Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or a Song of Ice and Fire

House Amell of Westeros

Chapter 10: Blood

"I see great things for you my boy."

"No, no, no, NO!"

"He can't die, you can't take him."

"No, it won't end like this, live grandpa, live, LIVE!"

"LIVE!"

She awoke to the cold winds of the north, from a memory she wanted to forget, of a person she would always be thinking of. Revka left her tent, wrapping her blanket around her body and looking at the cold lands of the Stark's lands. A few days had passed since they left the capital, on good terms with the Lannisters and Baratheons. Garret came to the red keep (pecked the insufferable Grand Maestar's hand) and delivered a message from Fausten. Trade would be carried out with the north, there were also concerns of the elves in the lands of one Roose Bolton. Elves were disappearing, and the whispers had reached the Meadow.

First though they would see the Starks, for permission to investigate, a courtesy Revka wanted to avoid herself. If it was up to her, she would march into the north, find out what was happening to the elves and bury a knife in his or her throat. But she wasn't just fighting for herself anymore. She looked back at her sleeping children, Dayla was practically embracing her wooden play sword, Dayk did the same for his stuffed toy. Revion held onto nothing though, he slept soundly, peacefully, he never required any attention to sleep.

'Of all my children, Revion will probably be the most independent,' she predicted.

Whilst she visited the Starks, Fausten would speak to the lord of the Dreadfort.

Roose Bolton was a pale man, paler than a man should be, though not bony. His face was plain and beardless, he wore a spotted, pink fur cloak and had pale eyes. Paler than stone and darker than milk. When he walked into the house, he walked up to Fausten's chair and bowed.

"I thank you Lord Amell for the escort and treatment of my men," his voice was soft, the mark of a patient man, not easily angered.

Fausten was patient too, he knew the kind of man Roose Bolton was. A rapist, someone whom practiced the barbaric 'first rights' of a lord, to bed another's wife before they could. He knew that the miller's brother had his tongue cut out, that the woman's son was Roose's bastard. But not even lord Stark would go entirely on the word of a common miller, with a bastard son. For the Starks to take action against their own bannermen, they would have to do something truly atrocious.

"I welcome you to our halls lord Bolton, my staff can prepare a meal for you if you'd like, our wine maker Leland can make a great hippocras, you can take several crates back North with you if you'd like," Fausten explained.

"Thank you lord Amell, that is a service, perhaps fitting as a way to compensate the disservice you have done me," Bolton's voice was still calm as Stone and Stork both took threatening steps towards him.

Fausten shook his head strongly at both men, and they backed away.

"You speak of the elves I welcomed into my land, from yours," Fausten said.

"Whilst it is certainly your right to open your borders, I did not grant the elves position however to leave my lands," Bolton said.

"I see, had they asked would you have accepted?" Fausten asked.

"That is my concern, not yours," Bolton said.

"My concern is why the elves entered my land in the first place, as soon as they crossed the border and entered the town, I had one of my men question them, not an interrogation, a simple talk. They had some revealing insights," Fausten explained.

"Pray tell what insights did they have to offer?" Bolton asked.

Fausten stood up and looked down at Roose Bolton. He knew what kind of man he was, he knew the kind of violent urges the man concealed. But he also knew the law.

"The conditions in the alienage are appalling, infection rate is high there and they rarely receive rations, come winter it has been a pure miracle that they have survived. In the winter apparently their survival rate though increases, as they are not bothered by the guards, many of whom are abusive. One man's father was thrown into an arena and fed to a bear, a fucking bear Lord Bolton!"

The man took a step back as Fausten walked closer towards him, near glowing blue eyes meeting the man's pale ones.

"My daughter is going to be looking at your lands, she is going to be inspecting them, she is going to report to Lord Stark and he will settle this issue," the lord of the Meadow, the head of the Amell clan proclaimed, fiercely standing over the lord of the Dreadfort, yet so small to Fausten.

