Not Just a Boy (Patreon)

After so many days on the road, sleeping only when he could, Arthur should have been happy to find himself here. And yet, the atmosphere here felt heavier than the hot nights he had endured until then.

They had arrived two days earlier, at sunset, skin damp and bottoms numb. The manor had stood out on the horizon like a fairy-tale castle, all spires and stained glass, casting rainbow colors on the surrounding land. They had been welcomed with bows and compliments too well-polished to be sincere.

"Two Tears under my roof!" the baron had said, pulling them to him like trophies. "What an unexpected stroke of luck."

He had insisted on offering them hospitality. Tobias had smiled, polite as well. Arthur, for his part, had thought he didn’t like this place.

He had been right.

The dining hall smelled of polished wood, fresh flowers, and a tension hard to name. Nothing like the warm atmosphere of his family's inn.

There were only about ten of them seated around a table far too big for that number of guests, but the chandeliers seemed made for a hundred, the meals for a thousand. Shadows danced on the too-clean walls, and the laughter sounded a bit too loud, a bit too hollow.

Arthur said nothing. He chewed slowly, his cutlery almost clenched in his hands. He came from the people, was not used to being in this kind of place. And suddenly all the etiquette lessons he had taken during his training at the academy a few months earlier felt insufficient. He wasn’t even hungry. The meat was tender, the vegetables perfectly cooked, but every bite weighed on his stomach. He felt like he didn’t belong. Worse: like he was in a display case.

Seated to his left, the baron’s daughter, sitting very straight, kept staring at him. Not meanly, but with enough insistence that he had to stop himself from turning to her and telling her to stop.

And then—

"My father says you’re very brave for your age, as all Tears should be. And he also says that a boy like you, with blood real blood can aspire to great things in this world."

Arthur widened his eyes, his cheeks flushing as he lowered his head.

"I think you look sad. Do you know how to smile? You’re cute, you should smile."

He looked back up at her, surprised. The girl's cheeks turned red. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Tobias, at the far end of the table, laughing at a joke he probably hadn’t even heard. He looked relaxed, as always. But Arthur noticed that wrinkle at the corner of his eye, the one that only appeared when he was worried or annoyed.

Like a muscle twitching when his Master had to hold back. Could it be that it weighed on him, too? Arthur hoped so. He wanted to leave.

He turned his attention back to the girl. She was still staring. She was only a few months older than him, at most, but she spoke like an adult. Like someone who had already learned how to observe and please.

To please… That was also one of the Tears' duties. So he forced a “Thank you for your compliment, my Lady,” to cross his lips before looking away.

The silence that followed didn’t last long. The baron’s voice rose, warm, perfectly measured to be heard by everyone without seeming intrusive.

"So, young man? Isn’t my daughter charming?"

Arthur nearly jumped. He raised his head. The girl on his left blinked without saying a word, but her smile froze.

"Uh… yes, my lord. She is very… kind."

A ripple of amused murmurs passed along the table—had he sounded too childish? Should he rephrase? Arthur shot a panicked glance at Tobias, who reassured him with a discreet gesture that everything was fine. The baron burst into hearty, almost theatrical laughter.

The young Tear barely held back a grimace.

"Ah! Such politeness! That’s what I appreciate so much in the Tears: discipline, courtesy, a sense of honor."

He raised his wine glass.

"And what an honor it would be to unite our name with that of such a promising young Tear."

Arthur felt his stomach knot even more. He was just a child. Barely eleven years old, what would his mother and father say? (He wanted to flee the room and find them, run to the stables, take refuge against his familiar, and not move, disappear until he was forgotten.) And yet, at that moment, he felt old, older than he was, and the weight of ages nearly brought tears to his eyes. As if everything expected of him, everything he had to be, had suddenly concentrated into that ill-considered toast.

No one pointed out the baron’s too-direct allusion. No one needed to. Everyone understood. Everyone knew.

At the far end of the table, Tobias had stopped laughing. His smile remained fixed, but Arthur saw the tension in his jaw, that too-perfect stillness that poorly concealed a deep weariness.

"But we have all the time in the world, don’t we?" the baron added, apparently having understood Tobias's stillness, while setting down his glass. "They are at the age of promises, not yet of decisions."

