. “I can share, if it is a load you have room to carry.” Warden smiles weakly, feeling strange that he has brought such ache to a reunion that should be carefree and happy.
@[Rhaegor]