"I assure you Lord Amell, if there are abuses being done to the elves on my land it has been done so without my knowledge or approval, but they are still citizens of my land, what is done to them is my duty and my right, not yours," Roose explained, trying, and failing to appear strong.

"Then you're not doing your job very well, you may leave whenever you like, but until the investigation of your lands is complete, the elves who came to me seeking protection, will receive protection!"

The message was clear to Roose, this was no negotiation. If he had a problem with it, he could complain to Lord Stark, or the king himself. He didn't, but not because he had nothing to hide.

Probably one of the few people Revka liked at the Dreadfort was Lord Bolton's son. Domeric was polite, not sleek like his father, or the company he kept at the fort. Of all of Roose Bolton's servants, Revka emphasised her children to keep away from Locke. He could certainly mimic friendliness, but Revka knew actors when she saw them. Locke was one of the Bolton men whom enjoyed being an enforcer, he didn't hunt animals, he hunted people. He looked at people as if they were targets. Similar but different to how Revka recalled Ulrich looking at people. Ulrich could perhaps be forgiven for his Reaver instincts, Revka wondered what Locke's excuse was.

The people on the Bolton lands were quiet, but just because people didn't complain, didn't mean something wasn't wrong. They looked as pale as their lord, and tired too, they didn't have many fields for farming and some were rotting. No wonder of all the lands Revka had visited, the elves of the Dreadfort were the thinnest she had seen before. She joined Domeric on a ride across the countryside, the young man rode well, and he clearly enjoyed it.

"You could plant fields here, put a few people to work, it'll increase your food production and keep people occupied, give them something to do and help feed their families," Revka explained.

"Also meaning thievery will be a less common occurrence, thank you Lady Amell, I'll recommend this to my father," Domeric said.

"You're acting lord of the Dreadfort though yes?" Revka asked.

"Yes," confusion crossed Domeric's face as Revka rode past him.

"We've brought some bags of seeds, why don't you start organising something now? Spend a bit of time amongst your people, a lord who walks with his people can earn their love," Revka said.

"It is a good thing you've said that Lady Amell, I was planning to visit my little brother," Domeric said.

"Your little brother?"

"A bastard, I only found out about him quite recently, he was very adamant that I not see him," the boy lowered his head slightly.

"Then why don't we go and see them then?" Revka asked.

"Really?" Domeric looked at the lady, hope in his eyes, so different than Lord Bolton.

"Yes, your father simply worries for you, but if I watch over you then things should be fine," Revka smiled, veiling her true intentions.

She liked Domeric, and she was curious to see what this bastard of Roose Bolton was like.

Blood was a funny thing, people could be bound by it, or divided by it. When Bolton returned to his lands, he expected to find his quiet people driven into a frenzy. Instead, they were working, elves and human alike. To his shock Domeric was walking amongst them. His one true heir, the only boy he had who wasn't buried under the fort. This accomplished boy was doing what Roose expected he would do one day, lead. Riding into the dreadfort, Roose was greeted by his guards.

"Lady Amell is currently in your chambers my lord, tending to your son," one of them said.

"Domeric is in the fields now," Roose said.

"Your other son my lord," the man retreated slightly under Roose's subtle glare.

Leaving his cloak to be picked up, Roose walked to his chambers. As soon as he got to the doorway he heard the sound of vomiting, violent vomiting. He opened the door and saw Maestar Uthar standing near his bed. Revka was sat at a small stool, holding a bowl that a boy was currently vomiting into. The smell of shit had also filled the room, and a cup of water was on the bed side table, fizzing from having some kind of powder put into it.

"Ah Lord Bolton, good to meet you again...there, there, let it all out boy," Revka spoke between Roose and the boy. "That's it Ramsey, go on," she slapped the boy's back, hard, not hiding the contempt in her voice. "Keep his head up Uthar, trust me him vomiting is better than him shitting it all out!"

"Lady Amell," Roose tipped his head slightly, walking out of the room with her.

They walked a short distance before Revka turned to him.

"I hope you don't take offence to this, but your son is fucking mental," she said.

