How dare you
It felt like the anger was a stubborn pressure in his head, pushing at his eyeballs. And they had known, all known and they hadn't told him. His brother, the one that he thought he could utterly rely on. Fergus had known, even Oriana had known. The anger made him pale and he couldn't look at anyone. He mounted the horse, twisting his fingers into the reins, tightening them trying to use the pain to diffuse some of his raw emotion. Dain couldn't trust his voice, he didn't want to say goodbye, he was more likely to vent and rage. To say something that would poison the situation even further. With a few foot signals the horse pirouetted; its ears flicked back as the first sobs sounded. His mother's maybe, but it wasn't enough to have him looking back. His father was embracing his mother; she had tried to bury her sobs in her husband's chest. There seemed an unfathomable look on the Teryn's face as he watched his teenage son ride away. He had organised the squiring, it had been a necessity, backed even by Fergus. But he understood somewhat the type of anger and desertion that Dain was feeling. No matter the attempts at explanation, Dain had retreated into the burning anger as soon as he'd understood what the arrival of the retinue from the Free Marches meant for him. Oren held tight in Oriana's arms called out in just recognisable words for his favourite uncle, chubby arms reaching for the boy who wouldn't look. Fergus put his arm around Oriana, the Antivan woman crying for the brother of her husband she had come to love like her own. As Dain was jostled by the rolling steps of the horse he closed his eyes. He knew that he was quick to anger, things that others laughed off he felt like a punch to the guts, a reflex of anger that he hadn't learnt to control. And now his father had made the decision that sending him away, far away to the Marches, was the only way. Before his sixteenth birthday, before he could try…But he knew as he left Highever behind that he hated his family.