"Father…" the girl whispered, visibly embarrassed.

And then, after a small silence, she added in a candid tone:

"I wouldn’t mind, anyway. He’s cute."

Arthur felt his heart stop for half a second. Oh no, no, no. Were they going to betroth him here and now? Without his consent? Could he even refuse such an offer?

Beneath the terrified thoughts crowding his mind, he vaguely felt the presence of Zephyr’s spirit trying to reach him.

Several guests stifled a laugh. Others—especially the women—exchanged consternated glances.

"It’s not beauty we ask of a future husband, Aurore," said the Baroness gently, without harshness, placing a hand on her daughter’s.

"But it helps, doesn’t it?" the girl replied seriously. "Ugly people listen to pretty people."

The remark offended the boy and made the Master flinch.

A throat being cleared rang out like a slap in the returned silence.

"That’s absurd!" said a deeper voice, tinged with irritation. "He’s a commoner. Being a Tear doesn’t change that."

"Albert!" the Baroness exclaimed indignantly.

A wave of indignation rippled through the table, bouncing on plates and glasses, before the light dimmed. Arthur, with shame, realized he had caused it.

The baron’s eldest son. A handsome young man with a proud bearing, stiff in his parade uniform, stared at him with that polite coldness reserved for those tolerated only because they must be.

"My uncle is right," he added, crossing his arms. "Just because a child is born with a gift doesn’t mean he can claim better than what he is."

"Silence! You fool!" thundered the baron. "My apologies, Tear Arthur, Tear Tobias. It seems the wine has gotten the better of what little intelligence my brother and son still had."

The apology was rushed, a bandage slapped on an open wound, far too late. Tobias’s voice was icy.

"What he is?" he asked, swirling his wine glass in his hand. "What do you mean by that, boy?"

All eyes turned to him while he turned his to the heir.

"I… well," stammered the young man. "My little sister can’t possibly—"

"It’s funny," Tobias cut in. "I’ve heard many different versions of what Tears 'are.' Heroes, monsters, miracles, anomalies… We’re often defined by what people want from us. Same as Half-blood, really."

Beneath their feet, the floor trembled, making cutlery and plates clink and the chandelier above their heads sway.

The baron almost jumped in his seat at the end of the table. "Be assured, Tear Tobias, that nothing is expected of you here except that you enjoy your stay among—"

"And yet!" Tobias interrupted again. "You’re wrong on one point, my lord." He gestured toward Arthur with his chin. "This boy wasn’t born with a gift. He was chosen. And he owes you nothing. Not his smile, nor his hand."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Despite that, Arthur felt light, almost euphoric and floating, lifted by the assurance of his Master.

Not yet enough to breathe properly.

But enough to hold on until the end of dinner.

"He’s a child," added the baroness calmly. "Let’s not forget that."

The baron gave a nervous little laugh.

"Of course, of course! Think of it only as a bit of table talk. A doting father’s joke."

Tobias raised an eyebrow, then gently set down his glass slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on Arthur.

"Well then," continued the baroness in a murmur as she dabbed her lips with her napkin. "Shall we move on to dessert?"

The dessert was sumptuous, but Arthur barely touched it. Whipped cream sat atop a bed of candied fruits and golden shortcrust pastry. Sweet, and fragrant. He would have loved it, in other circumstances. But tonight, nothing could make his mouth water. Only the idea of getting back on the road made him feel hungry.

The baron, meanwhile, had regained his composure. He was commenting on the wines, the aromas, the rare imports as if he hadn’t just, moments earlier, tried to marry off his daughter.

When the last plate was cleared away, he stood up and rubbed his hands jovially before picking up a tobacco pipe.

"Gentlemen, the drawing room awaits. A moment between men is necessary, isn’t it? I’ll have the liqueurs brought up."

Tobias set down his napkin. His smile was polite. Distant.

"That’s very generous of you, my lord, but I’m afraid we must decline. Arthur and I have training to resume. Rest days are rare, and muscles forget quickly."

Oh, how the thought of training sounded sweet compared to a visit to the drawing room. Arthur pushed back his chair as subtly as he could and waited politely, hands behind his back.

The baron looked surprised, a little disappointed, but didn’t protest.

