Vaeren arrived three days later, a serpent gliding into another's territory, his own small retinue of guards looking nervous and out of place amidst the silent, staring perfection of Dhaelon's host. He rode a fine black charger, but his eyes were constantly scanning the skies, searching for the pale green shadow of his own dragon. Sythrion was circling high above, a speck of anxiety in the grey heavens, unwilling to land in a place that felt so profoundly… wrong.
Dhaelon watched his half-brother's approach from the battlements of Blackfen Keep, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. Vaeren, for all his theatrical calm and whispered threats, was a creature of profound insecurity. He built his power on the shifting sands of fear and manipulation. Dhaelon built his on absolute, unquestioning control. There was a difference.
He descended to the courtyard to greet him, Theressan a silent, pale-haired shadow at his side.
