BACK AT THE KINGDOM
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The laughter from Tydarin's quip ebbed into a comfortable hum of conversation. Yet, beneath the surface of the royal dining hall's warmth, subtle undercurrents of tension swirled. Balthazar, ever the silent sentinel, regarded his two sons with a knowing gaze that seemed to pierce time itself.
Arman straightened in his seat, his golden antlers catching the soft glow of the rune-lit walls. His father's scrutiny was something he had long grown accustomed to, though it never ceased to weigh on him. To rule beneath Balthazar's shadow was to balance pride and expectation in equal measure.
"Tydarin," Balthazar began, his voice carrying the authority of ages, "you've always been the storm in our midst. Quick to act, quicker to speak. And yet…" His golden eyes shifted toward Arman, their depth unfathomable. "The storm has its purpose. Just as the still waters have theirs."
Tydarin leaned back with a wry grin, his scarred antlers giving him a rakish, almost rogue-like air. "And what purpose do you assign me, Father? Am I to keep the tides from growing too calm?"
Arman exhaled softly, folding his hands over the table. "You speak as if calm is a weakness. It is the foundation of strength, Tydarin. Without it, a kingdom fractures under the weight of chaos."
Tydarin's grin widened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—resentment, perhaps, or old wounds left unhealed. "Spoken like a man who's spent his life reading ledgers and treaties. You forget, brother, that wars aren't won by calm. They're won by fire."
"And fire consumes," Arman replied evenly, his tone steady but firm. "It leaves ashes where a kingdom should stand."
The room fell silent. Even the prince, who had been preoccupied with his precarious spoon-holding, felt the weight of the exchange. His golden eyes darted between his father and uncle, sensing the friction that simmered beneath their words.
Balthazar's antlers glowed faintly as he leaned forward, his presence commanding without effort. "Enough." The single word carried a gravity that silenced any retort. He glanced at both sons, his gaze lingering first on Tydarin, then Arman. "You are both right. And you are both blind."
Arman's brow furrowed, but he held his tongue. Tydarin, however, was less restrained. "Blind, am I? For seeing that our enemies respect fire more than patience?"
"Blind," Balthazar repeated, his voice softer but no less authoritative. "For failing to see that strength lies not in opposition, but in unity. A storm without purpose is mere destruction. Still waters without resolve are stagnation. Together, they create balance."
Tydarin's grin faltered, though he masked it with a swig of his spiced coral wine. Arman inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the wisdom in their father's words, though a trace of frustration lingered in his golden eyes.
Daenerys, ever the peacemaker, broke the tension with a light laugh. "You two have been at this since you were hatchlings. I'm surprised Father's antlers aren't worn down from all the scolding."
Kayla chuckled, nudging Tydarin playfully. "And yet, somehow, Uncle Tydarin always seems to come out unscathed."
Tydarin smirked, leaning toward the prince. "It's because I've learned the secret, little one. Always keep them guessing."
The prince blinked, his spoon halfway to his mouth, before dropping it with an exasperated grunt. They're all impossible.
Balthazar's expression softened as he watched his grandson's antics. His gaze drifted back to his sons, his voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. "I do not speak these words lightly. The days ahead will test this family in ways we cannot yet imagine. The Obsidian Eye stirs. The Abyss churns. And though the prince's light shines brightly, it will draw shadows to our shores."
Arman nodded, his expression grim. "I have sent Azarios to secure the borders. Theros will report back from the Abyss. We will be prepared."
"Prepared," Balthazar echoed, his tone contemplative. "But will we be united?"
Tydarin met his father's gaze, his grin fading entirely. "You doubt us, Father?"
Balthazar shook his head slowly. "I do not doubt your strength, nor your courage. But strength without understanding… courage without restraint… these are the tools of our enemies. You are brothers. Act like it."
The words hung heavy in the air. Tydarin glanced at Arman, his expression unreadable. Arman met his gaze briefly before looking away, his composure unbroken but his thoughts clearly churning.
Daenerys, sensing the weight of the moment, reached for the prince's tiny hand. "And here we have the beginning of a new chapter," she said softly, her voice carrying a hopeful lilt. "He will remind us what it means to be a family."
The prince gurgled, his tiny hand gripping hers tightly. He didn't fully understand the storm of emotions that swirled around him, but he felt its weight nonetheless. His gaze shifted to Balthazar, then to Arman and Tydarin. Perhaps there's more to this family than I realized.
The silence stretched on, not uncomfortable but thoughtful. And for the first time in what felt like an age, the royal family sat together—not as rulers or warriors, but as kin.