"Excuse me?" Roose raised his eyebrows, in shock and anger.

"Oh Domeric is a great boy, I can see him ruling these lands much better than you have Lord Bolton. But Ramsey, I'd keep a close eye on him, he's not just an actual bastard, he's an utter bastard, and considering he's quite young I'm surprised to find myself actually saying that about someone. Domeric went to visit him today, their first meeting, they drank together, chatted as brothers do, and I noticed a little something fall into Domeric's drink," Revka explained.

"But Domeric didn't drink it," Roose said.

"I went over and chatted with them, I can be so absent handed sometimes, I may have ended up switching their cups around, Ramsey's mother has such fun crockery for a commoner. Domeric visited the next day and oh, poor Ramsey began having a poor case of the shits," the sarcasm in her voice was evident, reminding Roose of the southern vipers and their veiled threats.

"Anyway the little shit, I mean Ramsey and his shits, got so bad both Maestar Uthar and my own physicians suspected he might trigger bleeding in his bowels. I offered medicine, fortunately his 'bowel disease' can be treated if the right 'medicine' is given within a few days. It needs to be taken on a daily basis over the course of a few days, no interruptions, I was just about to give him the next batch actually," she continued to explain. "But alas, my children are getting a little bored, and I have appointments to keep with Lord Stark, I hope you won't begrudge me leaving as soon as you have arrived."

"Not at all lady Amell, you may take your leave," Roose said.

She turned to leave, but stopped when she heard Roose call out to her.

"Lady Amell," he hesitated, or paused, she cared not which. "Thank you for taking care of my son!"

There was a pleasant warmth in the man's voice, that Revka never thought she would hear.

"That is quite all right Lord Bolton, good day to you," she bowed before leaving.

As the Amells left, Roose returned to his chambers, dismissed Uthar and watched his bastard. Pathetically thin, even more so as he vomited violently into the bowl. The boy tried to reach for the cup of medicine, but Roose grabbed it before he could. This boy, this bastard, had tried to poison his son. He looked into the fearful boy's eyes, the same eyes he had. Ramsey certainly wasn't the miller's boy, as Roose suspected. He was his son, his blood, blood that had tried and utterly failed to commit what was one of the greatest offences, kin slaying. Even amongst the common folk it was considered a heinous act. That lack of acceptance of social norms was dangerous, but potentially useful.

"Remember this moment," Roose told him.

He would do horrible things for the success of House Bolton.

"What could have happened, what has happened, remember the lesson well," he put the cup down, letting Ramsey fearfully take it and gulp the contents down.

He wouldn't become a kin slayer, at least not until Ramsey had stopped being useful. Not until the insanity Revka spoke of, subdued House Bolton's rise and even then, it would not be like this. Ramsey Snow would die later, not today, not until he had done something that served his house and his brother.

"If anything happens to your brother, you will not stay here, nor will you return to the mill, our blood is important, my son," Roose whispered to him, warned him.

He did not know the Amell's intent, what he did know, was that when their kindness and leniency came back to haunt them, they would regret their decisions. But for the life of his son, he was in their debt for now.

Ned Stark honestly found it strange, that the Amell heiress would ask his permission to look at the Bolton lands, receive it, and then rush off with her escort and children. She didn't stay for even an hour, didn't take her cloak off and didn't accept her bread and salt. Then, days afterwards, she returned to his lands, walking outside her caravan with her children. Ned kept Robb at his side, and Catelyn did the same with their daughter Sansa. Both children seemed to be the image of their mother, Robb's curls had a darkened version of the Tully red. Sansa, his little girl had straight, shining hair, and would no doubt become a great beauty. A beauty that Ned didn't doubt Robert would want to marry his own son.

"Lord Stark," the man bowed to the Amell arrivals.

He kissed Revka on the cheek, hugged her and as she did the same with Catelyn, he looked over her children. Dayla had dirt on her cheek and was dressed in boy's clothes. She held the hand of her little brother Dayk. The boy looked up at the tall Stark, then quickly looked down. Putting a smile on his face, Ned knelt down and roughed up the boy's hair.

