Hey guys, I edited this a little and now it's a bit different to what it was when I first published it, but I promise, the changes are for the better!

*I don't own most of the characters. but I do own the depressing story I put them in.*

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Claw

Chapter One: Discarded

Count Viljo looked at his youngest son, sitting before him with an indifferent expression. The Count was shaking with rage, and it was all that he could do to refrain himself from yelling so loud that all of Fief Malven could hear. He stood up, clenching both fists so hard that his knuckles turned white, and leaned across the desk to face Ralon.

"You –" Viljo found that the words were hard to force out. "How – dare – you." He hissed violently. "You let a midget of a boy stand between you and your honour, your glory."

Ralon shrugged, his expression bored. "I've already told you, Father, the idiot needed shutting up."

"The idiot? Boy, YOU are the idiot!" the Count could see Ralon's future fading away before his eyes. He knew the boy could've done well. He had everything in him: brains, talent on the field, a good family heritage. But he threw it all away. Out of all three sons, Ralon had seemed like the most promising of them all. Maybe Viljo should have spent a little more time with him, to get to know him better. Nevertheless -

"The only smart thing you did after that was to leave."*

Ralon folded his arms and leant back into his chair. "Alright, so I can't get a shield. So what? That's not the only thing in life."

"Then tell me, boy," said his father, and in his eyes was disgust, "What do you plan to do now? You can't join the King's Own, they'd never let you back at Court and no girl would want you for a husband. What is there for you in this world?"

The boy returned his father's gaze with uninterested eyes. He yawned loudly, the said, "Stay here."

Unexpectedly, the Count Laughed. The laughter was loud and clear, though it was far from cheerful. It seemed to bounce off everything in the study, even the books and velvet covered cushions, and linger. As suddenly as he had started, Count Viljo stopped laughing again. He sat back down in his chair and looked at his son once more. But there were blanks in his eyes this time. The cold, grey eyes reflected nothing.

"You honestly think," he said, his voice calm and steady, "That I would have a disgraced PAGE living in my house?"

Ralon's eyes widened, and for the first time in his life, the sneer on his face wasn't there. "Y-you mean you're going to disown me?"

Count Viljo leant backwards, his hands clasped together loosely in his lap. "Yes, I wasn't wrong, thinking that you were smart. Let's make a deal, shall we? You leave quietly before sunset, never come back here again, and I won't tell everyone the truth about you. I won't even say anything about disowning, I'll be that nice, so that you can live the rest of your life without ever seeing me again."

Ralon's face paled and his eyes darted to the door and back. "B-but Father, I'm your son. You can't –"

"Don't you tell me what I can or can't do," hissed the Count. "You are the one who disgraced us all. Our family's been in the Book of Silver for the past century, and when you got your shield, we would've been added to the Book of Gold!" he laughed again, and Ralon thought, not for the first time, that his father was a little insane.

"But there's not much hope of that, is there," the man continued, "you know you wouldn't have survived in the Chamber of the Ordeal. It doesn't want you, and neither do I. I am not going to take pity on something discarded by a room."

He stood up from his chair, walked to the door, yanked it open and looked pointedly at Ralon.

The boy shrank away, utterly terrified. "No – I'm your son –"

The Count seized him and dragged him towards the door. "You are no son of mine!" he said, as he proceeded to push the struggling Ralon out of his chambers.

"No – Father, please –"

Ralon tried, as hard as he could, to pull away from his father. He was desperate, his hands grappling at the ones that held him and tried to get rid of him. But his father was too strong. Ralon felt himself been pushed past the open door and out into the hallway. He flung himself forwards to where the study was, but it was too late.

His father had slammed the door in his face.

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* quote by Lord Raoul, from Squire, chapter 9: Midwinter Luck.

It might not seem like much now, but it will get better, more emotional, etc. I guarantee it.