Vlad's hand cups the boy's head, the gesture entirely borne of a desire to shield him from such a horrible memory. And the metaphor does not escape him, not in the slightest. He had never even once stopped to consider that Javert had not a single point of reference for what he was being offered. What was thrust upon him. It makes his own throat go dry, his own chest ache. He was such a fool sometimes, especially when he wanted something, or someone.

'Would you like one? My hospitality would insist, but you've already dealt it a crippling blow.' The words have a faint tease to them.

He beckons a rat and orders the boy some fresh berries as well. At least one of them should enjoy it.