He supposed that it was good Arturio knew now about his hindrances. The male could not sprint across the plains with a bundle of herbs swinging from his jaws, nor could he contribute in any sort of hunt or warring endeavor. Not that Viserys expected a conflict, but one could never be too careful. He was, of course, primarily a healer, but he had always been one to keep a close eye on the packs and what was going on between them. Despite his sadness in knowing that his family would likely never again lead the plains, it was perhaps a good thing that Aster could no longer call herself Queen. She had been... reactionary. Viserys knew little of Eden and of Glorall, but her fiery personality had made an enemy of the shores. Perhaps the male standing before him would instead lead them to peace.
Viserys seemed to drift away for a moment, his eyes visiting some far-away place, though his ears were perked politely in Arturio's direction. He had never been one to give his full attention to another based on title alone. Ah, he had once been prince of this place, after all.
The expectancy was not lost on him.
There was a bitter smile upon his face, but it was not directed at Arturio. Viserys already had come to accept that his parent's legacy had ended. It was carried in his children, in the children of Aster and Halcyon, but none had ever met their grandparents. Did blood truly mean as much as memory? He could not turn back time. Just as clouds marched endlessly through the sky, passing over the horizon to never be seen in their exact form again, wolves, too, must pass through time, and disappear in the fleeting memories of those left behind.