While everyone stands around complacently, Gawen's world is falling apart.

He comes racing up the hill at a speed that really isn't recommended for a colt as clumsy as he, panic sweating down his flanks and neck, the white of his eyes converging upon baby blues. Why is everyone just watching? What is happening? Why did the other figure even want to fight his mom? Why was nobody stopping them?!

The frozen earth refuses to budge beneath his barreling limbs, and he can feel the pain of his own ligaments protesting as he slides to a painful stop near the crowd. They're all so calm, so uninterested, so uncaring and his heart feels like it's shattering and set aflame all at once. Gawen has never even witnessed an unhappy baring of teeth or a nip to the haunches, much less a full-fledged battle. And the first he's ever subjected to is his own mother's challenge.

The tears didn't bud the entire flight up the slope where the rest of them wait, but they come now like a vicious torrent of emotion. Blurring his vision as he casts his judgmental, childish gaze upon them, head swinging to face them all. His limbs and wings tremble like a frightened bird, and Gawen knows he is not fearsome or brave. He is not cherished or respected, well known or appreciated. He's not an adult. But his heart is what makes him brave, and it is pounding so fast and hard against his ribs that he fears it will warp his physical body beyond recognition in the end. Gawen's voice swells into the shrieking tremulous thing of a fearful child and it spills out across his tongue as easily as his tears sweep down his cheeks.

"What are you DOING?!" He shouts it in their faces, because he's too afraid to go down and face the cruel monster attacking his mother. You're nothing but a coward Gawen. He knows that, he tucks that slow kill piece of knowledge behind his heart and patches it up every night, and he's the one who has to live with it. "Why are you just watching?! They're hurting each other! This isn't funny! Stop it!" And the way his voice warbles on the last words implies he thinks that maybe, maybe, this is all still just a game. That he's the butt of a joke, as always, and it's just waiting to reveal itself. Just a prank, Gawen, don't worry! But nobody is saying it and his mother is still down there bleeding.

He frantically looks between Lyanna and Tilney, his mentors, his idols and paragons of healing and gentleness. "I-I thought we were supposed to help? Why are we letting them do it? Mama's not a warrior why are they fighting? What does fighting have to do with being sneaky? Why does he want to hurt her?" Finally his voice chokes up beyond recognition and he just sits and cries, because he doesn't understand. It doesn't make any sense, and again Gawen's left feeling that the adults don't know a damn thing about what they're doing. A childish entitlement, but one that fractures his little golden heart like an earthquake opening up a chasm that won't heal. Reality and adulthood taste like ash and death on his tongue, and the only cleansing rain from the fairy tales are his own salted tears.

Wounded blues glance across the two faces he actually knows, astounded by this new apathy and cruelty he sees in them, childhood shattering in little pieces before his eyes as he waits for them to do something. Anything. Why couldn't they see that this was mean, and cruel, and senseless? What did physical battle achieve?

---

Oops have an emotional Gawen -shrugs-