"As you wish, Master Tobias. Duty above all, isn’t that so?"

"Always," replied Tobias.

He stood, placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and together, they left the room without looking back.

They walked through the hallways in silence, guided by Tobias’s quiet steps. They didn’t go down toward the inner courtyard, but instead circled the building from the outside, taking a gravel path that led straight to the stables.

The path was lined with flowers. Roses, lilies, jasmine. Each a painful reminder of the distance that also separated him from his sisters.

When the doors opened on the familiar smell of hay, leather, and hooves, Arthur finally felt his shoulders relax. Zephyr immediately raised his head and snorted softly, nostrils quivering.

Arthur rushed over to him, barely stopping to greet his second Master, who didn’t take offense. The ermine settled on Tobias’s shoulder just as Arthur’s fingers brushed the mane of his familiar.

"Are you alright?"

"I’ve been treated well, brushed, and the hay is good. You, on the other hand... I felt your anxiety."

"I’m better now," Arthur assured him, though he was trembling a little.

Behind him, Tobias sighed. The boy turned to see him sink onto a bale of straw. "Honestly, if it weren’t for the meal and the promise of a hot bath, we’d already be back on the road."

"We could stock up on more supplies? We could bathe in lakes and rivers!" Arthur replied hopefully.

Tobias raised an eyebrow, amused. Arthur shrugged. "I’d rather deal with mosquitoes and mud than their fake smiles."

"That’s because you hear them too well," Tobias said gently. "Their voices, their thoughts. It’s a lot for a young boy."

Tobias stretched, arms crossed behind his head, and stared for a moment at the beams on the ceiling while Snow curled up on his lap.

"I feel the same. But we can’t leave. Not tonight," Snow commented.

"Why not?"

Tobias turned his head toward him, a new gravity on his face.

"You know why we stayed. It’s not just a dinner, or a courtesy." He paused. "Every time we’re invited, it’s not us they want to honor. It’s what we represent. And if we left now, without a word, we’d make the baron lose face. He’d make someone else pay for that. A servant. A peasant. Or another Tear and his student who might come after us."

Arthur lowered his eyes, fists clenched, and Zephyr tightened their mental bond—a warm, comforting presence.

"So… we always have to let it happen? I have to smile, even when I feel like throwing up?"

"No. You have to endure. That’s different."

He stood up and placed a hand on the boy’s nape.

"And I’m here to make sure you don’t carry all this alone. Understood?"

Arthur nodded, pressing his lips together. He wished he were stronger. Less emotional. But the fatigue and the emotions of the evening weighed heavily in his throat.

Tobias’s voice was soft, but firm as he continued.

"We have to pretend. Sometimes."

He looked him straight in the eyes.

"But don’t confuse that with weakness. You felt the room earlier? That was you who made it shiver. You who dimmed the light."

Arthur blushed a little, uneasy. He hadn’t meant to.

"They thought you were a well-mannered, obedient child. And you were. But you also reminded them that you’re a Tear. Not a little boy they can offer like a coin. You have that power. We all do."

His Master stood up straighter, a nearly sly smile now on his lips. "We have to smile, pretend, listen to toasts. But deep down? We’re the ones with the power. Because they’re not the ones who can make the world tremble."

He placed a light hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

"But!" he warned, raising a finger. "Power isn’t about hitting the hardest. It’s knowing that you could... and choosing not to. Not yet. There’s a time for everything."

Arthur said nothing. But the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. He was listening, absorbing, learning.

"Come on," Tobias said with a crooked smile. "Up. I’m taking you somewhere."

"Where?"

"To the village."

He winked.

"They’re having a celebration tonight. Nothing official, nothing stuffy. Just simple people, some slightly off-key music, and maybe a cake that’s too sweet."

Arthur stared at him, stunned, before smiling genuinely.

"Did you… remember what today is?"

"You think I didn’t ask the Fawkes before taking you from their table? No, actually, it was more your parents who interrogated me."

He held out his hand. Arthur took it.

"But… are we even allowed to go out?"

"No." Tobias shrugged. "But what are they going to do? Arrest us?"

A smile stretched across Arthur’s lips.

"Happy birthday, Arthur."