The only sign of distress that Arcon showed at his sister being injured was a furrowed brow, the thin line of his mouth set grimly into his face. 

“Vile and repulsive things,” the alicorn hissed crossly under his breath, examining Thea closer. His eyes could see the faint line where the new limb joined with the body, the crease beneath the fur when the precious bone and blood had been hacked off like butcher meat. It was a red and angry line, and something churned in Arcon’s gut, and he winced, the faint memory of the wood that had shattered in his shoulder resurfacing. “My condolences that you endured such suffering. You did well to erase the blight upon this place,” Arcon commended her, “Though I think mother would just as quickly kiss your wound as chastise the two of you. She alone knows that I had feared something far more grievous than those atrocities.” The corners of his mouth twitched into the faint imitation of a smile, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.
He had heard whispers of this supposed Cult of Laughter, and the fallen Elements they prophesied as their deity. He had yet to deal with them directly; in the Wasteland, the only true dangers came from nature and the changeling swarms.

Arcon raised an eyebrow in amusement at Silver Sweeper’s antics and to her all to direct question. He held a soft place within his heart for her. She was a gentler soul, not too unlike himself in the eyes of their other siblings. So very… unattended to the intricacies of subtlety.

“Damage control,” he declared. “Unfortunately, the progress of such agenda has been dampened due to my most recent acquisitions. Pray tell, dear sisters… what news of Canterlot?”

His ears twitched as he listened to the exchange between Winterjet and Scroll, his expression slowly darkening as it progressed. Such impudence and disrespect from the lips of foals. To so boldly equate themselves with friendship with his siblings.

“Do forgive me Sisters,” he begged softly of them, “for not remaining in touch these past moons. I find myself busy minimizing the fall out of the [i]mortals’[/i] actions. Though I noticed that you, sister Thea, now know of my Hall. I received your message… it was… cute,” he said with a tired sigh. “I suppose I had best minimize your intrusion by extending you an invitation to visit, lest your rabbits pester me to no end. A rather interesting series of stained-glass murals have recently come into my possession, generously ‘donated’ by the Arch Magister herself. Supposedly from the throne room of Canterlot no less. I feel that of us all, you would benefit the most from gazing upon the likeness of the Elder Sisters,” he offered, once more bowing with his wings out stretched.

With any luck, she would take the offer, grow bored after half an hour, and leave him alone without blabbing his location to the rest of his kin. 

He just managed to catch the end of “…a trust or bond that comes from the heart.”

“Truly, a rare pony to be both warrior and… scholar,” he mused aloud, his gaze coming to rest on the two. “An unusual combination to be sure. Truly, his deeds must be the stuff of [i]legends[/i] to earn himself a place in thy personal companionship,” Arcon noted, although his tone did not match his approval. “I suppose a sword is one such way of protecting knowledge. Although whispers have reached me of such a group within Equestria; mortal academics not unlike myself who also recognize the signs of yet another Fall." Arcon tilted his head

The identity of which organization this unicorn aligned himself with was little mystery. His fetlock's were brushed shiny, the telltale discoloration of ink along their edges. The underlying dry and acrid scent of parchment. A belly which had seen more hot meals than days of hard manual labor. Arcon noted a scribe when he saw one, and if his guests in his Hall were anything, it was that such ilk had the most... interest connections, even in these times. 

"Tell me, beloved Silver Sweeper, are you aligned with such a grouping?” The words were addressed to her, but Arcon’s attention was now solely fixated on Scroll, his black eyes narrowing tensely. 

They offered neither approval nor disapproval, no offer of friendship or declaration of war. Once more came the sharp, almost scathing scrutiny as the alicorn judged the unicorn behind his sandy mask of indifference.