"Your grandfather and uncle are quite tall little one, one day you'll match them in height," he said.

It put a smile on Dayk's face, though Dayla scoffed slightly. Ned looked for her twin, but found nothing. It was then that Revka looked at where she expected Revion to be and slapped her forehead.

"Oh Revion," she snarled, drawing her boy's name out.

They began the search for the Amell boy. Ned sent some of his guards out to search the castle grounds, whilst Catelyn and Revka led the servants in a search around the keep. It wasn't until twenty minutes had passed that Ned walked around the stables, and heard the words the simple stable boy often spoke.

"Hodor, Hodor, Hodor," he was clearly joyful.

He had a different name of course, something his mother and Ned's siblings would call him. But ever since that day the stable boy began to flinch and whine on the ground, he had forever been known as Hodor. He was a giant, taller than Ned, and as strong as a horse. But he was also gentle, and though he understood simple commands, he wasn't capable of speech.

"Is that right?"

"Hodor!"

"Wow, that sounds incredible."

Ned walked towards the stables, peeking over the door. There he saw a clearly Amell boy sitting in the hay. Hodor sitting across from him.

"Hodor," the man repeated.

"Tell me about it," Revion said.

Ned frowned, clearly Revion wasn't like his mother or grandfather if he mocked the poor and simple man.

"Hodor."

"I'm glad you agree, personally I find black horses to have a much better temperament, once you overcome the initial fear they have before training," Revion explained.

"Hodor," the man nodded his head, smiling as he again repeated the phrase.

Ned's frown raised up in confusion, if the boy was mocking Hodor, he had a unique way of doing it.

"Well it was nice talking to you Wylis," the boy stood up, shook Hodor's hand and walked to the door at the other end of the barn.

'That's impossible,' Ned thought.

He hadn't heard Hodor's former name since his mother died before the war. The boy simply walked up to the great hall and the guards called out to the Starks and Amells. When Revka returned with Catelyn, she pulled Revion's ear, not tightly, just enough so that she could whisper into it.

"Don't do that again, you have to stay with us when on the road," she said.

"Yes mother, I just wanted to introduce myself to the Starks," he said.

"We were," Revka said.

"Well I had already said hello to the people on the road before we reached the castle, and I saw someone in the stables, I went over to say hello to him, I was going to come straight out but then we began talking," Revion explained.

"The stables, no one stays there but Hodor," Catelyn said.

"He doesn't actually like it when people call him that, he's just too afraid to say it to you and Lord Stark."

That was when Ned developed his opinion of the Amell children. Dayla, the great beauty who would try to be something else, Dayk the timid one, and Revion, the unique heir. Ned offered his and Catelyn's quarters for the family to sleep in, but they decided to stay in the servant quarters instead. That night, laying with his wife, Ned thought of the Amell children and their elders. He had heard merchants who bartered at the Meadow speak of it as a land between summer and winter. It was cold, yet there was a warmth there, a warmth that came from more than the demeanour of its lord. The fields were green and filled and the people content. There was the occasional disagreement, but people were apparently genuinely happy.

The sun set, then rose and the two families broke their fast together. Dayk sat close to his mother, whilst Dayla sat between Robb and Sansa. She certainly had a boyish manner to her. But as she laughed with Robb it was clear to Ned that this was deliberate. Though Sansa tried, she just couldn't connect with the Amell daughter. Looking at her, Ned thought of his beloved sister. The she-wolf, Robert's one sided obsession (though he would never tell the king that), a young girl of strength and bravery, but she never had such hubris to call herself that.

"I want to be brave."

He cast his eyes to the table, trying to forget that horrible day. The day she was truly brave. Dayla would become a great beauty, as would Sansa. Ned could not forgo his duty as a father or the lord of Winterfell. Sansa would marry and he suspected Fausten would allow Dayla to choose, so there was a chance that she never would marry. Lyanna was a lesson, that terrible things would be done for a betrothal.

