So that was what he'd been diligently doing.
Watching. Observing. Interacting with Orien and Liam, who were clearly thick as thieves, every chance he could get.
There was guilt, of course. A crushing amount of it, really. But beyond that was something else entirely.
Relief.
Joy.
The strange yet appreciative ache of seeing how different his son's life had become compared to the one he himself had lived.
Separate from his desire to somehow drag Malrik back to life just so he could kill the bastard again with his own two hands after learning what the former Chancellor had attempted to do to Orien, Orryn could at least admit there was one thing he was grateful for.
Because somehow, despite everything, Orien had ended up growing in this kind of environment.
Listening to the golden dragonling run around with children so much weaker than him would've been utterly unthinkable back in his time. For safety reasons alone, no elder would've ever allowed it.
