Anger is a shield, one that Cera is using quite well. It hides his fear, his anxiety, the feeling that he is completely useless. That Midas does not need him, that he cannot protect his father from harm. Being angry is easier, it hurts less. Ilaria does not approve and is biting and scratching him with every outburst he has, but he ignores her. He had to get this out, had to show Midas that he wanted to keep him safe. It is not his job, as a growing babe, to protect a full grown adult. He knows this, but he cannot keep himself from wanting to be there to shield Midas from others that wish him harm. The memory of the last time he walked off the battlefield is still fresh, and every wound recorded in his young mind so many seasons ago.

He will not leave, will not summon the air beneath his wings and flee. It is cowardly of him, to even think it. He keeps them extended only because he is desperate for Midas to see that he is serious. For him to appear older, larger. Not such a dead weight. The idea of anyone so much as laying a hoof on his father makes unbridled anger rear its ugly head in him, makes him want to summon those beings here so that he could give them a taste of what they wish to do to his dad. He will not have the strength to do so for many seasons more, but it is an instinct he cannot quell.

Armor slips away to reveal the man he knows better, and feathered appendages slowly retreat back into his body. He is no longer afraid, seeing the kindly if weary face. Often Cera finds himself thinking late at night that Midas is on the brink, for he can see the stress that paints lines on a father that is still in his prime. He worries for him, and despairs at the fact that he is only mounting the worry on his shoulders. That it is him doing this, consciously, and he is hurting his father. It kills him inside, and he is so conflicted. It seems every emotion has suddenly wormed its way into his chest, and he doesn’t know which one to pay attention to. This isn’t him, this isn’t Cera, and he feels like a stranger parading around in his own skin. His father’s soft voice seems far louder than Cera’s shout, and the colt’s face crumpled, eyes teary and muzzle quivering. He is losing ground, he is losing himself, and he knows he is inches from breaking.

”I have left for war before and returned didn’t I? Can you not trust me enough to come back again and again?”

He is laying once more beneath their tree, and a tear slipped out of Cera’s control. Wings collapse against his sides as if he no longer has the strength to keep them aloft, and he moves closer, crown lowered and eyes teary. He despises fighting with his father, but he is scared. What if- ”What if you don’t this time?” Voice is caught in the throes of despair and fright, the idea more than enough to send him off the edge of control. What if this time, his father does not return? What if his promise becomes void? Midas bids him to leave, but the anger is gone. It was never really there in the first place, for it was fake. He will not run, not when he needs comfort just as much as his father. They are not meant to be torn apart like this, and Cera hates it.

”I love you son,”

That is all that is needed to bring him to his knees before his father as well. The tears come slow, but they exist nonetheless. He eased forward on his legs and pressed his face to Midas’ cheek, crying. Whimpering, ”I-I love you too daddy.” What would Cera have him do? What could he do? It was selfish of him to want Midas to stay, to not fight. It is still small, in his mind, that Midas is the General of the Throat. He does not understand his father’s importance, but he wants him to stay. But he knows, inside, that he cannot, and that makes him wail all the more. ”I-I don’t want you to be hurt, dad,” Cera cried, edging closer in need of comfort. The rift that had been torn between them by himself was unbearable, and he wanted it to be mended. His emotions had never been this haywire before the attack, but now he found himself prone and upset at the slightest of things. It was not as bad as directly after the incident, but it lingered despite his wishes. He felt like a horrible son, wanting these things, putting this stress on his father. He just hoped Midas would not turn him away physically, that they could mend this.