"Did you see my sister at the capital Lady Amell?" Catelyn asked.

"I'm afraid I did not, regretfully I never asked Lord Aryn how she was, have you been back to the Riverlands yet?" Revka also inquired.

"I haven't really had reason to go back," Catelyn said.

"You should go, take the children with you, they should see the Tully lands and learn about their heritage," Revka said.

"Maestar Luwin is teaching them," Ned said.

"I meant actively learn, it's all well and good to read about places. But that doesn't define knowing, one has to see and feel. I took my children to the capital, to the Dreadfort, not just because it was our duty to go to both places, but because I wanted them to learn about them both, what did you learn from our visits children?" Revka asked.

"Roose Bolton is creepy and Ramsey Snow is whacky," Dayla said.

"The capital smells like poo," followed Dayk.

Their responses made the Starks laugh. Revka shook her head and sighed at their simplistic responses. She looked to the more intellectual Revion, looking out of one of the doors.

"Revion, what have you learnt from our visits?" she asked him.

"Why is Sansa and Robb's brother outside?" he asked.

A silence fell over the hall. Catelyn herself frowned for but a moment, but it wasn't unnoticed by Revka or any of the children. Ned knew his wife's fears, but he knew his duty to the child as well.

"Jon's not allowed to eat with us," Sansa said.

"But why?" Revion asked.

"Jon's name is Snow, he is a bastard you see," Catelyn said.

Revka could tell that Catelyn was trying to remain composed. Revion looked up at the woman, nodded his head in complete understanding, and then walked out. Dayla too got off her chair, grabbed Dayk's hand and walked out of the hall. Catelyn looked at the door in confusion, as confused as her own children were. Whatever anger Ned had, he hid well, Revka however didn't hesitate to smile when she looked outside. She was proud of her children, they sat with Jon and played with him. Even Dayk was energetic about the game of heroes they were playing.

"The rules are simple, we all play heroes of the dragon age, I'm going to play Maric," Dayla said.

"No, you played Maric last time Dayla," Dayk said.

"Fine, I'll play the Orlesian emperor," the girl put on a maniacal laugh.

"So we pick characters to play as?" Jon asked.

"Yeah, I'll be an Orlesian soldier, would you like to play as Loghain Mac Tir?" Revion asked.

"Whose Loghain!"

"Loghain was Maric's closest friend and general, he was the commoner who became a lord," Revion explained.

They swung about make believe swords and pretended to gallop on horses. Robb came over and the game only grew more fun. It was as if there was no class divide, there was no awkward pause whenever Jon knocked Dayla or Revion down, and Revka was glad for that. Not just because of her children being able to play with other children, but for Jon too. She assumed the boy had very little friends, and though he lived better than others, was still a bastard.

"Mother, father, can I play?" Sansa asked.

"Sansa," Catelyn looked at her child in shock.

"It looks like fun," the girl said.

"Go on Sansa," Ned urged her on, pushing the small of her back.

"But be careful, get them to stop rolling about," Catelyn added.

"New game everyone," Revka said. "We'll play the forth blight, you're all my Grey Wardens, and Ned is the Archdemon," she put on a playful scream.

The tall man looked at her in confusion as the children put on playful battle roars. He raised his hands and began to roar like a dragon himself, flapping his grand arms as if they were wings. The children crowded around him, Robb and Jon jumping on their father's back. A look of contempt crossed Catelyn's face as he played along with the game, treating Robb and the bastard with equal value. They kept on playing the game, simply enjoying one another's company. Even under Catelyn's disapproving gaze, they still looked like a family. More importantly, Robb, Jon and Sansa looked like true siblings.

All save the matriarch of the Amells slept in the guest quarters that night. Revka looked up at the obscured stars, the northern star one of the only true lights in the skies of the Stark land. She looked at the star and thought of her girl and boys, all of them. Fausten and uncle Aristide believed in a meritocratic style of inheritance. Gamlen simply being Aristide's son was not enough. Her uncle's recent passing had made Revka think often of them. Think often of how if Leandra was still in Kirkwall, she would no doubt inherit the entirety of the Amell estate. Gamlen for all his potential, and dedication of taking care of Aristide, was not fit for the life of a nobleman, or an Amell family leader.

