Balthazar will let him bitch about Father any time. Balthazar finds it strangely reassuring to blame all their problems on an entity he's never met and assumes at this point he never will. Maybe rocks fall and everyone dies, but at least he doesn't have to worry that there was much of anything he could have done to prevent the landslide.

The light cocoon of wings makes him melt subtly, flattered and comforted by the attention. Still hiding within his vessel, his Grace nevertheless flickers warmly in response to the gesture. "Didn't you say you'd teach me how to make mead sometime? Let's do that. Soon."