Tension was filling the already suffocating air between the adults. Bazyl looked between his father and the stranger. Her paws had smelled chilly, though when he looked at her he could see nothing but fire, a passion and a rage. He looked back at his father, a solid shield that hid his thoughts and feelings behind an impenetrable visor. The warmth the boy knew so well from Tithe when around his family was missing from the knight’s demeanor. Instead of scaring him, it intrigued him. Forgetting his task to look uninterested, he turned his mirroring gaze back to the queen of the mountain, wishing he knew who she was and what about her would make his father act this way as opposed to Pandora or Thyme. Tithe’s entire focus was trained on his once queen. Even with their roles changed and the tired turned he gave her his ear and listened to the words. Every expression and every word sank into him. An ear twitched, picking up the emotion that fueled her words, his attention lingering on what she chose to say and what she had been forced to choke back. He watched the battle he fought every day rage on her face, the struggle to smother the hurt and the anger. It was all consuming. It was deadly. A different struggle pulsed in his breast. No one deserved to rage the hidden war within themselves to that extent, but one still needed to know themselves and their actions upon others. A lesson he was learning well. He remained silent while she recollected herself, giving her the time she needed to calm, knowing it could make all the difference.

You had called me to challenge, Daenerys. Summoned for battle, some would say. Never a request to speak, and never a chance to talk. As a king, I answered the call to defend. As a warrior, I answered an order. Unknown to both of us, the call summoned parts of me I thought long dead. But, I never sought to take your life. For a second he was breathless. The voices that had roared in his mind came snarling back. Instinct, training, and creatures far more sinister than demons had ordered him tear her limb from limb. His honor, bred just as deeply, had kept him from seeking her life in the moments he could have crushed it. In that second he remembered her attacks. She had wished to take his eye, a wound that would not heal long after battle. He could see nothing but her fangs trying to close on him. One some level, he forgave her for the attacks of the battle, crimes of war weighed on a different scale than crimes of the soul.

He took a breath and let it out slowly. In the breath a soft tone of a whine whispered just above the roar of the surrounding flames. Studying her again with softer eyes, he removed his helmet though his body remained guarded. What is truly hurting you, Daenerys? A perceived betrayal? A loss you fear you cannot get back? Or is there something else entirely?