As the second son, Mylas is free from the responsibilities that his older brother has heaped on his shoulders. And the glories too, but Mylas is ten and doesn’t care about girls or parties or hunting. He likes his brother’s stallion and like his brother’s armor - both things are much too big for him - but the rest Mylas happily leaves behind to play out in the woods with his sister or his friends.
But then Rience dies and all the family’s hope rise up with the smoke from RIence funeral pyre. After the mourning period finishes, Mylas’ routine is drastically changed. No more classes with his sister and their governess: he inherits his brother’s tutor along with Rience’s sword, his social connections, and duties. Mylas isn't forbidden from running around with his friends, not exactly, but there’s no time for it any more. His toys and books aren't taken from him, not really, but his shelves need to be cleared for scrolls on lineages, masks he’ll wear, and armor pieces he’ll need to grow into.
His parents are relieved that he’s a decent looking boy, and compliant enough that he doesn’t need to be whipped to obey. Mylas is quiet, but that isn’t the same as docile, and at night when the family and the servants retire, the boy climbs out of his window and throws rocks across the pond or aims for branches, knocking down unripe apples which he then also throws - at the house, at the barn, down into the street.
It goes on for two years. He grows taller, and at twelve is the same height his brother was at that age. When his parents pay attention to him, they’re pleased. At that aspect anyway - Mylas doesn’t have his brother’s biting wit that made the Trevelyans so fun at parties. Rience had been aggressive, even at twelve; Mylas prefers to reach compromises, talking his way out of fights where his brother would have dominated.
It goes on for two years. Mylas goes on for two years, smiling and nodding and holding his breath when his parents enter the room. It’s because of that control that it takes so long - He’s twelve when he cracks at last. Three other children - older than him, too tall to be children, really - corner him at a neighbor’s estate. He’s pressed against the wall while they jeer for him to duel Ser Erec, and he’s trying to explain that he’s only had a year of sword lessons and can’t possibly do it, and what if someone gets hurt? And they keep pressing and the stone wall is hard and cold on his back and the sword they’re shoving at him slices into his vest and his parents will be furious and -
Mylas shouts as he grabs the blade to shove it away. In his hand the metal freezes and the girl holding it yelps as she drops it. It’s covered in ice and so is her hand - She falls to her knees in pain and surprise while her two friends scramble away. The rest happens so quickly that he never has a chance to apologize and even if he did have a moment to breath and talk, he wouldn’t be able to explain.
Not that it requires much explanation: he’s a mage and that has ruined everything.
Mylas is grabbed by an adult, passed off to a guard, passed off to a templar. He’s allowed to return home to pack because he’s a Trevelyan, but he has two templars with him, watching as servants jam clothes into a trunk for him and his parents and sister stand with frozen expressions by his bedroom door. The templars march him to the Circle, Mylas slouching and red-eyed between them.