'What would you all do, to prove yourselves worthy, would you shatter the bonds of family that binds you?' Revka wondered.

She pictured it, what her children would be when they were older, all together. Dayla, a woman knight, a beauty and a fighter in one. She would find love where she wished it, not in who demanded it. Dayk, her sweet baby child, he'd be a scholar, or a knight, or whatever he wanted to be. But above all that she hoped he would have courage. Revion, her brilliant son, the most compassionate child she had ever known. Perhaps he would be a priest, or a philanthropist. Then there was Daylen, her oldest. Kingsguard, small council member, adventurer, wanderer, it didn't matter what he was, he'd still be with them.

"Lady Amell," a voice tore her from her thoughts.

"Lady Stark," Revka nodded her head at Catelyn.

"I've never seen Ned like that with the children, especially when they're all together," she said.

"Play can bring out the best in people, and your children can bring out the best in you," Revka said.

"He isn't my child," Catelyn said, bitterness in her voice.

"But he's his child with another woman, a single night of worthless passion, or someone he loved before you, is that why you treat Jon so coldly, because you're too weak to throw anger at Ned?" Revka asked.

"What do you know?" Catelyn seethed.

"I know that it's pathetic to hate someone for simply existing," Revka retorted, causing Catelyn to take a few steps back.

Revka was no giant, and she wasn't yelling. But her tone of strength, her defiance against her host. It all showed a strength not even warrior women of Dorne had.

"For you to look at that boy like that, when he has done nothing, and worse to wish him harm...shows just how terrible a woman you are...and don't give some excuse like, he could take away Robb's claim to Winterfell. Discouraging them from having a bond is no way to prevent that from happening," she explained. "He's Ned's blood, their blood, that alone should be reason enough for you to care."

"I can't be a mother to him," Catelyn said.

"I never said anything about that, the fact that you've said that either shows that you know of this option and simply don't care. Or you've actually considered, for a small moment that you could do that for the boy. I heard about the time Jon fell ill, tell me Lady Stark, were you glad when that happened, had you prayed for it to happen?"

Revka turned away from the Lady Stark, who lowered her head. She had been pushed into remembrance, and into the shame that brought her. For her words had been right, her judgements had been right. There had been a time, not long ago, when Catelyn begged the gods, and realised how terrible a woman she was.

'Let him live, let him live and I will tell his father to acknowledge him, to give him a true name, to love him like my own,' she remembered her vow.

A broken vow, a vow she could not carry out. It was for her pride, for Robb's future.

"Fuck your pride," Revka said, she had no walked away completely.

She didn't turn back towards Catelyn, and there was no magic in her. No magic that allowed her to see into the hearts of others. She just knew these things because she truly saw people. There had been a coldness in Catelyn's farewell to the Amell family. The children waved eagerly at the new friends they had made, and Ned smiled, confident in the belief that a bond between two families had been formed today. Catelyn merely bowed her head, bearing if nothing else respect for their parting.

'He's Ned's blood, their blood, that alone should be reason enough for you to care,' still she remembered what she said, even as she slept, she remembered.

It wouldn't take a day to return to the Meadow. Two days into their journey home, the Amell caravan stopped and made camp. Whilst her children slept, Revka looked up at the stars and drank from her flask. She poured a large amount for his uncle and aunt, spreading it in a circle around her. The memories of the dances her uncle would host at the forefront of her mind. Those days when she was a child and would regularly visit the main house of the Amell family. Though a staunch traditionalist, it had never painted the kind of man Aristide was. He knew compassion and played with his children, even treating the children of his servants like his own. Far different than the treatment Revka had seen from many houses in Westeros. Blood was the strongest bond to an Amell. Revka had seen blood spilt for the family before.

