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Martin tightened his arms around Jon as the Panopticon collapsed around them. He ignored the warm stickiness seeping into his jumper and the pained edge to Jon's breathing. He grit his teeth against the first impacts of masonry, merely shifting his weight to shield his boyfriend from the worst of the blows. The only thing that mattered now was that they stay together. Whatever lay ahead, they would be together.
Jon woke to the feeling of sunlight on his skin and Martin's arms shaking in a desperate attempt to keep his hold tight. As the last of the threads holding the Fears to him frayed and broke, the Eye gave him one final insight. They lay in a forsaken valley, the location of a battle so brutal that it killed even the spirit of the land itself. He laughed a little, the sound churning up through blood and a bone-deep weariness that was only growing.
"It's over," he muttered, leaning into Martin's bulk. "We're here."
Martin relaxed his hold with an agonised whimper that he couldn't quite suppress. He took a breath, the motion hitching with the movement of each new broken rib. He tried to speak, the words broken up with each stab of pain. Jon shushed him, summoning what little strength he had remaining to inch closer. Once he'd resettled, they were both on their sides, faces close enough to touch. Jon smiled, memories of those wonderful weeks of ignorant bliss in Scotland came back, where he could find comfort from his nightmares by this sight every morning. What he wouldn't give to go back to those days. What he wouldn't give to sleep.
"Love you," he said instead.
"Love you too," Martin replied, placing a whisper of a kiss on his mouth.
When they pulled away, Jon could taste blood. He wasn't sure whose it was.
"Tired," Martin said, his eyes barely open.
"Me too."
Jon closed his eyes and pulled himself as close to Martin as their broken bodies would allow. As their breathing slowed into sleep and beyond, he allowed himself to dream of all they had briefly had.
The spirit of the valley woke from beneath its veil of ash, called by the grief of the two that had come here to die. It brushed up against their spirits, their dying dreams soft with swathes of purple flowers like brush strokes on the landscape and the gentle noise of cattle. It was not a land that it recognised, but it was more than happy to leave the last of its spark with those who longed for such fair fields. With their last rattling breaths, fragile trendrils of vine reached up into the light and curled around them both.
The cows entered the valley, nodding their reverence to the guardian that ensured their safety. It smiled and flitted amongst them, the breeze from its movement ruffling the shaggy hair of their coats. It saw all that entered its domain, and any who entered with thoughts of death and violence would find themselves burning up with the fury of its many many eyes.
Further into the valley the cows lowed in delight, the caretaker echoing their happiness to see it with clear bell-like laughter. It made its way slowly through the herd, soothing those ailing or tired members with cooling curls of morning mist protected from the burning rays of the sun.
The spirits loved those who entered their valley. They protected all who sought its sanctuary. They loved each other with the fierceness of a wolf pack, merging in and out of each other beneath the light of the full moon. The spirits were young, all things considered, but the herd knew that they were in safe hands.