The door slammed shut behind them with a clang that echoed through the stone hall.
Jorah Thornvale's grip on Rian's collar was steel. He said nothing as he dragged his son through the house, past the quiet servants and ancestral portraits scorched by forge smoke. His boots struck the ground like hammers, and Rian stumbled behind him, trying to stay upright, his knees still weak from the trial.
They passed through the wide hall of the estate, deeper into the private wing where no eyes could watch—where no ears could hear.
Jorah shoved the door to Rian's room open and threw him inside.
The boy landed hard against the floor, arms scrambling to break the fall. He barely had time to push himself up before his father stormed in after him and slammed the door shut behind them.
"Do you even understand what you've done!?" Jorah roared.
Rian turned, gasping. "I tried—"
"You embarrassed me!" his father snapped, voice like molten steel. "You failed—again! In front of the entire Court. In front of him!"
He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Rian by the tunic, yanking him to his feet.
"I taught you everything! You have my hands, my name! And still you break what I built!"
Rian didn't speak. His breath came in ragged bursts. He tried not to look afraid, but he flinched as Jorah raised a fist.
"Maybe if I had struck the softness out of you when you were younger—"
"Jorah!"
The voice exploded through the room like a thunderclap.
At the doorway stood Lady Maren Thornvale, her hair unbound, her frame thin beneath a faded robe. She looked nothing like a noblewoman. She looked like a mother on fire.
Jorah froze. His fist hovered in the air for a breath… then two.
Her voice came again, lower now. Sharper.
"Let. Him. Go."
Jorah's eyes met hers—conflict, guilt, pride, all boiling at once. Then, slowly, he released his grip. Rian slumped back down to the floor, chest heaving.
"Get out," Maren said, stepping aside from the door.
Jorah's jaw clenched, but he turned without another word. The door slammed behind him as heavily as the first time.
The silence that followed was thick and fragile.
Rian didn't look up. His shoulders were hunched, arms wrapped around himself like armor that wouldn't hold. He waited for the next blow—just in case.
But instead, there was only the soft rustle of fabric. And then… warmth.
His mother knelt down beside him and wrapped her arms around his trembling body, holding him close, her chin resting against his head.
He hadn't been held like that in years.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Rian's lip quivered. He shook his head against her chest. "I—I almost had it. I thought I did."
"I know," she said gently. "I know you did. You tried harder than any child should ever have to. But… this place…"
Her arms tightened.
"…it's not safe for you anymore."
"...What do you mean?" he asked, voice thin.
Maren didn't answer right away. Her eyes flicked toward the closed door, lips pressing into a line. The silence stretched.
"Mother," Rian pressed, more firmly this time. "What do you mean it's not safe?"
She looked at him then, truly looked—like she was deciding whether to lie. But something in his face must've broken through whatever resolve she had left.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I can't say much. I don't know everything… but your father—he's planning something."
Rian's eyes widened. "Planning what?"
She shook her head, brushing hair from his cheek. "He told me last night. He said he's… tired of waiting. Tired of watching his name be dragged through the dirt. Tired of living in shame because his son—his heir—can't forge."
Her voice cracked at the word.
"He said if the King won't protect our honor, then he'll take matters into his own hands."
Rian's breath caught.
"He said…" she hesitated. "…he said, 'If the boy can't be a blacksmith, then I'll fix it my way. I'll make them remember the name Thornvale again—even if it takes blood and fire to do it.'"
Rian blinked. "You think he's going to hurt someone?"
Maren stood slowly, crossing to the window. Her arms wrapped around herself.
"I think your father's pride is more dangerous than any blade. And when pride turns to desperation…" she looked out across the courtyard, voice barely audible, "...men do foolish things."
Rian sat there in stunned silence. The room felt colder than it had moments ago. His hands curled unconsciously into fists.
"So what happens now?" he asked quietly.
She didn't turn back.
"I don't know. But I do know this—whatever he's planning, you can't be a part of it. Not you. You've already been punished enough just for being born."
Rian stared down at the floor, at the tiny flecks of metal still stuck to his palms from the forge.
He had wanted to be a blacksmith.
Now, he wasn't even sure what he was.