"Daylen," she whispered.

"Mother," she turned towards the tent.

Revion stood there, only wearing his bed clothes.

"It's still quite cold, go back to sleep son," she said.

"I had a nightmare," Revion said.

"Tell me about it," Revka smiled warmly at her boy, who remained silent.

She sighed and patted the patch of dirt beside her. Revion walked over, sitting and hugging his knees. He gasped in surprise as Revka put her arm around him.

"What was the nightmare?" she asked him.

"I heard bad things happening, I couldn't see anything, or do anything, I was powerless," Revion explained.

"I know what that is like, is that the only reason you couldn't sleep?" Revka asked.

"I want to know about my brother and why he makes you so sad."

The words came as a surprise to Revka, even more so the tone of voice Revion had. There was no hurt, no curiosity, no need in his voice. It was as if he was asking of some fleeting thing, a mere curiosity.

"You understand that Daylen is a mage yes?" she asked and Revion nodded his head. "People fear magic, for good reason of course. Your brother isn't someone who should be feared though. Because despite inexperience, despite not knowing what he had, he had used his incredible gift to heal."

"Who did he heal and how?" Revion asked.

"Your grandfather was ambushed during the previous Viscount's rebellion. He was killed, he was not close to death, he truly had died. My Day, he became so hysterical, 'no' he said, 'no'. His blood flowed into your grandfather's wound, and in a great flash of light, he was alive. A little boy, had used what people referred to as the most evil form of magic, to save a person's life."

Revka was shocked when Revion's finger suddenly wiped at her cheek. She had been crying, looking at her boy, she saw he was crying too.

"We'll, never see him will we?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around her son, letting her tears flow. As she and Revion shared their grief, they didn't notice Dayk standing at the tent. The youngest Amell's hands shook as he formed fists with them.

'So what if we don't?' he wondered.

He could feel it, could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Feel the tremble of his hands, the flow of his blood on the back of his head. He looked towards Jowan, whose glared at the templars as they approached him. The light reflected off of their blades, and Daylen's eyes were drawn to them. They got closer and closer, and the threat blades were became more real to him.

"The Maleficar," he heard one of the mages say.

A small crowd had gathered, looking between him and the templars.

"He was always so quiet."

"I knew he would do it again."

"What has he done?"

Those were just some of the words Daylen heard from them. He backed away from the templars, pushing against a book case behind him.

"I didn't do anything, I just cut my head open that's all," he said.

"What?" one of the templars stopped for a moment.

"Come on, he would say anything," the other one said.

"But, he hasn't used any magic."

"He's a damn Maleficar, was since before he came here, mages of that kind defiled the golden city," the man explained.

Daylen fell onto his bottom, the templar's sword inches from his nose. He looked at the blade, at the fear in the first templar's eyes, then the hatred in the other's. His hands squeezed into fists, his teeth grit themselves together. The anger had nearly reached its boiling point.

"Go on, go on, you people," he seethed, expression becoming more ferocious with every word he spoke. "You people have just been praying for the chance to kill me haven't you?"

The templar adjusted his grip on his sword, suddenly taken aback by the ferocity of the small boy's gaze. Then there was his eyes, the red eyes that always disturbed him, that made others look away when he looked at them.

"Come on, you want to right? Do it already!" Daylen said.

With his sword raised, the angered templar let out a yell.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!"

The roar echoed through the library, halting the templars as if it was a spell. But it was no spell, in some ways it was more powerful. An order spoken by the Knight-Commander himself. Greagoir's eyes held the same fury that had been in Daylen's. He marched towards the two templars, both of whom stood to attention, neither sheathing their swords though.

"On what grounds have you drawn your swords?" Greagoir demanded.

"The red eyed boy, he was using blood magic," the second templar said.

"We had reason to suspect he had," the first corrected him, causing the younger man to shoot a betrayed look at him.

"Who was the accuser?" Irving asked, advancing through the crowd.

Jowan pointed at the mage that had yelled out earlier. With everyone's eyes on him, the young man shrunk. Not out of shame but embarrassment. Briefly, anger crossed his face as he looked at Daylen. But as soon as Irving's eyes met his, the expression shifted to fear.

"He had blood on his hand," he trembled as he spoke, grasping at his justification.

Greagoir indelicately grabbed Daylen by his hair, checking the cut on his head.

"How did you get this?" he asked him.

"I was climbing on the book case, I fell," Daylen said.

"We told you not to do that," Greagoir huffed as he looked at his fellow templars. "I better not need to order you to sheath those," he snarled and both men quickly slid the blades back onto their belts.

"Never make an accusation like that without definitive truth," Irving said to the mage. "You know what makes the circle work? Logic applied to vigilance, not rampant paranoia," the first-enchanter seethed, speaking more like a commander scolding a soldier.

"Vigilance yes, by weeding out the trouble makers and spotting them early on, the first spell that boy ever casted was one of blood magic, of evil. The law is clear, WHY ISN'T HE DEAD!" the mage yelled.

He quickly backed down however as Irving glared at him.

"Go back to your quarters, I'll deal with you later," Irving said.

Slowly and shamefully, the mage walked into the crowd.

"Don't the rest of you have studying to do?" he asked, making them disperse.

Greagoir kept his hand on Daylen's shoulder, pulling him into a walk out of the library. Daylen looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Jowan's concerned expression. Irving and Greagoir took him to the first-enchanter's office, there, Greagoir put him at a chair whilst Irving poured water into a cup.

"I am sorry for that child," Irving said.

"You were told not to climb the book cases, you knew you had a cut, you should have had someone check it," Greagoir said.

"He was being a boy Greagoir, you saw it yourself, it was barely a cut anyway."

"There is plenty of fault to go around."

"Most of all with those three, they rushed to accusations and reacted inappropriately."

"That I agree on, but their suspicion is necessary and agreeable."

"He's a child not a Maleficar!"

"I remember," Daylen suddenly said, catching the attention of the two men.

"I remember what happened, rebels from the former Viscount's rebellion attacked us. Grandpa protected us, he saved us but took a sword to the chest. I didn't want him to die!" his shoulders trembled as he looked down, tears starting to soak his eyes. "There was so much blood, he'd lost so much blood and I wanted it all to go back into him. I didn't want him to die," he choked, gripping the chest of his shirt tightly, recoiling from the pain inside him.

"I wanted to save him, I wanted him to live, and he lived. I didn't care about my eyes, because he was alive, I saved him, I had done the right thing. But ever since I came here people have been looking at me as if I'm some," he paused, gritting his teeth together as he practically forced the word out. "Like I'm a MONSTER! They hear blood magic and they rush to conclusions, judging me, labelling me. I SAVED SOMEONE'S LIFE! It isn't fair."

A look of compassion crossed Irving's face as he knelt in front of Daylen. He placed one hand on his shoulder, and another on top of his head, patting it gently.

"I don't think you are a monster, I have always seen you for what you are," he said.

"What am I Irving?" Daylen asked.

"A brave boy, a boy I have not stopped believing in. Don't give up Daylen, because I still believe you are strong, stronger than this."

"People still doubt me, they think I'm going to perform blood magic again."

"Then prove them wrong," Greagoir said, without even looking at Daylen. "Prove us all wrong boy, now dry your eyes and go back to your quarters."

Even though his voice didn't hold the warmth Irving's had, even though he didn't see him, Greagoir's words alongside Irving's were what made him feel just a little bit better. When he walked out of the office, drying his eyes, he saw Jowan waiting. Slowly, his mouth lifted into a smile. One day, they would be young men, mages of the Ferelden circle of magi. Through every inevitable hardship of circle life, they would have each other.

Daylen believed that, just as Fausten once believed.

Next Chapter 11: The Greyjoy rebellion

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, paving the way for some of the changes that will come in the next story. Anyway, we now go to a Westeros focus chapter, including Damion's return.